Journal articles on the topic 'Communist Youth Union'

<p><em>Purpose</em>: This paper aims to investigate the impacts of political connections on farming households’ performance, especially in tea production.</p><p>Methodology/Approach: The Box-Cox methodology is applied using the primary data surveyed on 244 tea farming households in Vietnam.</p><p><em>Findings</em>: The findings show the significant role of political connection on improving farming households’ income, particularly to members of the Communist Party, Youth Union and Farmer’s Union. However, the interaction effects of Farmer’s Union, Youth Union, Veteran’s Union and Communist Party with land has negatively significant impact on farming household income.</p><p><em>Practical Implications</em>: The evidences point out the capacity of improving tea producers’ income could be really potential implying most of existing related policies which should be adjusted.</p><p><em>Originality/Value</em>: This is the first research examining the impact of political connection on<em> </em>agricultural performance, especially in tea production. The impacts are estimated in de-tail; such as participating more on Veteran’s, Farmer’s, Youth Union and Communist Party may reduce time on cultivating; as a result, cultivated land could be reduced. Basing on these findings, we also suggest some appropriate policy implications related to the issue how to improve income of tea production households.</p>

This article uses recently declassified archival documents from the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party (of Bolsheviks) concerning the Calcutta Youth Conference of February 1948. This evidence contradicts speculation that ‘orders from Moscow’ were passed to Southeast Asian communists at this time, helping to spark the rebellions in Indonesia, Malaya, Burma and the Philippines later that year. Secret working papers now available to researchers show no signs that the Soviet leadership planned to call upon Asian communists to rise up against their national bourgeois governments at this point in time. This article outlines the real story behind Soviet involvement in events leading up to the Calcutta Youth Conference, showing both a desire to increase information and links, and yet also a degree of caution over the prospects of local parties.

The ideologised treatment of history in the Soviet period celebrated communists who had perished or been executed in the interwar Republic of Estonia as martyrs. They fit in to the narrative of class struggle and its victims. Monuments were erected in their memory and memorial articles appeared in the press on anniversaries of their birth. One such communist featured during the Soviet period was Hans Heidemann (1896–1925), a trade unionist and member of the parliament of the Republic of Estonia, and also an underground Estonian Communist Party activist. He was arrested as one of the ringleaders in the attempt to overthrow the government on 1 December 1924 and executed in 1925 as a spy for Soviet Russia by decision of a military district court. This article relies primarily on archival materials from the Estonian National Archives. It is an attempt to write a political biography of Hans Heidemann that for the first time aims to more closely examine the course of the life of this individual who has been ideologised many times over. His room for manoeuvring and his possible influences in the space in which he operated are reconstructed. The article examines how this man of modest background but with a relatively good education, a veteran of the Estonian War of Independence who served as a staff clerk, became an activist in the trade union movement, a communist, and eventually an organiser of a coup d’état. It also considers why Heidemann was the only one at the subsequent major trial of communists in 1925 to be sentenced to death. An important context for Heidemann’s rise in politics is the struggle for control in the trade unions that took place in the early 1920s among Estonia’s left-wing parties. While the communists dominated the trade unions of industrial workers in the cities, they had to compete with social democrats and independent socialists for control in unions of rural workers. Southern Estonia and the City of Tartu formed a more problematic operating region than the average district, as in 1920–21 the Security Police had liquidated many large communist networks there. Heidemann was a member of the Party of Independent Socialists but when in 1922 the party was taken over by its communist-oriented left wing, he started gravitating towards the underground communists. At that time, the communists needed able organisers in order to regain their positions in Southern Estonia and it seems that they pinned their hopes on Heidemann. In 1922 Heidemann rose to leading positions in the trade union organisations of both Tartu County and the City of Tartu, and also became one of the leaders of the left wing of the Party of Independent Socialists. It is not clear, however, whether Heidemann had officially joined the Estonian Communist Party, or functioned as its legal operative. In January of 1924, when the Security Police arrested many trade union leaders and political activists associated with the communists, Heidemann went underground. Over the next eight months, he attempted to obtain weapons for overthrowing the government and to form combat squads mainly on the basis of youth organisations. He was unable to participate in the attempted communist coup d’état on 1 December since he had been arrested two months earlier in Tartu. But his trial was held under changed conditions after the failed coup. By that time, the Protection of the System of Government Act had been passed and the communists had been expelled from parliament. Even though Heidemann had been charged with working as a leader of the local organisation of the underground Communist Party and forming combat squads for the planned coup, he was sentenced to death and executed on the grounds of the charge for which there was least evidence. According to this charge, he had allegedly gathered military information for the Soviet Union as a soldier in the War of Independence six years earlier. Different sources suggest that this charge was questionable and unconvincing. It seems that there was a wish to convict Heidemann as the head of the regional communist organisation no matter what, and to punish him as harshly as the actual participants in the failed coup were punished, which the other counts of indictment did not allow.

Abstract Jews accounted for approx. 8-10% of the population of the Second Republic and in the communist movement (Polish Communist Party and Polish Communist Youth Union) the rate was approx, 30%, while in subsequent years it much fluctuated. The percentage of Jews was the highest in the authorities of the party and in the KZMP. This had a negative impact on the position of the KPP on many issues, especially in its relation to the Second Republic.

The purpose of the article is to reveal the role of Komsomol in the political system of the USSR. The authors note that Komsomol was directly a state body in relation to youth, acted as the official guide of party and economic directives to the youth environment, developed and implemented in practice the state youth policy in relation to Soviet youth. The main functions of the communist youth union in the Soviet society are also highlighted, the representation of Komsomol in the authorities of the Soviet state is reviewed, the role of Komsomol in the adoption of the law on youth is revealed.

The article presents the activity of Wacław Szyszkowski, a lawyer, an emigration independence activist and an outstanding scientist, who fought in the Polish-Bolshevik war of 1920 and, after Poland regained independence, was active in a secret Union of the Polish Youth “Zet” and a public Union of the Polish Democratic Youth. Until 1939 W. Szyszkowski was a defence lawyer in Warsaw, supporting the activities of the Central Union of the Rural Youth “Siew” and the Work Cooperative “Grupa Techniczna”. Published articles in political and legal journals, such as “Przełom”, “Naród i Państwo”, “Palestra”, “Głos Prawa”. During World War II — a conspirator of the Union for Defense of the Republic of Poland, soldier of the Union of Armed Struggle and Home Army, assigned to the Bureau of Information and Propaganda of the Home Army Headquarters. Fought in the Warsaw Uprising, after which he was deported by Germans to the Murnau oflag in Bavaria. For helping Jews during the occupation, the Yad Vashem Institute awarded him and his wife Irena the title of Righteous Among the Nations. After 1945, he remained in the West, engaging in the life of the Polish war exile in France, Great Britain and the United States. He received a doctorate in law at the Sorbonne. He belonged to the People’s Party “Wolność”, the Association of Polish Combatants. He was a member of the National Council of the Republic of Poland in Exile. As an anti-communist, he was invigilated by the communist intelligence of the People’s Republic of Poland. In the 1960s, after returning to Poland, as a lawyer and scientist, he was first affiliated with the Maria Curie-Skłodowska University of Lublin, and then with Nicolaus Copernicus University of Toruń. W. Szyszkowski is the author of nearly two hundred scientific and journalistic publications printed in Poland and abroad.

The article assesses archival materials on the festival movement in the Soviet Union in 1950s, including its peak, the 6th World Festival of Youth and Students held in 1957 in Moscow. Even now the Moscow festival is seen in the context of international cultural politics of the Cold War and as a unique event for the Soviet Union. The article is to put the 6th World Festival of Youth and Students in the context of other youth festivals held in the Soviet Union. The festivals of 1950s provided a field for political, social, and cultural experiments. They also have been the crucible of a new way of communication and a new language of design. Furthermore, festivals reflected the new (althogh relative) liberalism in the Soviet Union. This liberalism, first of all, was expressed in the fact that festivals were organized by the Komsomol and other Soviet public and cultural organisations. Taking the role of these organisations into consideration, the research draws on the documents of the Ministry of culture, the All-Russian Stage Society, as well as personal documents of the artists. Furthermore, the author has gained access to new archive materials, which have until now been part of no research, such as documents of the N. Krupskaya Central Culture and Art Center and of the central committees of various artistic trade unions. These documents confirm the hypothesis that the festivals provided the Komsomol and the Communist party with a means to solve various social, educational, and cultural problems. For instance, in Central Asia with its partiarchal society, the festivals focuced on female emancipation. In rural Central Asia, as well as in other non-russian parts of the Soviet Union, there co-existed different ways of celebrating. Local traditions intermingled with cultural standards prescribed by Moscow. At the first glance, the modernisation of the Soviet society was succesful. The youth acquired political and cultural level that allowed the Soviet state to compete with the West during the 6th World Festival of Youth and Students. During the festival, however, it became apparent, that the Soviet cultural scheme no longer met the dictates of times. Archival documents show that after the Festival cultural and party officials agreed to ease off dogmatism and to tolerate some of the foreign cultural phenomena.

Home, a pioneering theatrical production in post-communist Romania, cast homeless/orphaned youth in the Youth Theatre in Bucharest. The ‘orphan problem’ has been one of the most covered topics on Romania in western media, and one of the signs of Romania's ‘backwardness’, while neglect and indifference have characterized local press coverage. The significance of the production in changing the Romanian public's perception of these young people, many of whom are from the Roma ethnic group, is analysed, as are much wider political implications. Emma Nicholson, the European Parliament rapporteur for Romania, saw Home and afterwards expressed her support for Romania's acceptance into the European Union. The production and its reception permit a tracing of the historical relationship between the performance of Romanian marginality and national identity in relation to Europe.

The article considers the process of proletarisation of secondary and lower vocational schools and their results. Certain methods of forming the social composition of students are highlighted and described n the example of admission campaigns to educational institutions of Moscow department of professional education. Concrete examples show the adoption of the principle of class selection for admission to technical schools, factory schools, and professional schools. The representatives of working and peasant youth took advantage of enrolling them to educational institutions. The features of the principle of sending students to educational institutions as a way to improve the social composition of students are revealed. Travel orders were issued by regional and local Communist Party and professional organisations. The presence of travel order increased the opportunity of admission, although that did not guarantee it. The article also shows the role of ideological upbringing of students in the context of the policy of proletarisation. Political and educational activities were carried out within the framework of teaching a course in social studies, extracurricular class activities, as well as the efforts of representatives of the Russian Communist Youth Union. In the course of the study the materials of reports on admission campaigns to vocational and technical educational institutions in Moscow and Moscow Province were analysed. In conclusion we note the progress in formation of the composition of students from the position of class selection.

Examining the history of jazz in the Soviet Union between 1948 and 1953, this essay sheds light on the role of popular music in the cultural competition of the early Cold War. While the Soviet authorities pursued a tolerant policy toward jazz during World War II because of its wartime alliance with the United States, the outbreak of the Cold War in the late 1940s led to a decisive turn against this music. The Communist Party condemned jazz as the music of the “foreign bourgeoisie,” instead calling for patriotic Soviet music. Building on previous studies of the complex fate of western music in the USSR during the postwar decades, this article highlights a previously unexamined youth counterculture of jazz enthusiasts, exploring the impact of anti-jazz initiatives on grassroots cultural institutions, on the everyday cultural practices of young people, and on the Cold War’s cultural front in the USSR. It relies on sources from central and regional archives, official publications, and memoirs, alongside oral interviews with jazz musicians and cultural officials.

The article discusses the concept of “road” in the aspect of the disposition of “your” and “alien” on the material of Kalmyk political ballad of the XX century —”Julian Grimau” (Rus. transl. “The Ballad about Communist”) by Yegor Budzhalov and “Ooshk torhn — Rosa kyukn” (Rus. transl. “Ballad about the girl Rosa”) by Moradzhi Narmaev. The political perspective of these ballads is determined by historical events (civil war, imprisonment of political figures, execution, loss of eyesight), historical characters (Julian Grimau, Henry Winston), the members of the Communist Party of their countries, the main place names (Spain, the United States of America, the Soviet Union). The dichotomy of “one’s own” and “another’s” in Budzhalov’s ballad demonstrates political (fascism and democracy), ideological (imperialism and the communist Party), social (protest of different countries against the verdict of Grimau) and personal (Franco and Grimau) vectors. This is the boundary between the life and death of the hero, his path to the grave, to non-existence, physical and spiritual immortality, it is the conclusion of his human fate. In the Narmaev’s ballad the “one’s own” and “another’s” disposition is represented in theintercrossing of different people’s lives — the American communist G. Winston, his opponents, his friends, Soviet people, including the author himself, Soviet Youth and Rosa girl in particular — when the “stranger” communist from the USA becomes “one’s own” like-minded person, when a stranger literally becomes a blood relative, when long distances do not become an obstacle to good deeds and thoughts, when someone else’s life is saved at the cost of self-sacrifice. These works of Kalmyk poets bear the imprint of their time in a pronounced socio-political and ideological perspective, without reducing the humanistic and moral-ethical vector of the author’s intention.

One of the characteristics of the second half of the 19th and 20th centuries was the tendency of young people to gather in youth associations and organisations. Some of these were created spontaneously and their activities were illegal, while others were created by the authorities of particular states, especially totalitarian ones. One example of such an organisation was the All-Union Pioneer Organisation, established by the leaders of the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia in 1922. Its strategic goal was to participate in the education of the new man, who was to become homo sovieticus, a higher variety of homo sapiens, in the future. The Pioneer Organisation fulfilled this task by organising children of school age (aged 9 to 14) and subjecting them to a systematic ideological and political training based on the Leninist or Stalinist model. The activities of the Pioneer Organisation were supervised by the Komsomol and additionally by the leadership of the communist party ruling the USSR. The structure of the Pioneer Organisation included groups, packs and cells. Like the Komsomol, the Pioneer Organisation also had its symbols, such as the threepointed red scarf that symbolised three generations: communists, komsomolets and pioneers, as well as a pioneer badge, a pioneer salute, a uniform, bugles and a snare drum.

Introduction. The issue of youth education has always attracted general attention. In this regard, the experience of the Soviet era is curious. Under the prevailing criteria of this period, as the time of totalitarian domination and ideology, it attracts attention and is interesting for research. The subject of this study was the period of the Khrushchev thaw, when significant changes to the Stalin reform were carried out, including the work of the Komsomol at school. This article discusses the process of educating communist youth in the republican schools during the transition from universal seven-year education to the creation of conditions for the transition to universal secondary education through involvement in labor and socially active activities. Materials and Methods. For solving the set of the research tasks, archival materials, statistical data, and also scientific literature were used. The study was conducted on the principle of historicism, objectivity and systematic. The statistical method was used in data processing. Results. Based on a study of archival sources, as well as available scientific literature, the main problems were identified, and the activities of the Komsomol in schools during the Khrushchev thaw were also considered. Against the backdrop of increased participation of the Komsomol in the educational environment, the processes of self-organization and effective activity of the Komsomol organization in schools are shown. Discussion and Conclusion. The Komsomol was ideologically and organizationally formed in the conditions of revolutionary upheavals caused by the Great Russian Revolution of 1917, the Civil War and the beginning of socialist construction. In a harsh atmosphere of mobilizing forces and resources for the implementation of Soviet modernization, the youth union was formed not only as a socio-political organization, but also as a state institution with a multifaceted structure for implementing youth policy and socializing the younger generation on communist ideas. The meanings inherent in the activities of the Komsomol were historically unique: universality, unitarity, ideologization, extreme centralism and hierarchical organizational structure. Not a single youth structure in the world, according to researchers dealing with this problem, has reached such a state, position and all-consuming orientation towards the implementation of its tasks.

The review of the monograph by the Tambov historian V. E. Bredikhin “Social composition of the All-Union Leninist Young Communist League (Komsomol) and its regulation in the second half of 1930s – early 1950s (Materials of territorial organizations)” (Tambov, 2017) analyzes the author's contribution to studying the issues of organizational development of the Komsomol, the greatest phenomenon of the national youth movement. According to the reviewer, this topic remains ill-studied, and is thus of scientific and practical interest. The Komsomol’s influence on the young people is still much discussed in scientific and journalistic literature; the reviewer emphasizes the author’s balanced approach to the daily problems of the Komsomol: his conclusions are based on archival and published sources and are generally original. Merits of the publication include its geographical scope: object of the study is the Komsomol as a whole, and not its territorial divisions, which seems customary in the current scholarship. The author demonstrates a deep knowledge of historiography on the issue. Considerable contribution to the studying of Komsomol construction has been made by dint of comparative analysis of the most important social characteristics of the Komsomol members and non-union youth, as it has established the validity of the organization’s official status as avant-garde and educator of the Soviet youth. The author has comprehensively substantiated the existence of objective differences between the official doctrine of Komsomol construction and its practical realization in 1930s-1950s due to demographic process, political course, and Great Patriotic War. However, the book has its shortcomings. The study seems incomplete without a summarized psychological profile of the Komsomol members of mature and late Stalin era. The author ignores problems of organizational restoration of the Komsomol in the occupied territories. Party influence on the regulation of the Komsomol structure is tacked rather schematically.

Abstract The article discusses the research activities of Vladimir Mikhailovich Khvostov, his creative legacy on issues and problems of international relations of the early ХХ century; the life of V.M. Khvostov, characterization and evolution of his approaches and views on the history of international relations, foreign policy. A prominent organizer and theorist in the field of pedagogical Sciences, academician Vladimir Mikhailovich Khvostov played a significant role in the formation of the Academy of pedagogical Sciences of the USSR – the all-Union center of pedagogical thought. As its first President, he paid great attention to the development and improvement of the system of humanitarian education in the school, taking into account all the tasks and requirements imposed by the practice of Communist construction in our country. In his reports and speeches at various scientific sessions and conferences, he repeatedly emphasized the exceptional importance of social Sciences in the training of not only educated girls and boys, but also in the formation of politically literate youth.

The Ukrainian opposition faced one of the greatest degrees of state-backed violence in the second wave of democratization of post-communist states with only Serbia experiencing similar cases of assassinations and repression of the youth Otpor NGO. In the 2004 Ukrainian elections the opposition maintained a strategy of non-violence over the longest protest period of 17 days but was prepared to use force if it had been attacked. The regime attempted to suppress the Orange Revolution using security forces. Covert and overt Russian external support was extensive and in the case of Ukraine and Georgia the European Union (EU) did not intervene with a membership offer that had the effect of emboldening the opposition in Central-Eastern Europe. This article surveys five state-backed violent strategies used in Ukraine’s 2004 elections: inciting regional and inter-ethnic conflict, assassinations, violence against the opposition, counter-revolution and use of the security forces. The article does not cover external Russian-backed violence in the 2004 elections unique to Ukraine that the author has covered elsewhere.

In the 20–30s of the 20th century special attention was paid to the formation of the ideological worldview of students of education institutions, future teachers who were to shape the political consciousness of the younger generation with communist ideals. The ideological principles of the party were subordinated to the social activities of youth, in particular, in Kyiv pedagogical educational institutions. The article deals with the work of student clubs and student government bodies, various organizations. Since the mid-20s of the 20th century trade union organizations took over the functions of youth advocates, which were largely influenced by university administrations and controlled the social composition of students, who presented themselves as an exclusively peasant workers. Some of the students were embraced by work in the cells of voluntary societies, the government used to propagate their ideas of socialist construction and the ideological education of the masses. The most active were the cells of Tsoaviakhim, which oversaw the work of the rifle circles. Close to them were sports clubs. Universities also operated cells of MOPR, the Friends of the Children societies, the All-Ukrainian Society for Land Organization of Working Jews OZET, and the Friends of Radio. The ideological work among students was intensified by the student press, the production of “live and light newspapers” that covered the processes of building a higher school, the participation of youth organizations in the proletariat of institutes and technical schools, the life and attitude of students, their participation in cultural work etc. Most of the time, students took part in enriching work. In particular, they worked on various campaigns related to raising funds for the state’s economic needs, participating in fundraising to strengthen defense, days of industrialization, etc.

Trải qua gần 90 năm trưởng thành và phát triển, Đoàn Thanh niên Cộng sản Hồ Chí Minh đã đóng vai trò hết sức quan trọng trong việc xây dựng và bảo vệ Tổ quốc Việt Nam xã hội chủ nghĩa. Trong đó, cần thiết phải đề cập đến tầm quan trọng của Đoàn Thanh niên với công tác xây dựng Đảng. Trên cơ sở vận dụng phương pháp luận của Chủ nghĩa Mác – Lênin, các phương pháp phân tích, tổng hợp, lôgíc, lịch sử, bài viết đã phân tích làm rõ vai trò của Đoàn Thanh niên Cộng sản Hồ Chí Minh với công tác xây dựng Đảng và bước đầu đề ra một số giải pháp nâng cao nhận thức, định hướng hành động của các học viên Công an nhân dân về công tác xây dựng Đảng qua hoạt động trong Đoàn Thanh niên của học viên Công an nhân dân.

Education is one of the most sensitive topics on a worldwide scale as it is one of the core components for a qualitative future generation. In Albania, education is always related and affected by the greatest political movements and events of the country’s history. As such important, observation the history education evolution can serve as a great source of understanding different issues that today society is facing and by the quality and quantity of the actual education we can invest in a better future for the country. The emphasis in this research is put at the period in between 1945 until end of ’60 as a timeframe snapshot of the evolution of the Albanian education. Extreme ideologization and politicization, are the key features of the role, responsibilities and duties of the homeroom teacher during the 50’s but that doesn’t mean that it continues the same for the homeroom teacher at the end of ‘60s. The ideologization and politicization expansion in Albanian schools comes intensified significantly based on the political and economic relations in between Albania and the Soviet Union. This is clearly expressed in the majority of articles and explication by the specialized pedagogical bodies in the periodicals of the time. Despite the fact that the model of the homeroom teacher had to be oriented toward the soviet model, some core features/functions are not changed as; The homeroom teacher been a key figure in the Albanian school, high school as well as seven grade education; He/she was responsible for the progress of his/her students, for order and discipline in class and the education of the class as a collective and each student of it; To achieve his/her role, the homeroom teacher must organize differentiated work as well as individual with students, to collaborate with other teachers with the pioneer and youth organization, with parents and with the school, where was obliged also to report periodically; In conclusion, although the Communist Party was inducting its models in the school and specifically in the role, responsibilities and duties of the homeroom teacher, this key role created some core values and competences inside the institution that would remain mostly untouched throughout different political changings

Abstract African presence in Russia predated the Bolshevik takeover in 1917. The arrival of the new Communist rule with its attendant vociferous anti-racist and anti-colonial propaganda campaigns enhanced the earlier perceptions of Russia as a society relatively free of racial bias, a place of multiethnic coexistence. As a result dozens of black, mostly Afro-Caribbean and African-American, travellers flocked to the "Red Mecca" during the first two decades of its existence. Some of those arrivals were driven by the ideology; however, the majority of them were simply searching for a place of racial equality, free of Western racism. To an extent their euphoric expectations would be realized as the black visitors to Soviet Russia were usually accorded a warm welcome and granted the opportunities for professional and personal fulfillment that were manifestly absent in their countries of origin. The second wave of black migration to the Soviet Union was quantitatively and qualitatively different from the early pre-war arrivals. It also took place in the context of the new geopolitical reality of the Cold War. After the 1957 Youth Festival in Moscow, the Soviet Union under Khrushchev opened its doors to hundreds, and eventually to thousands, of students from the Third World, many of them from Africa. By extending generous educational scholarships to young Africans, the Soviet Union sought to reaffirm its internationalist credentials and also curry favor with the newly independent African states. The members of this new diasporic community hailed predominantly from the African continent. If the Soviets had hoped for a major propaganda coup, their hopes were not entirely realised. As a propaganda weapon African students tended to jam and even to backfire. Instead of becoming the symbols of Soviet internationalist effort, they came to symbolise Westernization and "foreign influences." La présence africaine en Russie a précédé la prise de pouvoir bolchévique en 1917. L'arrivée du nouveau pouvoir communiste, avec son aille antiraciste active et ses campagnes de propagande anticoloniale, ont mis en valeur les premières perceptions de la Russie comme une société relativement libre de parti pris racial, un lieu de coexistence multiethnique. En conséquence, des douzaines de Noirs, principalement des Afro-Caribéens et des Afro-Américains, se sont rassemblés à la « Mecque Rouge » durant les deux premières décennies de son existence. Quelques-unes de ces arrivées étaient motivées par l'idéologie ; cependant, la majorité d'entre eux étaient simplement à la recherche d'un lieu d'égalité raciale, libéré du racisme occidental. Leurs attentes euphoriques allaient en partie être satisfaites étant donné que les visiteurs noirs en Russie soviétique avaient droit à un accueil chaleureux et se voyaient offrir des opportunités d'épanouissement professionnel et personnel manifestement absentes dans leurs pays d'origine. La deuxième vague de migration noire vers l'Union soviétique était quantitativement et qualitativement différente des premières arrivées d'avant guerre. Elle se produisait aussi dans le contexte de la nouvelle réalité géopolitique de la Guerre froide. Après le Festival de la Jeunesse en 1957 à Moscou, l'Union soviétique sous Khrushchev ouvrit ses portes à des centaines, puis finalement à des milliers, d'étudiants du Tiers-Monde, beaucoup venant d'Afrique. En accordant de généreuses bourses d'études à des jeunes Africains, l'Union soviétique voulait réaffirmer ses références internationalistes et cherchait aussi les faveurs des Etats africains nouvellement indépendants. Les membres de cette nouvelle diaspora venaient principalement du continent africain. Si les Soviétiques avaient espéré un coup de propagande majeur, leurs espoirs ne furent pas totalement réalisés. Les étudiants africains eurent tendance à bloquer et à se retourner contre cette arme de propagande. Au lieu de devenir les symboles de l'effort internationaliste soviétique, ils vinrent symboliser l'occidentalisation et les « influences étrangères ».

Historians generally agree that in the 1950s and 1960s organized labour in the United States had become thoroughly bureaucratized. This is often explained as part of a general process of growth and maturity. In their lean, radical youth in the 1930s, those American unions which had launched the Congress of Industrial Organizations had aimed at two targets: to organize and bargain collectively, as promised by the 1935 National Labor Relations Act; and then to use this power to press for wider industrial democracy and social reform. By the time the CIO was reunited with the American Federation of Labor in 1955, this picture had been substantially changed. Increasingly labour cooperated with management and had become part of the white, male, liberal corporate power structure which ran the American capitalist industrial and political system. This military-industrial complex was the indispensable basis, not just for American prosperity but the whole Cold War strategy of containment of communism through the Pax Americana.

Abstract: The Destruction Battalions in Estonia in the Summer War of 1941 A state of war was declared in the western regions of the Soviet Union on 22 June 1941. This did not in any case mean only purely military operations. The safeguarding of security in the rear was considered extremely important. On 25 June 1941, the Union-wide Communist Party (CPSU) Central Committee Politburo adopted the decision ‘On the tasks in the rear of front-line forces’, which placed all agencies and units of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs and State Security (NKVD and NKGB) under the command of the commanders of rear defence of the front lines. The following was prescribed as the more general tasks of rear defence: maintenance of law and order in the rear and on roads; the capture of deserters and ‘disorganisers of the rear’; protection of communications; the organisation of evacuations and the transportation of supplies; the destruction of saboteurs. Since rebellion against Soviet rule also began in parallel with combat action in many regions (primarily in regions that the Soviet Union occupied and annexed in 1939/1940), then combat against the so-called internal enemy became the primary task of rear defence units in the vicinity of the front in many areas. Thirdly, rear defence units were assigned the task of destroying all property of any value that could not be removed from the region of the front in the event of possible retreat. At the same time, all communications of military importance were to be destroyed in the course of retreat. NKVD internal forces and border guard forces on the one hand, and irregular people’s defence units (destruction battalions, workers’ regiments, people’s defence divisions, etc.) formed locally in the summer of 1941 on the other hand were to bear the brunt of this action. The various irregular people’s defence units were on the one hand supposed to be manifestations of ‘nationwide struggle’ deriving from ideology; on the other hand, the need for an improvised territorial defence force was due to pragmatic needs that made it possible to skip many of the formalities associated with mobilisation, transport, formation and supply. At the same time, the possibilities for utilising these units were also considerably more flexible. The formation and utilisation of the ‘people’s defence force’ varied from region to region. The destruction battalions that were formed in the Estonian SSR are considered illustratively in this article. As elsewhere in areas in the vicinity of the front, the formation of destruction battalions began in the Estonian SSR at the end of June, 1941. The ‘Estonian SSR operative group of destruction battalions’ was established for their formation and command at the NKVD Baltic Border Guard District headquarters. At the start of July, this operative group was placed under the command of the assistant responsible for rear area defence of the commander of the 8th Army, which had retreated into Estonia. The destruction battalions did not have any definite composition of personnel. Although the self-evidence of patriotism was stressed, in reality the battalions were manned in Estonia by way of ‘Party mobilisation’. If a person was a member or candidate member of the CPSU or the communist youth organisation and did not have any other administrative duties, joining the destruction battalions was in essence mandatory. Generally speaking, this obligation also applied to the employees of other Soviet institutions as well. The operations of destruction battalions in Estonia can conditionally be divided into three periods: 1) combat against the armed resistance movement before the arrival of German forces; 2) the direct employment of destruction battalions in military assignments alongside securing the rear area; 3) the deployment of destruction battalions and regiments formed out of them at the front in combat against regular Wehrmacht units. This periodisation is nevertheless conditional. It is rather difficult to present temporal frames of reference more precisely because the actions and composition of different units varied depending on the situation at the front and they also do not match temporally. While battalions were initially formed in the counties and in the cities of Tallinn and Narva, later on units were disbanded and combined, and new additional units were also formed. In total, over 20 such units operated in Estonia (in addition to several more Latvian destruction units that had retreated into Estonia) in the summer war of 1941. Over 6,000 fighters were entered in the lists of the Estonian SSR militia companies, destruction battalions and workers’ regiments. These in turn were divided up according to specific assignments: some went on raids and later fought at the front line as part of the Red Army; others were part of the armed units guarding certain industrial enterprises or Soviet institutions, or provided security for communications of military importance (railroads, bridges, communications lines, and other such sites). Third, there was a large group that was formally connected to destruction battalions because they were tied mainly to other military-administrative duties (the organisation of evacuation, fortification works, mobilisation of horses and motor vehicles, future partisan warfare, and other such duties). As the name ‘destruction battalion’ already says, these units were initially supposed to be used mainly in combatting saboteurs, spies and local ‘bandits’, and in carrying out ‘scorched earth tactics’. Yet as we can already see from the previous periodization, the role of destruction battalions in Estonia already became blurred at the start of July, 1941. Since the front was breached in many places, some units that were completely unprepared for it were quickly sent to the front to plug the holes. The Southern Estonian destruction battalions that had retreated in the direction of Narva fell apart, disintegrating into isolated troops that retreated together with civilians who wanted to evacuate. Other units were incorporated into the Red Army in Northern Tartu County in the latter half of July, and most of them were cut off there in a pocket. In August, two companies were formed in Harju County and Narva out of the remnants of the destruction battalions, and were already utilised directly as front-line units. In conclusion it can be said that while the destruction battalions that operated in Estonia initially were indeed a rather effective force for a short time in the fight against armed resistance, their utilisation in front-line combat not only had negligible effect, it was also rather short-sighted in terms of Soviet rule because it resulted in the destruction of a large proportion of the cadre that was trustworthy in the eyes of the Soviet regime, and this cadre was already quite modest in numbers to begin with. A large proportion of the fighters of the destruction battalions left behind in the rear met their end in the course of vigilante justice in the summer war of 1941. And secondly, since the Germans did not count the members of the destruction battalions as soldiers, the status of prisoners of war did not extend to them, and many of them who were taken prisoner were shot on the spot or were executed at a later time as ‘active communists’.

The article analyses the national-moral values of Azerbaijan for the first decade of Sovietization in the political context of the soviet state and explains the peculiarities that characterize the communist totalitarianism. It says that, all spheres of society, including economic life undergo total control, private property is annulled and any and all basis of the autonomy of the members of the society and the activity are removed. The government and people struggle against “enemy”, and the “enemy” against the surrounding. The effect of de-jure and de-facto contradictions (the contradictions that were applied to people who are enforced to build a socialist state) to the national and moral values are explained by historic facts as it is in the other fields. According to the information provided by the archival sources, the soviet regime that invaded the Northern Azerbaijan in a short period of time sacrificed 48 thousand people to the “red terror”, and the single-party dictatorship regime established in the country left the concepts of “nation” and “homeland” a step behind in the soviet empire through the single “traditional” system built for cultural development of the nation, having banned the national thinking of the Azerbaijani nation. The ideology, including the personal life of the citizens passed on to all spheres of public life and banned tough sanctions against certain acts. In fulfillment of the socialist purposes in the current policy, the soviet government, as an ideological gun, pursued an offensive policy, strengthened the promotion of international upbringing and godlessness and used all means to affect the children practically in this field. More than 2000 Turkish teachers were persecuted and exiled in 1923 and thousand of teachers with “pasha” and “bay” titles in their surnames were dismissed from their positions. The religious marriages concluded after September 08, 1923 have not been attached any legal force. The person of that period was treated as a social being with “traditional atheism” spirit, prohibitions were put against the muharrem rituals, the traditional customs of wedding, the purposes and reasons of the Ramadan were distorted by referring to some countries, the month of fasting was prohibited and atheism was propagated among the youth. The “Atheists union” organization put different official prohibitions to the national traditions of the nation and created new traditions that were quite far away from the national spirit (Red wedding, civilians’ burial and so on) which led to disrespect to the national and spiritual values by time. Since 1929, 219 mosques, 2 madrasahs and 18 churches were utilized for other purposes (horse stables, barn and so on.) in 13 provinces. The women were forced to take off their veils and “antihat” propaganda was launched against the remnants of the old period. It was decided to take off hat that has been considered as a symbol of national self-esteem for thousands of years and “Novruz” Holiday was removed from the list of the public holidays as a result of obvious pressures against the religious and national holidays. The facts show that, the peculiarities of the administrative domination in the official national and religious policy, enlightenment system and industry in the 20-30s years have affected the public policy realized in Azerbaijan. These were the invisible sides of the policy pursued by the totalitarian regime.

The celebrations related to the 70th anniversary of the birth of Joseph Stalin began well before their culmination, which was to take place on December 21, 1949. The communist authorities issued a special instruction which strictly regulated the course of these celebrations. Special party meetings were organized to celebrate the dictator. Young people gathered in workplaces, schools and youth organizations were also expected to participate in the celebrations. Furthermore, it was recommended to study the biography of Stalin and decorate public buildings with Polish and Soviet colours, as well as portraits of Stalin and related slogans. In Olsztyn, as in other Polish cities, the Provincial Committee for the celebration of the 70th anniversary of Stalin was established, which included members of the political and administrative authorities, as well as representatives of the army, trade unions, social, scientific, creative and artistic organisations, and industry leaders. However, compared to other regions in the Olsztyn Voivodeship, the celebrations of the jubilee of the birth of Joseph Stalin had a much more modest dimension, mainly due to the typically agricultural character of the region, as well as the relatively small population of Warmia and Masuria at that time

For leftist movements internationalism, as a principle of Marxism-Leninism, has always been of great importance. The paper discusses Soviet internationalism in relation to foreign students in the USSR in the early 1960s. The author emphasizes some characteristics of the first stages of ideological struggle between Soviet and Chinese communists in connection with the international youth movement and dwells on three demonstrations of foreign students in the Soviet Union. The first one took place on August 5, 1962 in Red Square and was arranged by a militant leftist Japanese student organization Zengakuren against Soviet nuclear tests. After returning home, their leader Nemoto filed a lawsuit against the Soviet police. However, this campaign failed to provoke anti-Soviet hysteria, but revealed lack of unity between the movements. On December 18, 1963, a demonstration of African students took place in Red Square following the death of Assare-Addo, a medical student from Ghana. This incident is considered against the background of conflicts with African students and a diplomatic crisis in the end of 1961, caused by student demonstrations in Guinea, which were supported by Guinean students in the Soviet Union. During the third demonstration on March 17, 1964, about 50 Moroccan students broke into the Moroccan embassy in Moscow and organized a sit-in to protest the death sentences against 11 people in Morocco who had allegedly planned to assassin King Hassan II. Thus, the correlation between socialist statehood and the principle of internationalism showed a certain pattern: when there is a state, internationalism is put to a serious test. The first protests of foreign students in the USSR clearly prove this point.

The purpose of the article is to show the formation of the student body of Katerynoslav Іinstitute of Public Education (КІPE) relying on the legacy of the predecessors and the existing sources; to highlight educational, scientific and socio‑political activities of КІPE students; to reveal their financial situation. Research methods: historical-genetic, historical-comparative, historical-typological, problem-chronological. Main results and scientific novelty: the main characteristics of the student body are comprehensively presented, the educational, scientific and socio-political activities of КІPE students are analyzed for the first time. Practical significance: in the process of research, a systematic factual base is created for a comparative analysis of the activities of public education institutions and analysis of statistical data of their student body. The originality of the study is based on a wide range of sources used and their analytical and synthetic processing. Principal results. The dynamics of changes in the student body of the institute, which was formed through a system of business trips, is analyzed. In the first years of the decade, the Bolsheviks failed to realize their ideas of dominance among the youth, workers, peasants, КP(b)U and KSMU members. The distribution of students by nationality was also quite original. There were almost equally Ukrainians, Jews and Russians among them. Perhaps because of this, it was not possible to ukrainize the university completely. Some students were engaged in scientific work. The authorities tried to impose the Marxist-Leninist ideology on young people. However, this work was not effective, primarily because in the first years of the decade, the Communists and the Comsomol members could not create their own centers because of their small numbers. Community work was concentrated in the student club. Student trade union organizations and centers of voluntary societies functioned. Students patronized units of the Red Army, conducted campaigns to eliminate illiteracy. The financial situation of the youth was difficult. It was difficult to provide students with housing, scholarships, food, and medical care. Article type: theoretical research.

This article discusses Soviet cultural diplomacy from the perspective of cultural production. It analyses a Soviet-sponsored international event, the World Festival of Youth and Students, as a cultural product created within the socialist system. The first festival was held in Prague in 1947, and the tradition continued throughout the Cold War period until today. Earlier scholarship has examined the festival as a propaganda tool, a forum for cross-cultural encounters, and a battlefield of the cultural Cold War between the capitalist West and the socialist East. Much has been written about individual world youth festivals and national delegations, while the design, cultural background and fundamental ideas behind the event have been much less acknowledged. By employing the concept of mega-event and comparing the festival with iconic international events, such as World’s Fairs and the Olympic Games, it discusses the festival’s composition and evolution, its reception, and how the event found its place in a world shaped by the tensions between the two social systems. It employs materials from the main organiser of the event, the World Federation of Democratic Youth, documents from the Communist Youth League (Komsomol) and the Communist Party of the USSR, and contemporary newspapers and magazines. The author argues that the USSR developed an attractive global cultural institution, which well suited the Cold War environment but was too dependent on financial support from the socialist bloc and too tied to the political agenda of the Soviet Union to become a universally accepted institution.

PurposeThe authors’ aim is to establish the variance of youth welfare citizenship regimes in Central and Eastern Europe (CEE) and to revisit the applicability of the regime approach to the emerging welfare regimes (EWRs).Design/methodology/approachThe empirical analysis follows the descriptive case study strategy aiming to discover diversity of youth welfare citizenship patterns. The case selection is made within the CEE country group, which includes countries in Central Europe, the Baltics, Eastern Europe and Southeast Europe, all sharing the communist past. The subdivision of these countries in reference to the welfare states can be made via the European Union (EU) membership based on the assumption that EU social policy frameworks and recommendations have an important effect on domestic policies. We included countries which are in the EU, i.e., with a similar political and economic transition path. There were three waves of accession to the EU in CEE countries. In the first wave (2004), all the Baltic countries, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary and Slovenia joined. In the second wave (2007), Romania and Bulgaria joined. Finally, Croatia joined the EU in 2013. Altogether 11 CEE countries are the EU members today, the remaining CEE countries are non-EU members and thus are excluded from the current research. Those countries which are part of the EU share similarities in social and economic reforms during the pre-accession period and after in order to reach a comparatively similar system with other member states. So, in terms of casing strategy these six countries can be named as emerging welfare regimes (EWRs) evolving transformations across different public policy areas. Handpicking of six countries out of 11 relies on the assumption that the Anglo-Saxon welfare system characteristics are more evident in the Baltic countries (Aidukaite, 2019; Aidukaite et al., 2020; Ainsaar et al., 2020; Rajevska and Rajevska, 2020) and Slovenia, while in Bulgaria and Croatia certain outcomes reflect the Bismarckian principles of social security (Hrast and Rakar, 2020; Stoilova and Krasteva, 2020; Dobrotić, 2020). This brings important variety into our analysis logic. Last but not least, we juxtapose six CEE EWR countries under analysis with six mature welfare regime countries representing different welfare regime types. Those mature welfare regime countries (Finland, Sweden, France, Germany, Italy, UK) are not an explicit object of the study but help to put analysed CEE EWR cases into larger context and thus, reflect upon theoretical claims of the welfare regime literature.FindingsThe authors can confirm that the EWR countries can be rather well explained by the welfare citizenship typology and complement the existing knowledge on youth welfare regime typology clusters in the Western Europe. Estonia is clustered close to the Nordic countries, whereas Latvia, Lithuania, Croatia and Slovenia are close to the Bismarckian welfare model despite rather flexible, non-restricted educational path, universal child and student support. Bulgaria is an outlier; however, it is clustered together with mature Mediterranean welfare regimes. Former intact welfare regime clusters are becoming more diverse. The authors’ findings confirm that there is no any intact cluster of the “post-communist” welfare regime and Eastern European countries are today “on move”.Research limitations/implicationsAltogether 11 CEE countries are the EU members today. The remaining CEE countries are non-EU members and thus are excluded from the current research. Those countries which are part of the EU share similarities in social and economic reforms during the pre-accession period and after in order to reach a comparatively similar system with other member states. At least one CEE country was chosen based on existing theoretical knowledge on the welfare regime typology (Anglo Saxon, Beveridgean, Bismarckian) for the Post-communist country groups.Practical implicationsIn the social citizenship dimension we dropped social assistance schemes and tax-relief indices and included poverty risk and housing measures. Youth poverty together with housing showed rather clear distinction between familialized and individualised countries and thus, made the typology stronger. In the economic dimension the preliminary picture was much fuzzier, mainly due to the comprehensive education in the region and intervention of the EU in domestic ALMPs (and VET) reforms. The authors added a new indicator (pro-youth orientation of ALMP) in order better to capture youth-sensitivity of policy.Social implicationsThe authors included a working poverty measure (in-work poverty rate) in order to reflect labour market insecurity as an increasing concern. Yet, the analysis results were still mixed and new indicators did not help locating the regime types.Originality/valueIn order to improve the validity of the youth welfare citizenship regime economic dimension, Chevalier's (2020) model may also be worth revisiting. The authors argue that this dichotomy is not sufficient, because inclusive type can have orientation towards general skills or occupational skills (i.e. monitored or enabling citizenship clusters), which is currently ignored. Chevalier (2020) furthermore associates inclusive economic citizenship with “coordinated market economies” (referring to Hall and Soskice, 2001), which seems hardly hold validity in the Nordic and at least some CEE countries.

Artiklis on vaadeldud Narva ja Sillamäe linnast inspireeritud kirjandust ja üht mängufilmi, mis tegelevad lähemalt maastikuloomega ning kohamälu tekitamisega pärast II maailmasõda. Sõjajärgse Kirde-Eesti ülesehitamine tööstuspiirkonnana on peegeldunud memuaristikas, tagasivaatelistes omaeluloolistes tekstides ning oma kaasajas ehitust kajastavates allikates. Vaadeldud näited avavad seda, kuidas on kirjeldatud nõukogude perioodi tööstuslinna, alustades sõjajärgsest taastamistööst ning lõpetades Andrei Hvostovi tagasivaatega nõukogudeaegsele lapsepõlvelinnale. Tekstide analüüs võimaldab märgata sõjaeelse maastiku transformeerumist tööstusmaastikuks, selle kajastuste vastuolulisust ning sõltuvust kirjutamisajast. The article observes literary depictions of two towns in North-East Estonia, Narva and Sillamäe, both of which were reconstructed as industrial towns after World War II, in fiction, life writing and a film script, as well as in a feature film made on the basis of the latter. The texts are simultaneously engaged in the making of landscape and creation of local memory after the region’s dramatic change caused by the war. Ida-Virumaa became an industrial region in the second half of the nineteenth century; the Kreenholm Textile factory was one of the world’s largest by the end of the century. In 1916, industrial mining for oil shale was started in North-East Estonia. Oil shale was a strategic resource in World War II as well. In 1944, with the second occupation of Estonia by the Soviet Union, uranium mining was started as a secret object of interest for the military industry. The historical town of Narva was almost completely destroyed in World War II. Few buildings were restored, while the city was filled with blocks of flats typical of the Soviet period and the historical street network was transformed significantly. Still, Narva did not become a utopian Stalinist city – in Estonia, the only example of the latter is Sillamäe, a closed city built according to an all-Union standardised project, that attempted to embody an image of Communist happiness. Postwar literary depictions of Narva have often proceeded from the baroque city centre that has become a separate symbolic site of memory. In the more recent past, different genres have started to complement one another, different periods have been compared and, as a result, representations of various spaces have received a more analytic artistic treatment that connects the pre-war period with the post-war one. The first set of texts discussed here consists of POW memoirs of the immediate post-war reconstruction works, set down some decades later. After that, contemporary reflections of the reconstruction in Soviet Estonia in the 1950s-1960s are considered. Finally, attention is paid to texts that comment on the reconstruction era from a larger temporal distance: a backward look at Soviet-time Sillamäe from 2011 (expanded edition 2014) by Andrei Hvostov, a journalist with a degree in history, who spent his childhood in the town. Hvostov’s memoirs and his short stories on similar topics that were published earlier serve as attempts at parallel interpretations of several possible local memories. A work that in a way unites all three periods is Vladimir Beekman’s novel The Narva Waterfall (1986). Its protagonist Stiina was born and grew up in Narva, left the war-ravaged city and criticises harshly the changes that have taken place in the city. The examples of memoirs, retrospective autobiographical texts and sources reflecting their contemporary period also reveal how industrial cities of the Soviet era have been depicted in different periods. An analysis of the texts discloses the transformation of the prewar landscape into an industrial one, the contradictory nature of its descriptions, as well as dependence of the latter on the time of writing. Examples are given of the possibilities of representing large-scale industrial constructions that significantly also involve not just the creation of new values but also the way of doing this – reflecting the work of the udarniki of the Young Communist League. According to Katerina Clark’s typology of Stalinist novels, one of the texts observed, the film script concerning the shock workers’ building of the Balti Thermal Power Plant to which the youth from the Young Communist League contributed, can be categorised as the most widespread and ritualised type of Soviet fiction, the so-called production novel. The selection of texts discussed in the article is by no means exhaustive and the Ida-Virumaa region may offer fruitful material for future studies using the categories of space and memory, both as regards ways of describing a real region in literature as well as analysing the stories clustered around a site of memory. The notion of a literary city emerging in the texts is broad, as areas and objects with different functions form part of it. The observed texts display an interesting conflict in spatial memory: a deliberate loss of memory induced during a certain period and the creating of something new as if into a void can be emphasised as can be using rhetorical devices to bring forth a new spatial representation, a site of memory in its own right.

IntroductionFor over five years, Romanians have been using their bodies in public spaces to challenge politicians’ disregard for the average citizen. In a region low in standards of civic engagement, such as voter turnout and petition signing, Romanian people’s “citizenship of the streets” has stopped environmentally destructive mining in 2013, ousted a corrupt cabinet in 2015, and blocked legislation legalising abuse of public office in 2017 (Solnit 214). This article explores the democratic affordances of collective resistive walking, by focusing on Romania’s capital, Bucharest. I illustrate how walking in protest of political corruption cultivates a democratic public and reconfigures city spaces as spaces of democratic engagement, in the context of increased illiberalism in the region. I examine two sites of protest: the Parliament Palace and Victoriei Square. The former is a construction emblematic of communist dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu and symbol of an authoritarian regime, whose surrounding area protestors reclaim as a civic space. The latter—a central part of the city bustling with the life of cafes, museums, bike lanes, and nearby parks—hosts the Government and has become an iconic site for pro-democratic movements. Spaces of Democracy: The Performativity of Public Assemblies Democracies are active achievements, dependent not only on the solidity of institutions —e.g., a free press and a constitution—but on people’s ability and desire to communicate about issues of concern and to occupy public space. Communicative approaches to democratic theory, formulated as inquiries into the public sphere and the plurality and evolution of publics, often return to establish the significance of public spaces and of bodies in the maintenance of our “rhetorical democracies” (Hauser). Speech and assembly, voice and space are sides of the same coin. In John Dewey’s work, communication is the main “loyalty” of democracy: the heart and final guarantee of democracy is in free gatherings of neighbors on the street corner to discuss back and forth what is read in the uncensored news of the day, and in gatherings of friends in the living rooms of houses and apartments to converse freely with one another. (Dewey qtd. in Asen 197, emphasis added) Dewey asserts the centrality of communication in the same breath that he affirms the spatial infrastructure supporting it.Historically, Richard Sennett explains, Athenian democracy has been organised around two “spaces of democracy” where people assembled: the agora or town square and the theatre or Pnyx. While the theatre has endured as the symbol of democratic communication, with its ideal of concentrated attention on the argument of one speaker, Sennett illuminates the square as an equally important space, one without which deliberation in the Pnyx would be impossible. In the agora, citizens cultivate an ability to see, expect, and think through difference. In its open architecture and inclusiveness, Sennett explains, the agora affords the walker and dweller a public space to experience, in a quick, fragmentary, and embodied way, the differences and divergences in fellow citizens. Through visual scrutiny and embodied exposure, the square thus cultivates “an outlook favorable to discussion of differing views and conflicting interests”, useful for deliberation in the Pnyx, and the capacity to recognise strangers as part of the imagined democratic community (19). Also stressing the importance of spaces for assembly, Jürgen Habermas’s historical theorisation of the bourgeois public sphere moves the functions of the agora to the modern “third places” (Oldenburg) of the civic society emerging in late seventeenth and eighteenth-century Europe: coffee houses, salons, and clubs. While Habermas’ conceptualization of a unified bourgeois public has been criticised for its class and gender exclusivism, and for its normative model of deliberation and consensus, such criticism has also opened paths of inquiry into the rhetorical pluralism of publics and into the democratic affordances of embodied performativity. Thus, unlike Habermas’s assumption of a single bourgeois public, work on twentieth and twenty-first century publics has attended to their wide variety in post-modern societies (e.g., Bruce; Butler; Delicath and DeLuca; Fraser; Harold and DeLuca; Hauser; Lewis; Mckinnon et al.; Pezzullo; Rai; Tabako). In contrast to the Habermasian close attention to verbal argumentation, such criticism prioritizes the embodied (performative, aesthetic, and material) ways in which publics manifest their attention to common issues. From suffragists to environmentalists and, most recently, anti-precarity movements across the globe, publics assemble and move through shared space, seeking to break hegemonies of media representation by creating media events of their own. In the process, Judith Butler explains, such embodied assemblies accomplish much more. They disrupt prevalent logics and dominant feelings of disposability, precarity, and anxiety, at the same time that they (re)constitute subjects and increasingly privatised spaces into citizens and public places of democracy, respectively. Butler proposes that to best understand recent protests we need to read collective assembly in the current political moment of “accelerating precarity” and responsibilisation (10). Globally, increasingly larger populations are exposed to economic insecurity and precarity through government withdrawal from labor protections and the diminishment of social services, to the profit of increasingly monopolistic business. A logic of self-investment and personal responsibility accompanies such structural changes, as people understand themselves as individual market actors in competition with other market actors rather than as citizens and community members (Brown). In this context, public assembly would enact an alternative, insisting on interdependency. Bodies, in such assemblies, signify both symbolically (their will to speak against power) and indexically. As Butler describes, “it is this body, and these bodies, that require employment, shelter, health care, and food, as well as a sense of a future that is not the future of unpayable debt” (10). Butler describes the function of these protests more fully:[P]lural enactments […] make manifest the understanding that a situation is shared, contesting the individualizing morality that makes a moral norm of economic self-sufficiency precisely […] when self-sufficiency is becoming increasingly unrealizable. Showing up, standing, breathing, moving, standing still, speech, and silence are all aspects of a sudden assembly, an unforeseen form of political performativity that puts livable life at the forefront of politics […] [T]he bodies assembled ‘say’ we are not disposable, even if they stand silently. (18)Though Romania is not included in her account of contemporary protest movements, Butler’s theoretical account aptly describes both the structural and ideological conditions, and the performativity of Romanian protestors. In Romania, citizens have started to assemble in the streets against austerity measures (2012), environmental destruction (2013), fatal infrastructures (2015) and against the government’s corruption and attempts to undermine the Judiciary (from February 2017 onward). While, as scholars have argued (Olteanu and Beyerle; Gubernat and Rammelt), political corruption has gradually crystallised into the dominant and enduring framework for the assembled publics, post-communist corruption has been part and parcel of the neoliberalisation of Central and Eastern-European societies after the fall of communism. In the region, Leslie Holmes explains, former communist elites or the nomenklatura, have remained the majority political class after 1989. With political power and under the shelter of political immunity, nomenklatura politicians “were able to take ethically questionable advantage in various ways […] of the sell-off of previously state-owned enterprises” (Holmes 12). The process through which the established political class became owners of a previously state-owned economy is known as “nomenklatura privatization”, a common form of political corruption in the region, Holmes explains (12). Such practices were common knowledge among a cynical population through most of the 1990s and the 2000s. They were not broadly challenged in an ideological milieu attached, as Mihaela Miroiu, Isabela Preoteasa, and Jerzy Szacki argued, to extreme forms of liberalism and neoliberalism, ideologies perceived by people just coming out of communism as anti-ideology. Almost three decades since the fall of communism, in the face of unyielding levels of poverty (Zaharia; Marin), the decaying state of healthcare and education (Bilefsky; “Education”), and migration rates second only to war-torn Syria (Deletant), Romanian protestors have come to attribute the diminution of life in post-communism to the political corruption of the established political class (“Romania Corruption Report”; “Corruption Perceptions”). Following systematic attempts by the nomenklatura-heavy governing coalition to undermine the judiciary and institutionalise de facto corruption of public officials (Deletant), protestors have been returning to public spaces on a weekly basis, de-normalising the political cynicism and isolation serving the established political class. Mothers Walking: Resignifying Communist Spaces, Imagining the New DemosOn 11 July 2018, a protest of mothers was streamed live by Corruption Kills (Corupția ucide), a Facebook group started by activist Florin Bădiță after a deadly nightclub fire attributed to the corruption of public servants, in 2015 (Commander). Organized protests at the time pressured the Social-Democratic cabinet into resignation. Corruption Kills has remained a key activist platform, organising assemblies, streaming live from demonstrations, and sharing personal acts of dissent, thus extending the life of embodied assemblies. In the mothers’ protest video, women carrying babies in body-wraps and strollers walk across the intersection leading to the Parliament Palace, while police direct traffic and ensure their safety (“Civil Disobedience”). This was an unusual scene for many reasons. Walkers met at the entrance to the Parliament Palace, an area most emblematic of the former regime. Built by Communist dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu and inspired by Kim Il-sung’s North Korean architecture, the current Parliament building and its surrounding plaza remain, in the words of Renata Salecl, “one of the most traumatic remnants of the communist regime” (90). The construction is the second largest administrative building in the world, after the Pentagon, a size matching the ambitions of the dictator. It bears witness to the personal and cultural sacrifices the construction and its surrounded plaza required: the displacement of some 40,000 people from old neighbourhood Uranus, the death of reportedly thousands of workers, and the flattening of churches, monasteries, hospitals, schools (Parliament Palace). This arbitrary construction carved out of the old city remains a symbol of an authoritarian relation with the nation. As Salecl puts it, Ceaușescu’s project tried to realise the utopia of a new communist “centre” and created an artificial space as removed from the rest of the city as the leader himself was from the needs of his people. Twenty-nine years after the fall of communism, the plaza of the Parliament Palace remains as suspended from the life of the city as it was during the 1980s. The trees lining the boulevard have grown slightly and bike lanes are painted over decaying stones. Still, only few people walk by the neo-classical apartment buildings now discoloured and stained by weather and time. Salecl remarks on the panoptic experience of the Parliament Palace: “observed from the avenue, [the palace] appears to have no entrance; there are only numerous windows, which give the impression of an omnipresent gaze” (95). The building embodies, for Salecl, the logic of surveillance of the communist regime, which “created the impression of omnipresence” through a secret police that rallied members among regular citizens and inspired fear by striking randomly (95).Against this geography steeped in collective memories of fear and exposure to the gaze of the state, women turn their children’s bodies and their own into performances of resistance that draw on the rhetorical force of communist gender politics. Both motherhood and childhood were heavily regulated roles under Ceaușescu’s nationalist-socialist politics of forced birth, despite the official idealisation of both. Producing children for the nationalist-communist state was women’s mandated expression of citizenship. Declaring the foetus “the socialist property of the whole society”, in 1966 Ceaușescu criminalised abortion for women of reproductive ages who had fewer than four children, and, starting 1985, less than five children (Ceaușescu qtd. in Verdery). What followed was “a national tragedy”: illegal abortions became the leading cause of death for fertile women, children were abandoned into inhumane conditions in the infamous orphanages, and mothers experienced the everyday drama of caring for families in an economy of shortages (Kligman 364). The communist politicisation of natality during communist Romania exemplifies one of the worst manifestations of the political as biopolitical. The current maternal bodies and children’s bodies circulating in the communist-iconic plaza articulate past and present for Romanians, redeploying a traumatic collective memory to challenge increasingly authoritarian ambitions of the governing Social Democratic Party. The images of caring mothers walking in protest with their babies furthers the claims that anti-corruption publics have made in other venues: that the government, in their indifference and corruption, is driving millions of people, usually young, out of the country, in a braindrain of unprecedented proportions (Ursu; Deletant; #vavedemdinSibiu). In their determination to walk during the gruelling temperatures of mid-July, in their youth and their babies’ youth, the mothers’ walk performs the contrast between their generation of engaged, persistent, and caring citizens and the docile abused subject of a past indexed by the Ceaușescu-era architecture. In addition to performing a new caring imagined community (Anderson), women’s silent, resolute walk on the crosswalk turns a lifeless geography, heavy with the architectural traces of authoritarian history, into a public space that holds democratic protest. By inhabiting the cultural role of mothers, protestors disarmed state authorities: instead of the militarised gendarmerie usually policing protestors the Victoriei Square, only traffic police were called for the mothers’ protest. The police choreographed cars and people, as protestors walked across the intersection leading to the Parliament. Drivers, usually aggressive and insouciant, now moved in concert with the protestors. The mothers’ walk, immediately modeled by people in other cities (Cluj-Napoca), reconfigured a car-dominated geography and an unreliable, driver-friendly police, into a civic space that is struggling to facilitate the citizens’ peaceful disobedience. The walkers’ assembly thus begins to constitute the civic character of the plaza, collecting “the space itself […] the pavement and […] the architecture [to produce] the public character of that material environment” (Butler 71). It demonstrates the possibility of a new imagined community of caring and persistent citizens, one significantly different from the cynical, disconnected, and survivalist subjects that the nomenklatura politicians, nested in the Panoptic Parliament nearby, would prefer.Persisting in the Victoriei Square In addition to strenuous physical walking to reclaim city spaces, such as the mothers’ walking, the anti-corruption public also practices walking and gathering in less taxing environments. The Victoriei Square is such a place, a central plaza that connects major boulevards with large sidewalks, functional bike lanes, and old trees. The square is the architectural meeting point of old and new, where communist apartments meet late nineteenth and early twentieth century architecture, in a privileged neighbourhood of villas, museums, and foreign consulates. One of these 1930s constructions is the Government building, hosting the Prime Minister’s cabinet. Demonstrators gathered here during the major protests of 2015 and 2017, and have walked, stood, and wandered in the square almost weekly since (“Past Events”). On 24 June 2018, I arrive in the Victoriei Square to participate in the protest announced on social media by Corruption Kills. There is room to move, to pause, and rest. In some pockets, people assemble to pay attention to impromptu speakers who come onto a small platform to share their ideas. Occasionally someone starts chanting “We See You!” and “Down with Corruption!” and almost everyone joins the chant. A few young people circulate petitions. But there is little exultation in the group as a whole, shared mostly among those taking up the stage or waving flags. Throughout the square, groups of familiars stop to chat. Couples and families walk their bikes, strolling slowly through the crowds, seemingly heading to or coming from the nearby park on a summer evening. Small kids play together, drawing with chalk on the pavement, or greeting dogs while parents greet each other. Older children race one another, picking up on the sense of freedom and de-centred but still purposeful engagement. The openness of the space allows one to meander and observe all these groups, performing the function of the Ancient agora: making visible the strangers who are part of the polis. The overwhelming feeling is one of solidarity. This comes partly from the possibilities of collective agency and the feeling of comfortably taking up space and having your embodiment respected, otherwise hard to come by in other spaces of the city. Everyday walking in the streets of Romanian cities is usually an exercise in hypervigilant physical prowess and self-preserving numbness. You keep your eyes on the ground to not stumble on broken pavement. You watch ahead for unmarked construction work. You live with other people’s sweat on the hot buses. You hop among cars parked on sidewalks and listen keenly for when others may zoom by. In one of the last post-socialist states to join the European Union, living with generalised poverty means walking in cities where your senses must be dulled to manage the heat, the dust, the smells, and the waiting, irresponsive to beauty and to amiable sociality. The euphemistic vocabulary of neoliberalism may describe everyday walking through individualistic terms such as “grit” or “resilience.” And while people are called to effort, creativity, and endurance not needed in more functional states, what one experiences is the gradual diminution of one’s lives under a political regime where illiberalism keeps a citizen-serving democracy at bay. By contrast, the Victoriei Square holds bodies whose comfort in each other’s presence allow us to imagine a political community where survivalism, or what Lauren Berlant calls “lateral agency”, are no longer the norm. In “showing up, standing, breathing, moving, standing still […] an unforeseen form of political performativity that puts livable life at the forefront of politics” is enacted (Butler 18). In arriving to Victoriei Square repeatedly, Romanians demonstrate that there is room to breathe more easily, to engage with civility, and to trust the strangers in their country. They assert that they are not disposable, even if a neoliberal corrupt post-communist regime would have them otherwise.ConclusionBecoming a public, as Michael Warner proposes, is an ongoing process of attention to an issue, through the circulation of discourse and self-organisation with strangers. For the anti-corruption public of Romania’s past years, such ongoing work is accompanied by persistent, civil, embodied collective assembly, in an articulation of claims, bodies, and spaces that promotes a material agency that reconfigures the city and the imagined Romanian community into a more democratic one. The Romanian citizenship of the streets is particularly significant in the current geopolitical and ideological moment. In the region, increasing authoritarianism meets the alienating logics of neoliberalism, both trying to reduce citizens to disposable, self-reliant, and disconnected market actors. Populist autocrats—Recep Tayyip Erdogan in Turkey, the Peace and Justice Party in Poland, and recently E.U.-penalized Victor Orban, in Hungary—are dismantling the system of checks and balances, and posing threats to a European Union already challenged by refugee debates and Donald Trump’s unreliable alliance against authoritarianism. In such a moment, the Romanian anti-corruption public performs within the geographies of their city solidarity and commitment to democracy, demonstrating an alternative to the submissive and disconnected subjects preferred by authoritarianism and neoliberalism.Author's NoteIn addition to the anonymous reviewers, the author would like to thank Mary Tuominen and Jesse Schlotterbeck for their helpful comments on this essay.ReferencesAnderson, Benedict R. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 2016.Asen, Robert. “A Discourse Theory of Citizenship.” Quarterly Journal of Speech 90.2 (2004): 189-211. 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Disclaimer: The situation on PixelCanvas is constantly changing due to raids from both sides. The figures in this article represent the state as of April 2020. In the politicized digital environment, the superiority of the alt-right’s weaponization of memes is often taken for granted. As summarized in the buzzword-phrase “the left can’t meme”, the digital engagements of self-identified leftist activists are usually seen as less effective than the ones of the right: their attempts at utilizing Internet culture described as too “politically correct” and “devoid of humour”. This supposedly “immutable law of the Internet” (Dankulous Memeulon) often found confirmation in research.Described by Phillips and Milner, Internet culture – “a highly insular clique”, now seeping into popular culture – is by design rooted in liberalism and fetishized sight. Through its principles of “free speech”, “harmless fun”, and dehumanizing detachment of memes from real-life production and consequence, meme-sharing was enabling deception, “bigoted pollution”, and reinforcing white racial frames, regardless of intentions (Phillips and Milner). From Andersson to Nagle, many come to the conclusion that the left’s presence online is simply not organized, not active, not transgressive enough to appeal to the sensibilities of Internet culture. Meanwhile, the playful, deceptive online engagements of the alt-right are found to be increasingly viral, set to recruit numerous young rebels, hence upholding a cultural hegemony which has already transcended over to the offline world. This online right style is one where a rejection of morality and nihilistic nonconformity reign supreme – all packaged in carnivalesque laughter and identity-bending “trolling” (Nagle 28-39). Even if counterculture and transgression used to be domains of the left, nowadays the nihilistic, fetishizing landscape of online humour is popularized via alt-right aligned message boards like 4chan (Nagle 28-39).Left-wing alternatives, encompassed by Nagle in the term “Tumblr liberalism”, were often described as “fragmented” through identitarianism and call-out-culture, enclosed in echo chambers, “nannying, language policing, and authoritarian” (68-85). This categorization has been rightfully criticized for reductionism that lumps together diverse political strands, focuses on form only, and omits the importance of subcultural logic in its caricature of the censorious left (Davies). However, it would be difficult to deny that this is exactly how the online left is, unfortunately, often perceived by the right and liberals/centrists alike, evidenced by its niche quality.The solutions to the problem of the right’s dominance in the memeosphere – and their Gramscian cultural hegemony – offered by Phillips and Milner could include disavowing fetishized sight while maintaining “slapdash, quippy, and Internet Ugly” qualities to deconstruct meme culture’s whiteness; Davies suggests that “if the left is to have the same degree of success in translating online cultures into political movements then it needs to understand both the online world and its own IRL history”.Nonetheless, some strands of the online left have been rather close in style and form to the ones of the alt-right, despite their clear difference of “stance” (Shifman 367). In this article, I demonstrate an example of a multi-faceted, united, witty, and countercultural meme leftism on PixelCanvas.io (PixelCanvas): a nearly unlimited online canvas, where anyone can place coloured pixels with an obligatory cooldown time after each. Intended for creative expression, PixelCanvas became a site of click-battles between organized dichotomous extremes of the left and the alt-right, and is swarmed with political imagery. The right’s use of this platform has been already examined by Thibault, well-fitting into the consensus about the efficiency of right-wing online activity. My focus is the rebuttal of alt-right imagery that the radical left replaces with their own.With a brief account of PixelCanvas’s affordances and recounting the recent history of its culture wars, I trace the hybrid leftist activity on PixelCanvas to argue that it is comparably grounded in dissimulation and transgression to the alt-right’s. Based on the case study, I explore how certain strands of online left might reappropriate the carnivalesque, deceptive, and countercultural meme culture sensibilities and forms, while simultaneously rejecting its “bigoted pollution” (Phillips and Milner) aspects. While arguably problematic, these new strategies might be necessary to combat the alt-right’s hegemony in the meme environment – and by extension, in popular culture.PixelCanvas as a Metapolitical Platform of Culture WarsPixelCanvas affords a blend of 4chan-style open-access, no-login anonymity and the importance of organized collective effort. As described by Thibault, it is an “online ‘game’ that allows players to colour pixels ..., either collaborating or competing for the control of the shared space” (102). The obligatory cooldown period on PixelCanvas results in most of the works requiring either dedication of long periods of time or collaboration: as such, the majority of canvas art has a “shared authorship” (102). As a space for creative expression, PixelCanvas encourages expressing aspects of genuine personal identity (political views, sexuality, etc.) albeit reduced to symbols and memes that rarely remain personal. Although the primary medium of information transfer on the platform is visual, brief written catchphrases are also utilized. While the canvas is not lacking in free areas, competition for space is prevalent: between political viewpoints, nationalist groups (Bakalım), and other communities (PixelCanvas.io).Given this setup, it might be expected that battling for hegemony took over the game. The affordances of PixelCanvas as accepting anonymous unmoderated expressions of identity/political views encourage dissimulation similarly to boards such as 4chan; its immediate visual/one-liner focus overlaps with the prerequisites of meme culture. Meanwhile, the game’s competition aspect leads to large-scale organization of polarized metapolitical groups and to imagery that is increasingly larger, more taboo-breaking, and playful: meant to catch the eye of a viewer before the opponents do. PixelCanvas, as such, is a platform fitting into transgressive, trolling, fetishizing, and “liberal” affordances of Internet culture: the same affordances that made it, according to Nagle or Phillips and Milner, into a space of desensitized white supremacy and right-wing dominance.Such a setup may seem to work in favour of the 4chan-style raids and against the supposed identitarianism of “Tumblr liberalism”. One could recall the importance of united collective efforts on 4chan: from meme-sharing to Gamergate raids (Beran). Meanwhile, suggested by Citarella, a problem of the online left is its fragmentation, and its “poorly organized and smaller followings” (10). As he observed on Politigram, “DemSocs, Syndicalists, ML’s, AnComs, … and so on, all hated each other. The online right was equally divided but managed to coordinate cultural agitations” (Citarella 10).Indeed, the platform displayed the effects of alt-right virality multiple times, involving creations of self-identified Kekistanis (KnowYourMeme), anarcho-capitalists, 4chan-aligned “bronies” (My Little Pony fans), etc. However, since 2017, the left joined the game, becoming another example of a united, well-organized and strongly participatory group, which continuously resists alt-right attacks and establishes its own raids, often gaining an upper hand.Named “Battle of Pixelgrad”, the influx of leftist activity began to combat the forming Reich Iron Cross posted by “a user on 4chan's /pol/” which has caught the attention of Leftbook/meme groups and subreddits (PLK Wiki) (Wrigley). The groups involved spanned “all beliefs under a unified socialist umbrella” (Pixel Liberation Front) ranging from communism through anarchism subtypes to identity politics: all associating with the “left unity” flag that they replaced the Iron Cross with. Their efforts against alt-right raids were coordinated through Discord servers and a public Facebook group. Soon, a Facebook page for Left Unity Fighting Front (LUFF) was set up, with the PixelCanvas flag in the banner and the description: “We decided to form the new rival of 4chan, LUFF. We are the new united front of the internet. Promoting left unity, trolling Nazis, and taking on sectarianism.”Figure 1: The ’Left Unity’ flag. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1554,3594.The concept of left unity has been criticised before, as one that would lead to “the co-optation of anarchism under a Marxist leadership”, charged with the history of anarchist-Bolshevik clashes in USSR, and marred by a “lack of willingness among some Marxists to actually engage with anarchists in legitimate debate” (Springer). Still, the PixelCanvas left unity is one of the rare instances of Marxist, anarchist, and other leftist online groups working together on rather equal grounds, without cracking down on discourse and historical contexts: which is afforded by a subcultural logic and focus on combating a common enemy. The PixelCanvas leftists support common projects, readily bending their beliefs/ identity to create an efficient community that can resist 4chan: self-identifying as an “allyship” with anonymous “soldiers”/comrades belonging together on the left side of the pixel “war” (Pixel Liberation Front). While the diversity of their beliefs is made clear through the variously aligned flags/thinkers they choose to represent with pixels, the union stands without in-fighting, emulating simplistic versions of history as a dichotomous struggle between left and right (which deliberately rejects centrism): from Nazi/communist battles to Cold War imagery. Although reductionist, this us/them thinking is especially necessary in the visual, time-sensitive, and competitive space of PixelCanvas. No matter how extreme the common projects are, what matters in the pixel war is camaraderie and defeating the enemy in the most striking manner possible. After all, the setup of the platform (and the immediacy of Internet culture) supports attention- grabbing transgression and memes better than nuanced discourse. Figure 2: Representation of the left uniting against Nazism and anarcho-capitalism. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-143,-782.As of April 2020, hardly any Nazi/4chan/ancap imagery on PixelCanvas stands without being challenged by the Left Unity. Although some of the groups involved in Pixelgrad do not exist anymore, Discord servers (e.g. RedPixel) and Pixel Liberation Front (PLF) Facebook group remain, defending the platform from continued raids. These coordinating bodies are easily accessible to anyone willing to contribute (shall one wish for complete anonymity, they are also free to participate without joining the servers). Their efforts could be understood as “clicktivism” (Halupka); however, the involved leftists view it as a “war” (PLF) or “Memeolution” (Wrigley), an important way in which the “virality of right-wing populism” (Thibault) must be resisted. This use of language highlights their serious awareness of the need for combating the right’s digital hegemony, no matter how playful their activity seems.Even if this phenomenon is specific to PixelCanvas, one should acknowledge that the identity-bending unity of the left has been enough to challenge continued raids. Niche practices, as seen through 4chan, might break into the mainstream: according to Hobson and Modi, online spaces “are a rich recruiting ground for previously antithetical/apolitical young people” (345) who find refuge in memes and trolling. The agenda of the PixelCanvas left (counterplatforming activism) in this case differs from 4chan’s. However, the forms they assume to reach their goal are often “pithy, funny, or particularly striking” enough to potentially make one “pause to think, and/or laugh” (Hobson and Modi 345) regardless of political alignment.The Form, Content, and Stance of PixelCanvas Left ActivityDespite the unity in the organization of the PixelCanvas left, the approaches/strategies of its various pixel artworks are far from uniform. At the first sight, the creations of RedPixel members already appear as a multi-faceted (and potentially confusing) mixture of serious real-life agenda and playful Internet culture. Guided by Shifman’s communication-oriented typology of memes, I analyze the different “contents, forms, and stances” (367) that the PixelCanvas left displays in its creations. For analytical clarity, I distinguish three main approaches which overlap and play various roles in contributing to the collective image of RedPixel as simultaneously activist, serious, inclusive, and Internet-culture-savvy, transgressive, deceptive.The first approach of PixelCanvas leftist creations is most serious and least grounded in Internet culture. A portion of RedPixel activity directly reproduces real-life protest chants, posters, flags, murals, movement symbols, and portraits of leftist icons, with little alteration to the form other than pixelating. The contents of such creations vary, however, they remain serious and focused on real-life issues: voicing support for contemporary leftist movements (Black Lives Matter, pro-refugee, Rojava liberation, etc.), celebrating the countercultural, class-centric leftist history (anarchist, communist, socialist victories, thinkers, and revolutionaries), and representing a plethora of identities within hyper-inclusive flag clusters (of various sexualities, genders, and ethnicities). The stance of these images can be plausibly interpreted as charged with serious/genuine “keying” (Shifman 367), and “conative” (imperative) or “emotive” (367) functions. Within those images, the meme culture’s problematic affordances (“fetishization” and “liberalism” (Phillips and Milner)) are disavowed clearly: exemplified by a banner on the site suggesting that “just a meme” mentality created a shield for “meme Nazis” that led to the 2019 Christchurch mosque shooting. Although this strand of RedPixel’s works could be criticized as “humourless” and rather detached from the platform’s affordances, its role lies in displaying the connection to the real world with potential suggestions for mobilization, the awareness of meme culture’s problematic nature, and the image of radical left cooperation. Figure 3: The Christchurch memorial. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-2815,3321. Figure 4: Posters and symbols in support of Rojava, Palestine liberation, and Black Lives Matter. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@5340,4121. Figure 5: Early Paris Commune poster reproduced on PixelCanvas. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@7629,2134. Figure 6: Example of a PixelCanvas hyper-inclusive flag cluster. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@2741,-3508.The second approach, while similar in the diversity of content, adopts memetic forms, and the light-hearted “harmless fun” of Internet culture. Through popular meme formats (molded to call for action), slang expressions, pop-cultural references (anime/cartoon/video game characters), to adopting “cutesy” aesthetics, these creations present identity politics, anti-fascism, and anti-capitalism in a light, aestheticized form. Popular characters, colourful art, and repetitive base colour schemes (red, black, rainbow) are likely to attract attention; recognition of the pop-cultural references, and of known meme formats might sustain it, urging one to focus on the only uncertain element: the politics behind it. Being visually and contextually appealing to online youth, this political-memetic imagery is well-adapted to the platform. Simultaneously, the carnivalesque forms contrast with the frequently more transgressive contents this approach employs. As a result, the tone of their work seems lighthearted even in its incitement to “kill the Nazis” and “eat the rich”. Clearly aware of the language of its opposition, RedPixel reacts similarly to how 4chan reacted to Tumblr liberalism: responding to “lightly thrown accusations” (Nagle) by intensifying them to the point where they can be seen as “owning” the labels they have been given – instead of “getting offended”. Through memes and reappropriated posters they present themselves as “Red Menace,” as a direct threat to 4channers, and as a “trigger-warning” club, using the existing criticisms to self-identify as formidable enemies of the right. While the transgression in RedPixel style often remains acceptable by radical left standards, it is certainly not the same as “virtue signalling”, “hypersensitive”, “vulnerable” Tumblr liberalism (Nagle 68–85); and it might be shocking or amoral to some. Much of their imagery is provocative: inciting violence, glorifying deeply problematic parts of communist history, using religious symbols in a potentially blasphemous way, supporting occultism/ Satanism, and explicitly amplifying (queer) sexuality. In the mix of (sometimes) extreme contents and forms that suggest a light-hearted attitude, it might be difficult to determine the keying of their stance. Although it is unlikely that RedPixel would avow politics they do not actually believe (given the activist, anti-fetishizing agenda of their first approach), their political choices are frequently amplified to their full “tankie” form, and even up to Stalin support: raising the question how much of it is serious intent masked with humour, and what could be written off as deliberate identity play, deceptive “trolling” and jokes, similar in style to 4chan’s. Figure 7: Revolution-inciting appropriation of a popular meme format. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1765,3376. Figure 8: Fictional characters Stevonnie (Steven Universe) and Cirno (Touhou) with leftist captions. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-847,-748. Figure 9: Call for fighting fascism referencing a Pacman video game and Karl Marx. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-712,-395. Figure 10: Joseph Stalin reimagined as a My Little Pony character. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1197,966. Figure 11: “A spectre is haunting Kekistan.” Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-2196,3248. Figure 12: “Trigger Warning Gun Club” badge. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@2741,-3508.Figure 13: “Have you heard that Nazis get vored?” anime catgirl. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@1684,928. Figure 14: Rainbow genitals on a former Kekistan flag. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-2513,3221. Figure 15: “Eat the Rich — OK Boomer” wizard ghost. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-4390,-697.The third approach can be read as a subset of the second: however, what distinguishes it is a clearly parodic stance and reappropriating of 4chan’s forms. The PixelCanvas activists, unlike the supposed “anti-free speech” left (Lukianoff and Haidt) do not try to get the alt-right imagery removed by others, and do not fully erase it. Instead, they repurpose 4chan memes and flags, ridiculing them or making them stand for leftist views. An unaware viewer could mistake their parodies of 4chan for parodies of the left made by 4chaners; the true stance sometimes only suggested by their placement within RedPixel-reclaimed areas. Communist and LGBTQ+ Pepes or Ponies, modified Kekistan flags, and even claiming that “the right can’t meme” all point to an interesting trend that instead of banning symbols associated with alt-right groups wants to exploit the malleability of memes: confusing and parodying their original content and stance while maintaining the form and style. This aim is perhaps best exemplified in the image The Greatest Game of Capture the Flag where Pepes in anarcho-communist, communist, and transgender Pride hoodies are escaping from a crying white man while carrying a 4chan flag. Interpreted in context, this image summarizes the new direction that leftists take against 4chan. This is a direction of left unity (with various strands of radical left maintaining their identities but establishing an overarching collective “allyship” identification), of mixing identity politics with classic ideologies, of reconciling Internet culture with IRL socio-political awareness, and finally, of reappropriating proven-effective play, dissimulation, and transgression from 4chan. Figure 16: Pride flag cluster with Pride-coloured Pepes. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1599,3516. Figure 17: Communist/anarchist thinkers and leaders reimagined as Pepes. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1885,3203. Figure 18: “The Right Can’t Meme.” Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1885,3203. Figure 19: The reclaimed Kekistan area. Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-2439,3210. Figure 20: “The Greatest Game of Capture the Flag.” Source: https://pixelcanvas.io/@-1885,3203.ConclusionThe PixelCanvas left can serve as an example of a united stronghold which managed to counterplatform the alt-right: assuming dominance in 2017 to later rebuild and expand their pixel spheres of influence after each 4chan raid. Online culture wars are nowadays recognized as Gramscian in their roots: according to Burton, “the young people confronting this reactionary shift head-on with memes normalizing are … on the front lines of a culture war with global repercussions” (13). By far, this “war” for digital hegemony has been overwhelmingly evaluated as one that the alt-right is simply better at, due to the natural affordances of Internet culture. However, the “united front of the internet” “promoting left unity and trolling Nazis” (LUFF) exemplifies a possible direction which the online radical left could follow to take on 4chan’s digital dominance. This direction is complex and hybrid: with overlapping/combined approaches. The activities of PixelCanvas left include practices that are well-adapted to the immediate meme culture and those based on IRL movements; practices similar to 4chan’s problematic transgression and those that are activist, disavowing fetishized sight; serious practices and deceptive/ironic ones. Their 2017 PixelCanvas victory and later resistance persisting despite continuing raids might suggest that this strategy works, with the key to its coordination laying in the subcultural logic of an “allyship” that privileges fast-paced mobilization and swift comebacks over careful nuance: necessitated by meme culture affordances. Although only time can prove if this new left digital language will become more widespread, it has the potential to become an alternative to “hypersensitive Tumblr liberalism” and to challenge the idea that meme culture is doomed to be right-wing.ReferencesAndersson, Linus. “No Digital ‘Castles in the Air’: Online Non-Participation and the Radical Left.” Media and Communication 4.4 (2016): 53–62.Bakalım, Seyret. “Pixel io Türkiye vs Brezilya [Turkey vs Brazil] Pixel War.” YouTube, 23 June 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsPHVNpB8Hg>.Beran, Dale. “4chan: The Skeleton Key to the Rise of Trump.” Medium, 14 Feb. 2017. <https://medium.com/@DaleBeran/4chan-the-skeleton-key-to-the-rise-of-trump-624e7cb798cb>.Burton, Julian. “Look at Us, We Have Anxiety: Youth, Memes, and the Power of Online Cultural Politics.” Journal of Childhood Studies 44.3 (2019): 3–17.Dankulous Memeulon. “The Left Can’t Meme.” UrbanDictionary, 11 May 2018. <https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=The%20Left%20can%27t%20Meme>.Davies, Josh. “Tumblr Liberalism’ vs the Serious Authentic Left: On Angela Nagle’s Kill All Normies.” Ceasefire Magazine, 8 Sep. 2017. <https://ceasefiremagazine.co.uk/tumblr-liberalism-authentic-left-review-kill-normies/>.Halupka, Max. “Clicktivism: A Systematic Heuristic.” Policy & Internet 6.2 (2014): 115–32.Hobson, Thomas, and Kaajal Modi. “Socialist Imaginaries and Queer Futures: Memes as Sites of Collective Imagining.” Post Memes: Seizing the Memes of Production. Eds. Alfie Bown and Dan Bristow. New York: Punctum Books, 2019. 327–52.KnowYourMeme. “Kekistan.” KnowYourMeme, 2017. <https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/kekistan>.Left Unity Fighting Front. “About.” Facebook, 6 July 2017. <https://www.facebook.com/pg/LeftUnityFightingFront/about/>.Lukianoff, Greg, and Jonathan Haidt. The Coddling of the American Mind. New York: Penguin Books, 2018.Nagle, Angela. Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars from 4chan and Tumblr to Trump and the Alt-Right. Winchester, Washington: Zero Books, 2017.Phillips, Whitney, and Ryan M. Milner. “The Root of All Memes.” You Are Here, 27 Apr. 2020. <https://you-are-here.pubpub.org/pub/wsl350qp/release/1>.PixelCanvas. <https://pixelcanvas.io/>.PixelCanvas.io. “PixelCanvas.io | The Death of Pac-Man - The Void vs SDLG.” YouTube, 19 June 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gV70eV38z3A>.Pixel Liberation Front. “About.” Facebook, 8 June 2017. <https://www.facebook.com/groups/1933096136902765/about/>.PLK Wiki. “Battle of Pixelgrad.” PLK Wiki, 2017. <https://plk.fandom.com/wiki/Battle_of_Pixelgrad>.QueenButtrix. “Brocialist.” Urban Dictionary, 18 Sep. 2016. <https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=brocialist>.Shifman, Limor. “Memes in a Digital World: Reconciling with a Conceptual Troublemaker.” Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication 18.3 (2013): 362–377.Springer, Simon. “Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Anarchist? Rejecting Left Unity and Raising Hell in Radical Geography.” Anarchist Studies, 28 Jan. 2018. <https://anarchiststudies.noblogs.org/whos-afraid-of-the-big-bad-anarchist-rejecting-left-unity-and-raising-hell-in-radical-geography/>.Thibault, Mattia. “A Picture of the Internet: Conflict, Power and Politics on Pixelcanvas.” Virality and Morphogenesis of Right-Wing Internet Populism. Eds. Eva Kimminich and Julius Erdmann. Berlin: Peter Lang, 2018. 102–12.TheCissKing. “Tucute.” Urban Dictionary, 17 Jan. 2019. <https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=tucute>.Wrigley, Jack. “Battle of Pixelgrad.” YouTube, 24 July 2017. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJa1Hi2j1_E>.

This article explores how fat women protesting challenges norms of womanhood, the place of women in society, and who has the power to have their say in public spaces. We use the term fat as a political reclamation; Fat Studies scholars and fat activists prefer the term fat, over the normative term “overweight” and the pathologising term “obese/obesity” (Lee and Pausé para 3). Who is and who isn’t fat, we suggest, is best left to self-determination, although it is generally accepted by fat activists that the term is most appropriately adopted by individuals who are unable to buy clothes in any store they choose. Using a tweet from conservative commentator Ann Coulter as a leaping-off point, we examine the narratives around women in the public sphere and explore how fat bodies might transgress further the norms set by society. The public representations of women in politics and protest are then are set in the context of ‘activist wisdom’ (Maddison and Scalmer) from two sides of the globe. Activist wisdom gives preference to the lived knowledge and experience of activists as tools to understand social movements. It seeks to draw theoretical implications from the practical actions of those on the ground. In centring the experiences of ourselves and other activists, we hope to expand existing understandings of body politics, gender, and political power in this piece. It is important in researching social movements to look both at the representations of protest and protestors in all forms of media as this is the ‘public face’ of movements, but also to examine the reflections of the individuals who collectively put their weight behind bringing social change.A few days after the 45th President of the United States was elected, people around the world spilled into the streets and participated in protests; precursors to the Women’s March which would take place the following January. Pictures of such marches were shared via social media, demonstrating the worldwide protest against the racism, misogyny, and overall oppressiveness, of the newly elected leader. Not everyone was supportive of these protests though; one such conservative commentator, Ann Coulter, shared this tweet: Image1: A tweet from Ann Coulter; the tweet contains a picture of a group of protestors, holding signs protesting Trump, white supremacy, and for the rights of immigrants. In front of the group, holding a megaphone is a woman. Below the picture, the text reads, “Without fat girls, there would be no protests”.Coulter continued on with two more tweets, sharing pictures of other girls protesting and suggesting that the protestors needed a diet programme. Kivan Bay (“Without Fat Girls”) suggested that perhaps Coulter was implying that skinny girls do not have time to protest because they are too busy doing skinny girl things, like buying jackets or trying on sweaters. Or perhaps Coulter was arguing that fat girls are too visible, too loud, and too big, to be taken seriously in their protests. These tweets provide a point of illustration for how fat women protesting challenge norms of womanhood, the place of women in society, and who has the power to have their say in public spaces While Coulter’s tweet was most likely intended as a hostile personal attack on political grounds, we find it useful in its foregrounding of gender, bodies and protest which we consider in this article, beginning with a review of fat girls’ role in social justice movements.Across the world, we can point to fat women who engage in activism related to body politics and more. Australian fat filmmaker and activist Kelli Jean Drinkwater makes documentaries, such as Aquaporko! and Nothing to Lose, that queer fat embodiment and confronts body norms. Newly elected Ontario MPP Jill Andrew has been fighting for equal rights for queer people and fat people in Canada for decades. Nigerian Latasha Ngwube founded About That Curvy Life, Africa’s leading body positive and empowerment site, and has organised plus-size fashion show events at Heineken Lagos Fashion and Design Week in Nigeria in 2016 and the Glitz Africa Fashion Week in Ghana in 2017. Fat women have been putting their bodies on the line for the rights of others to live, work, and love. American Heather Heyer was protesting the hate that white nationalists represent and the danger they posed to her friends, family, and neighbours when she died at a rally in Charlottesville, North Carolina in late 2017 (Caron). When Heyer was killed by one of those white nationalists, they declared that she was fat, and therefore her body size was lauded loudly as justification for her death (Bay, “How Nazis Use”; Spangler).Fat women protesting is not new. For example, the Fat Underground was a group of “radical fat feminist women”, who split off from the more conservative NAAFA (National Association to Aid Fat Americans) in the 1970s (Simic 18). The group educated the public about weight science, harassed weight-loss companies, and disrupted academic seminars on obesity. The Fat Underground made their first public appearance at a Women’s Equality Day in Los Angeles, taking over the stage at the public event to accuse the medical profession of murdering Cass Elliot, the lead singer of the folk music group, The Mamas and the Papas (Dean and Buss). In 1973, the Fat Underground produced the Fat Liberation Manifesto. This Manifesto began by declaring that they believed “that fat people are full entitled to human respect and recognition” (Freespirit and Aldebaran 341).Women have long been disavowed, or discouraged, from participating in the public sphere (Ginzberg; van Acker) or seen as “intruders or outsiders to the tough world of politics” (van Acker 118). The feminist slogan the personal is political was intended to shed light on the role that women needed to play in the public spheres of education, employment, and government (Caha 22). Across the world, the acceptance of women within the public sphere has been varied due to cultural, political, and religious, preferences and restrictions (Agenda Feminist Media Collective). Limited acceptance of women in the public sphere has historically been granted by those ‘anointed’ by a male family member or patron (Fountaine 47).Anti-feminists are quick to disavow women being in public spaces, preferring to assign them the role as helpmeet to male political elite. As Schlafly (in Rowland 30) notes: “A Positive Woman cannot defeat a man in a wrestling or boxing match, but she can motivate him, inspire him, encourage him, teach him, restrain him, reward him, and have power over him that he can never achieve over her with all his muscle.” This idea of women working behind the scenes has been very strong in New Zealand where the ‘sternly worded’ letter is favoured over street protest. An acceptable route for women’s activism was working within existing political institutions (Grey), with activity being ‘hidden’ inside government offices such as the Ministry of Women’s Affairs (Schuster, 23). But women’s movement organisations that engage in even the mildest form of disruptive protest are decried (Grey; van Acker).One way women have been accepted into public space is as the moral guardians or change agents of the entire political realm (Bliss; Ginzberg; van Acker; Ledwith). From the early suffrage movements both political actors and media representations highlighted women were more principled and conciliatory than men, and in many cases had a moral compass based on restraint. Cartoons showed women in the suffrage movement ‘sweeping up’ and ‘cleaning house’ (Sheppard 123). Groups like the Women’s Christian Temperance Union were celebrated for protesting against the demon drink and anti-pornography campaigners like Patricia Bartlett were seen as acceptable voices of moral reason (Moynihan). And as Cunnison and Stageman (in Ledwith 193) note, women bring a “culture of femininity to trade unions … an alternative culture, derived from the particularity of their lives as women and experiences of caring and subordination”. This role of moral guardian often derived from women as ‘mothers’, responsible for the physical and moral well-being of the nation.The body itself has been a sight of protest for women including fights for bodily autonomy in their medical decisions, reproductive justice, and to live lives free from physical and sexual abuse, have long been met with criticisms of being unladylike or inappropriate. Early examples decried in NZ include the women’s clothing movement which formed part of the suffrage movement. In the second half of the 20th century it was the freedom trash can protests that started the myth of ‘women burning their bras’ which defied acceptable feminine norms (Sawer and Grey). Recent examples of women protesting for body rights include #MeToo and Time’s Up. Both movements protest the lack of bodily autonomy women can assert when men believe they are entitled to women’s bodies for their entertainment, enjoyment, and pleasure. And both movements have received considerable backlash by those who suggest it is a witch hunt that might ensnare otherwise innocent men, or those who are worried that the real victims are white men who are being left behind (see Garber; Haussegger). Women who advocate for bodily autonomy, including access to contraception and abortion, are often held up as morally irresponsible. As Archdeacon Bullock (cited in Smyth 55) asserted, “A woman should pay for her fun.”Many individuals believe that the stigma and discrimination fat people face are the consequences they sow from their own behaviours (Crandall 892); that fat people are fat because they have made poor decisions, being too indulgent with food and too lazy to exercise (Crandall 883). Therefore, fat people, like women, should have to pay for their fun. Fat women find themselves at this intersection, and are often judged more harshly for their weight than fat men (Tiggemann and Rothblum). Examining Coulter’s tweet with this perspective in mind, it can easily be read as an attempt to put fat girl protestors back into their place. It can also be read as a warning. Don’t go making too much noise or you may be labelled as fat. Presenting troublesome women as fat has a long history within political art and depictions. Marianne (the symbol of the French Republic) was depicted as fat and ugly; she also reinforced an anti-suffragist position (Chenut 441). These images are effective because of our societal views on fatness (Kyrölä). Fatness is undesirable, unworthy of love and attention, and a representation of poor character, lack of willpower, and an absence of discipline (Murray 14; Pausé, “Rebel Heart” para 1).Fat women who protest transgress rules around body size, gender norms, and the appropriate place for women in society. Take as an example the experiences of one of the authors of this piece, Sandra Grey, who was thrust in to political limelight nationally with the Campaign for MMP (Grey and Fitzsimmons) and when elected as the President of the New Zealand Tertiary Education Union in 2011. Sandra is a trade union activist who breaches too many norms set for the “good woman protestor,” as well as the norms for being a “good fat woman”. She looms large on a stage – literally – and holds enough power in public protest to make a crowd of 7,000 people “jump to left”, chant, sing, and march. In response, some perceive Sandra less as a tactical and strategic leader of the union movement, and more as the “jolly fat woman” who entertains, MCs, and leads public events. Though even in this role, she has been criticised for being too loud, too much, too big.These criticisms are loudest when Sandra is alongside other fat female bodies. When posting on social media photos with fellow trade union members the comments often note the need of the group to “go on a diet”. The collective fatness also brings comments about “not wanting to fuck any of that group of fat cows”. There is something politically and socially dangerous about fat women en masse. This was behind the responses to Sandra’s first public appearance as the President of TEU when one of the male union members remarked “Clearly you have to be a fat dyke to run this union.” The four top elected and appointed positions in the TEU have been women for eight years now and both their fatness and perceived sexuality present as a threat in a once male-dominated space. Even when not numerically dominant, unions are public spaces dominated by a “masculine culture … underpinned by the undervaluation of ‘women’s worth’ and notions of womanhood ‘defined in domesticity’” (Cockburn in Kirton 273-4). Sandra’s experiences in public space show that the derision and methods of putting fat girls back in their place varies dependent on whether the challenge to power is posed by a single fat body with positional power and a group of fat bodies with collective power.Fat Girls Are the FutureOn the other side of the world, Tara Vilhjálmsdóttir is protesting to change the law in Iceland. Tara believes that fat people should be protected against discrimination in public and private settings. Using social media such as Facebook and Instagram, Tara takes her message, and her activism, to her thousands of followers (Keller, 434; Pausé, “Rebel Heart”). And through mainstream media, she pushes back on fatphobia rhetoric and applies pressure on the government to classify weight as a protected status under the law.After a lifetime of living “under the oppression of diet culture,” Tara began her activism in 2010 (Vilhjálmsdóttir). She had suffered real harm from diet culture, developing an eating disorder as a teen and being told through her treatment for it that her fears as a fat woman – that she had no future, that fat people experienced discrimination and stigma – were unfounded. But Tara’s lived experiences demonstrated fat stigma and discrimination were real.In 2012, she co-founded the Icelandic Association for Body Respect, which promotes body positivity and fights weight stigma in Iceland. The group uses a mixture of real life and online tools; organising petitions, running campaigns against the Icelandic version of The Biggest Loser, and campaigning for weight to be a protected class in the Icelandic constitution. The Association has increased the visibility of the dangers of diet culture and the harm of fat stigma. They laid the groundwork that led to changing the human rights policy for the city of Reykjavík; fat people cannot be discriminated against in employment settings within government jobs. As the city is one of the largest employers in the country, this was a large step forward for fat rights.Tara does receive her fair share of hate messages; she’s shared that she’s amazed at the lengths people will go to misunderstand what she is saying (Vilhjálmsdóttir). “This isn’t about hurt feelings; I’m not insulted [by fat stigma]. It’s about [fat stigma] affecting the livelihood of fat people and the structural discrimination they face” (Vilhjálmsdóttir). She collects the hateful comments she receives online through screenshots and shares them in an album on her page. She believes it is important to keep a repository to demonstrate to others that the hatred towards fat people is real. But the hate she receives only fuels her work more. As does the encouragement she receives from people, both in Iceland and abroad. And she is not alone; fat activists across the world are using Web 2.0 tools to change the conversation around fatness and demand civil rights for fat people (Pausé, “Rebel Heart”; Pausé, “Live to Tell").Using Web 2.0 tools as a way to protest and engage in activism is an example of oppositional technologics; a “political praxis of resistance being woven into low-tech, amateur, hybrid, alternative subcultural feminist networks” (Garrison 151). Fat activists use social media to engage in anti-assimilationist activism and build communities of practice online in ways that would not be possible in real life (Pausé, “Express Yourself” 1). This is especially useful for those whose protests sit at the intersections of oppressions (Keller 435; Pausé, “Rebel Heart” para 19). Online protests have the ability to travel the globe quickly, providing opportunities for connections between protests and spreading protests across the globe, such as SlutWalks in 2011-2012 (Schuster 19). And online spaces open up unlimited venues for women to participate more freely in protest than other forms (Harris 479; Schuster 16; Garrison 162).Whether online or offline, women are represented as dangerous in the political sphere when they act without male champions breaching norms of femininity, when their involvement challenges the role of woman as moral guardians, and when they make the body the site of protest. Women must ‘do politics’ politely, with utmost control, and of course caringly; that is they must play their ‘designated roles’. Whether or not you fit the gendered norms of political life affects how your protest is perceived through the media (van Acker). Coulter’s tweet loudly proclaimed that the fat ‘girls’ protesting the election of the 45th President of the United States were unworthy, out of control, and not worthy of attention (ironic, then, as her tweet caused considerable conversation about protest, fatness, and the reasons not to like the President-Elect). What the Coulter tweet demonstrates is that fat women are perceived as doubly-problematic in public space, both as fat and as women. They do not do politics in a way that is befitting womanhood – they are too visible and loud; they are not moral guardians of conservative values; and, their bodies challenge masculine power.ReferencesAgenda Feminist Media Collective. “Women in Society: Public Debate.” Agenda: Empowering Women for Gender Equity 10 (1991): 31-44.Bay, Kivan. “How Nazis Use Fat to Excuse Violence.” Medium, 7 Feb. 2018. 1 May 2018 <https://medium.com/@kivabay/how-nazis-use-fat-to-excuse-violence-b7da7d18fea8>.———. “Without Fat Girls, There Would Be No Protests.” Bullshit.ist, 13 Nov. 2016. 16 May 2018 <https://bullshit.ist/without-fat-girls-there-would-be-no-protests-e66690de539a>.Bliss, Katherine Elaine. Compromised Positions: Prostitution, Public Health, and Gender Politics in Revolutionary Mexico City. Penn State Press, 2010.Caha, Omer. 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Introduction Greater resilience is associated with the ability to self-organise, and with social learning as part of a process of adaptation and transformation (Goldstein 341). This article deals with responses to a crisis in a Norwegian community in the late 1880s, and with some of the many internal conflicts it caused. The crisis and the subsequent conflicts in this particular community, Volda, were caused by a number of processes, driven mostly by external forces and closely linked to the expansion of the capitalist mode of production in rural Norway. But the crisis also reflects a growing nationalism in Norway. In the late 1880s, all these causes seemed to come together in Volda, a small community consisting mostly of independent small farmers and of fishers. The article employs the concept of ‘resilience’ and the theory of resilience in order better to understand how individuals and the community reacted to crisis and conflict in Volda in late 1880, experiences which will cast light on the history of the late 1880s in Volda, and on individuals and communities elsewhere which have also experienced such crises. Theoretical Perspectives Some understandings of social resilience inspired by systems theory and ecology focus on a society’s ability to maintain existing structures. Reducing conflict to promote greater collaboration and resilience, however, may become a reactionary strategy, perpetuating inequalities (Arthur, Friend and Marschke). Instead, the understanding of resilience could be enriched by drawing on ecological perspectives that see conflict as an integral aspect of a diverse ecology in continuous development. In the same vein, Grove has argued that some approaches to anticipatory politics fashion subjects to withstand ‘shocks and responding to adversity through modern institutions such as human rights and the social contract, rather than mobilising against the sources of insecurity’. As an alternative, radical politics of resilience ought to explore political alternatives to the existing order of things. Methodology According to Hall and Lamont, understanding “how individuals, communities, and societies secured their well-being” in the face of the challenges imposed by neoliberalism is a “problem of understanding the bases for social resilience”. This article takes a similarly broad approach to understanding resilience, focusing on a small group of people within a relatively small community to understand how they attempted to secure their well-being in the face of the challenges posed by capitalism and growing nationalism. The main interest, however, is not resilience understood as something that exists or is being produced within this small group, but, rather, how this group produced social imaginaries of the past and the future in cooperation and conflict with other groups in the same community. The research proceeds to analyse the contributions mainly of six members of this small group. It draws on existing literature on the history of the community in the late 1800s and, in particular, biographies of Synnøve Riste (Øyehaug) and Rasmus Steinsvik (Gausemel). In addition, the research builds on original empirical research of approximately 500 articles written by the members of the group in the period from 1887 to 1895 and published in the newspapers Vestmannen, Fedraheimen and 17de Mai; and will try to re-tell a history of key events, referring to a selection of these articles. A Story about Being a Woman in Volda in the Late 1880s This history begins with a letter from Synnøve Riste, a young peasant woman and daughter of a local member of parliament, to Anders Hovden, a friend and theology student. In the letter, Synnøve Riste told her friend about something she just had experienced and had found disturbing (more details in Øyehaug). She first sets her story in the context of an evangelical awakening that was gaining momentum in the community. There was one preacher in particular who seemed to have become very popular among the young women. He had few problems when it comes to women, she wrote, ironically. Curious about the whole thing, Synnøve decided to attend a meeting to see for herself what was going on. The preacher noticed her among the group of young women. He turned his attention towards her and scolded her for her apparent lack of religious fervour. In the letter she explained the feeling of shame that came over her when the preacher singled her out for public criticism. But the feeling of shame soon gave way to anger, she wrote, before adding that the worst part of it was ‘not being able to speak back’; as a woman at a religious meeting she had to hold her tongue. Synnøve Riste was worried about the consequences of the religious awakening. She asked her friend to do something. Could he perhaps write a poem for the weekly newspaper the group had begun to publish only a few months earlier? Anders Hovden duly complied. The poem was published, anonymously, on Wednesday 17 March 1888. Previously, the poem says, women enjoyed the freedom to roam the mountains and valleys. Now, however, a dark mood had come over the young women. ‘Use your mind! Let the madness end! Throw off the blood sucker! And let the world see that you are a woman!’ The puritans appreciated neither the poem nor the newspaper. The newspaper was published by the same group of young men and women who had already organised a private language school for those who wanted to learn to read and write New Norwegian, a ‘new’ language based on the old dialects stemming from the time before Norway lost its independence and became a part of Denmark and then, after 1814, Sweden. At the language school the students read and discussed translations of Karl Marx and the anarchist Peter Kropotkin. The newspaper quickly grew radical. It reported on the riots following the hanging of the Haymarket Anarchists in Chicago in 1886. It advocated women’s suffrage, agitated against capitalism, argued that peasants and small farmers must learn solidarity from the industrial workers defended a young woman in Oslo who was convicted of killing her newborn baby and published articles from international socialist and anarchist newspapers and magazines. Social Causes for Individual Resilience and Collaborative Resilience Recent literature on developmental psychology link resilience to ‘the availability of close attachments or a supportive and disciplined environment’ (Hall and Lamont 13). Some psychologists have studied how individuals feel empowered or constrained by their environment. Synnøve Riste clearly felt constrained by developments in her social world, but was also resourceful enough to find ways to resist and engage in transformational social action on many levels. According to contemporary testimonies, Synnøve Riste must have been an extraordinary woman (Steinsvik "Synnøve Riste"). She was born Synnøve Aarflot, but later married Per Riste and took his family name. The Aarflot family was relatively well-off and locally influential, although the farms were quite small by European standards. Both her father and her uncle served as members of parliament for the (‘left’) Liberal Party. From a young age she took responsibility for her younger siblings and for the family farm, as her father spent much time in the capital. Her grandfather had been granted the privilege of printing books and newspapers, which meant that she grew up with easy access to current news and debates. She married a man of her own choosing; a man substantially older than herself, but with a reputation for liberal ideas on language, education and social issues. Psychological approaches to resilience consider the influence of cognitive ability, self-perception and emotional regulation, in addition to social networks and community support, as important sources of resilience (Lamont, Welburn and Fleming). Synnøve Riste’s friend and lover, Rasmus Steinsvik, later described her as ‘a mainspring’ of social activity. She did not only rely on family, social networks and community support to resist stigmatisation from the puritans, but she was herself a driving force behind social activities that produced new knowledge and generated communities of support for others. Lamont, Welburn and Fleming underline the importance for social resilience of cultural repertoires and the availability of ‘alternative ways of understanding social reality’ (Lamont, Welburn and Fleming). Many of the social activities Synnøve Riste instigated served as arenas for debate and collaborative activity to develop alternative understandings of the social reality of the community. In 1887, Synnøve Riste had relied on support from her extended family to found the newspaper Vestmannen, but as the group around the language school and newspaper gradually produced more radical alternative understandings of the social reality they came increasingly into conflict with less radical members of the Liberal Party. Her uncle owned the printing press where Vestmannen was printed. He was also a member of parliament seeking re-election. And he was certainly not amused when Rasmus Steinsvik, editor of Vestmannen, published an article reprimanding him for his lacklustre performance in general and his unprincipled voting in support of a budget allocating the Swedish king a substantial amount of money. Steinsvik advised the readers to vote instead for Per Riste, Synnøve Riste’s liberal husband and director of the language school. The uncle stopped printing the newspaper. Social Resilience in Volda The growing social conflicts in Volda might be taken to indicate a lack of resilience. This, however, would be a mistake. Social connectedness is an important source of social resilience (Barnes and Hall 226). Strong ties to family and friends matter, as does membership in associations. Dense networks of social connectedness are related to well-being and social resilience. Inversely, high levels of inequality seem to be linked to low levels of resilience. Participation in democratic processes has also been found to be an important source of resilience (Barnes and Hall 229). Volda was a small community with relatively low levels of inequality and local cultural traditions underlining the importance of cooperation and the obligations of everyone to participate in various forms of communal work. Similarly, even though a couple of families dominated local politics, there was no significant socioeconomic division between the average and the more prosperous farmers. Traditionally, women on the small, independent farms participated actively in most aspects of social life. Volda would thus score high on most indicators predicting social resilience. Reading the local newspapers confirms this impression of high levels of social resilience. In fact, this small community of only a few hundred families produced two competing newspapers at the time. Vestmannen dedicated ample space to issues related to education and schools, including adult education, reflecting the fact that Volda was emerging as a local educational centre; local youths attending schools outside the community regularly wrote articles in the newspaper to share the new knowledge they had attained with other members of the community. The topics were in large part related to farming, earth sciences, meteorology and fisheries. Vestmannen also reported on other local associations and activities. The local newspapers reported on numerous political meetings and public debates. The Liberal Party was traditionally the strongest political party in Volda and pushed for greater independence from Sweden, but was divided between moderates and radicals. The radicals joined workers and socialists in demanding universal suffrage, including, as we have seen, women’s right to vote. The left libertarians in Volda organised a ‘radical left’ faction of the Liberal Party and in the run-up to the elections in 1888 numerous rallies were arranged. In some parts of the municipality the youth set up independent and often quite radical youth organisations, while others established a ‘book discussion’. The language issue developed into a particularly powerful source for social resilience. All members of the community shared the experience of having to write and speak a foreign language when communicating with authorities or during higher education. It was a shared experience of discrimination that contributed to producing a common identity. Hing has shown that those who value their in-group ‘can draw on this positive identity to provide a sense of self-worth that offers resilience’. The struggle for recognition stimulated locals to arrange independent activities, and it was in fact through the burgeoning movement for a New Norwegian language that the local radicals in Volda first encountered radical literature that helped them reframe the problems and issues of their social world. In his biography of Ivar Mortensson Egnund, editor of the newspaper Fedraheimen and a lifelong collaborator of Rasmus Steinsvik, Klaus Langen has argued that Mortensson Egnund saw the ideal type of community imagined by the anarchist Leo Tolstoy in the small Norwegian communities of independent small farmers, a potential model for cooperation, participation and freedom. It was not an uncritical perspective, however. The left libertarians were constantly involved in clashes with what they saw as repressive forces within the communities. It is probably more correct to say that they believed that the potential existed, within these communities, for freedom to flourish. Most importantly, however, reading Fedraheimen, and particularly the journalist, editor and novelist Arne Garborg, infused this group of local radicals with anti-capitalist perspectives to be used to make sense of the processes of change that affected the community. One of Garborg’s biographers, claims that no Norwegian has ever been more fundamentally anti-capitalist than Garborg (Thesen). This anti-capitalism helped the radicals in Volda to understand the local conflicts and the evangelical awakening as symptoms of a deeper and more fundamental development driven by capitalism. A series of article in Vestmannen called for solidarity and unity between small farmers and the growing urban class of industrial workers. Science and Modernity The left libertarians put their hope in science and modernity to improve the lives of people. They believed that education was the key to move forward and get rid of the old and bad ways of doing things. The newspaper was reporting the latest advances in natural sciences and life sciences. It reported enthusiastically about the marvels of electricity, and speculated about a future in which Norway could exploit the waterfalls to generate it on a large scale. Vestmannen printed articles in defence of Darwinism (Egnund), new insights from astronomy (Steinsvik "Kva Den Nye Astronomien"), health sciences, agronomy, new methods of fishing and farming – and much more. This was a time when such matters mattered. Reports on new advances in meteorology in the newspaper appeared next to harrowing reports about the devastating effects of a storm that surprised local fishermen at sea where many men regularly paid with their lives. Hunger was still a constant threat in the harsh winter months, so new knowledge that could improve the harvest was most welcome. Leprosy and other diseases continued to be serious problems in this region of Norway. Health could not be taken lightly, and the left libertarians believed that science and knowledge was the only way forward. ‘Knowledge is a sweet fruit,’ Vestmannen wrote. Reporting on Darwinism and astronomy again pitted Vestmannen against the puritans. On several occasions the newspaper reported on confrontations between those who promoted science and those who defended a fundamentalist view of the Bible. In November 1888 the signature ‘-t’ published an article on a meeting that had taken place a few days earlier in a small village not far from Volda (Unknown). The article described how local teachers and other participants were scolded for holding liberal views on science and religion. Anyone who expressed the view that the Bible should not be interpreted literally risked being stigmatised and ostracised. It is tempting to label the group of left libertarians ‘positivists’ or ‘modernists’, but that would be unfair. Arne Garborg, the group’s most important source of inspiration, was indeed inspired by Émile Zola and the French naturalists. Garborg had argued that nothing less than the uncompromising search for truth was acceptable. Nevertheless, he did not believe in objectivity; Garborg and his followers agreed that it was not possible or even desirable to be anything else than subjective. Adaptation or Transformation? PM Giærder, a friend of Rasmus Steinsvik’s, built a new printing press with the help of local blacksmiths, so the newspaper could keep afloat for a few more months. Finally, however, in 1888, the editor and the printer took the printing press with them and moved to Tynset, another small community to the east. There they joined forces with another dwindling left libertarian publication, Fedraheimen. Generations later, more details emerged about the hurried exit from Volda. Synnøve Riste had become pregnant, but not by her husband Per. She was pregnant by Rasmus Steinsvik, the editor of Vestmannen and co-founder of the language school. And then, after giving birth to a baby daughter she fell ill and died. The former friends Per and Rasmus were now enemies and the group of left libertarians in Volda fell apart. It would be too easy to conclude that the left libertarians failed to transform the community and a closer look would reveal a more nuanced picture. Key members of the radical group went on to play important roles on the local and national political scene. Locally, the remaining members of the group formed new alliances with former opponents to continue the language struggle. The local church gradually began to sympathise with those who agitated for a new language based on the Norwegian dialects. The radical faction of the Liberal Party grew in importance as the conflict with Sweden over the hated union intensified. The anarchists Garborg and Steinsvik became successful editors of a radical national newspaper, 17de Mai, while two other members of the small group of radicals went on to become mayors of Volda. One was later elected member of parliament for the Liberal Party. Many of the more radical anarchist and communist ideas failed to make an impact on society. However, on issues such as women’s rights, voting and science, the left libertarians left a lasting impression on the community. It is fair to say that they contributed to transforming their society in many and lasting ways. Conclusion This study of crisis and conflict in Volda indicate that conflict can play an important role in social learning and collective creativity in resilient communities. There is a tendency, in parts of resilience literature, to view resilient communities as harmonious wholes without rifts or clashes of interests (see for instance Goldstein; Arthur, Friend and Marschke). Instead, conflicts should rather be understood as a natural aspect of any society adapting and transforming itself to respond to crisis. Future research on social resilience could benefit from an ecological understanding of nature that accepts polarisation and conflict as a natural part of ecology and which helps us to reach deeper understandings of the social world, also fostering learning, creativity and the production of alternative political solutions. This research has indicated the importance of social imaginaries of the past. Collective memories of ‘what everybody knows that everybody else knows’ about ‘what has worked in the past’ form the basis for producing ideas about how to create collective action (Swidler 338, 39). Historical institutions are pivotal in producing schemas which are default options for collective action. In Volda, the left libertarians imagined a potential for freedom in the past of the community; this formed the basis for producing an alternative social imaginary of the future of the community. The social imaginary was not, however, based only on local experience and collective memory of the past. Theories played an important role in the process of trying to understand the past and the present in order to imagine future alternatives. The conflicts themselves stimulated the radicals to search more widely and probe more deeply for alternative explanations to the problems they experienced. This search led them to new insights which were sometimes adopted by the local community and, in some cases, helped to transform social life in the long-run. References Arthur, Robert, Richard Friend, and Melissa Marschke. "Fostering Collaborative Resilience through Adaptive Comanagement: Reconciling Theory and Practice in the Management of Fisheries in the Mekong Region." Collaborative Resilience: Moving through Crisis to Opportunity. Ed. Bruce Evan Goldstein. Cambridge, Mass., and London: MIT Press, 2012. 255-282. Barnes, Lucy, and Peter A. Hall. "Neoliberalism and Social Resilience in the Developed Democracies." Social Resilience in the Neoliberal Era. Eds. Peter A. Hall and Michèle Lamont. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. 209-238. Egnund, Ivar Mortensson. "Motsetningar." Vestmannen 13.6 (1889): 3. Gausemel, Steffen. Rasmus Steinsvik. Oslo: Noregs boklag, 1937. Goldstein, Bruce Evan. "Collaborating for Transformative Resilience." Collaborative Resilience: Moving through Crisis to Opportunity. Ed. Bruce Evan Goldstein. Cambridge, Mass., and London: MIT Press, 2012. 339-358. Hall, Peter A., and Michèle Lamont. "Introduction." Social Resilience in the Neoliberal Era. Eds. Peter A. Hall and Michèle Lamont. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Lamont, Michèle, Jessica S Welburn, and Crystal M Fleming. "Responses to Discrimination and Social Resilience under Neoliberalism: The United States Compared." Social Resilience in the Neoliberal Era. Eds. Peter A. Hall and Michèle Lamont. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. 129-57. Steinsvik, Rasmus. "Kva Den Nye Astronomien Kan Lære Oss." Vestmannen 8.2 (1889): 1. ———. "Synnøve Riste." Obituary. Vestmannen 9.11 (1889): 1. Swidler, Ann. "Cultural Sources of Institutional Resilience: Lessons from Chieftaincy in Rural Malawi." Social Resilience in the Neoliberal Era. Eds. Peter A. Hall and Michèle Lamont. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

This article proposes that the growing popularity of reality television in the southernmost state of India, Kerala – disseminated locally and throughout the Indian diaspora – is not the product of an innocuous nostalgia for a fast-disappearing regional identity but rather a spectacular example of an emergent ideology that displaces cultural memory, collective identity, and secular nationalism with new, globalised forms of public sentiment. Further, it is arguable that this g/local media culture also displaces hard-won secular feminist constructions of gender and the contemporary modern “Indian woman.” Shows like Idea Star Singer (hereafter ISS) (Malayalam [the language spoken in Kerala] television’s most popular reality television series), based closely on American Idol, is broadcast worldwide to dozens of nations including the US, the UK, China, Russia, Sri Lanka, and several nations in the Middle East and the discussion that follows attempts both to account for this g/local phenomenon and to problematise it. ISS concentrates on staging the diversity and talent of Malayalee youth and, in particular, their ability to sing ‘pitch-perfect’, by inviting them to perform the vast catalogue of traditional Malayalam songs. However, inasmuch as it is aimed at both a regional and diasporic audience, ISS also allows for a diversity of singing styles displayed through the inclusion of a variety of other songs: some sung in Tamil, some Hindi, and some even English. This leads us to ask a number of questions: in what ways are performers who subscribe to regional or global models of televisual style rewarded or punished? In what ways are performers who exemplify differences in terms of gender, sexuality, religion, class, or ability punished? Further, it is arguable that this show—packaged as the “must-see” spectacle for the Indian diaspora—re-imagines a traditional past and translates it (under the rubric of “reality” television) into a vulgar commodification of both “classical” and “folk” India: an India excised of radical reform, feminists, activists, and any voices of multiplicity clamouring for change. Indeed, it is my contention that, although such shows claim to promote women’s liberation by encouraging women to realise their talents and ambitions, the commodification of the “stars” as televisual celebrities points rather to an anti-feminist imperial agenda of control and domination. Normalising Art: Presenting the Juridical as Natural Following Foucault, we can, indeed, read ISS as an apparatus of “normalisation.” While ISS purports to be “about” music, celebration, and art—an encouragement of art for art’s sake—it nevertheless advocates the practice of teaching as critiqued by Foucault: “the acquisition and knowledge by the very practice of the pedagogical activity and a reciprocal, hierarchised observation” (176), so that self-surveillance is built into the process. What appears on the screen is, in effect, the presentation of a juridically governed body as natural: the capitalist production of art through intense practice, performance, and corrective measures that valorise discipline and, at the end, produce ‘good’ and ‘bad’ subjects. The Foucauldian isomorphism of punishment with obligation, exercise with repetition, and enactment of the law is magnified in the traditional practice of music, especially Carnatic, or the occasional Hindustani refrain that separates those who come out of years of training in the Gury–Shishya mode (teacher–student mode, primarily Hindu and privileged) from those who do not (Muslims, working-class, and perhaps disabled students). In the context of a reality television show sponsored by Idea Cellular Ltd (a phone company with global outposts), the systems of discipline are strictly in line with the capitalist economy. Since this show depends upon the vast back-catalogue of film songs sung by playback singers from the era of big studio film-making, it may be seen to advocate a mimetic rigidity that ossifies artistic production, rather than offering encouragement to a new generation of artists who might wish to take the songs and make them their own. ISS, indeed, compares and differentiates the participants’ talents through an “opaque” system of evaluations which the show presents as transparent, merit-based and “fair”: as Foucault observes, “the perpetual penalty that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes. In short, it normalizes” (183). On ISS, this evaluation process (a panel of judges who are renowned singers and composers, along with a rotating guest star, such as an actor) may be seen as a scopophilic institution where training and knowledge are brought together, transforming “the economy of visibility into the exercise of power” (187). The contestants, largely insignificant as individuals but seen together, at times, upon the stage, dancing and singing and performing practised routines, represent a socius constituting the body politic. The judges, enthroned on prominent and lush seats above the young contestants, the studio audience and, in effect, the show’s televised transnational audience, deliver judgements that “normalise” these artists into submissive subjectivity. In fact, despite the incoherence of the average judgement, audiences are so engrossed in the narrative of “marks” (a clear vestige of the education and civilising mission of the colonial subject under British rule) that, even in the glamorous setting of vibrating music, artificial lights, and corporate capital, Indians can still be found disciplining themselves according to the values of the West. Enacting Keraleeyatham for Malayalee Diaspora Ritty Lukose’s study on youth and gender in Kerala frames identity formations under colonialism, nationalism, and capitalism as she teases out ideas of resistance and agency by addressing the complex mediations of consumption or consumptive practices. Lukose reads “consumer culture as a complex site of female participation and constraint, enjoyment and objectification” (917), and finds the young, westernised female as a particular site of consumer agency. According to this theory, the performers on ISS and the show’s MC, Renjini Haridas, embody this body politic. The young performers all dress in the garb of “authentic identity”, sporting saris, pawaadu-blouse, mundum-neertha, salwaar-kameez, lehenga-choli, skirts, pants, and so on. This sartorial diversity is deeply gendered and discursively rich; the men have one of two options: kurta-mundu or some such variation and the pant–shirt combination. The women, especially Renjini (educated at St Theresa’s College in Kochi and former winner of Ms Kerala beauty contest) evoke the MTV DJs of the mid-1990s and affect a pidgin-Malayalam spliced with English: Renjini’s cool “touching” of the contestants and airy gestures remove her from the regional masses; and yet, for Onam (festival of Kerala), she dresses in the traditional cream and gold sari; for Id (high holy day for Muslims), she dresses in some glittery salwaar-kameez with a wrap on her head; and for Christmas, she wears a long dress. This is clearly meant to show her ability to embody different socio-religious spheres simultaneously. Yet, both she and all the young female contestants speak proudly about their authentic Kerala identity. Ritty Lukose spells this out as “Keraleeyatham.” In the vein of beauty pageants, and the first-world practice of indoctrinating all bodies into one model of beauty, the youngsters engage in exuberant performances yet, once their act is over, revert back to the coy, submissive docility that is the face of the student in the traditional educational apparatus. Both left-wing feminists and BJP activists write their ballads on the surface of women’s bodies; however, in enacting the chethu or, to be more accurate, “ash-push” (colloquialism akin to “hip”) lifestyle advocated by the show (interrupted at least half a dozen times by lengthy sequences of commercials for jewellery, clothing, toilet cleaners, nutritious chocolate bars, hair oil, and home products), the participants in this show become the unwitting sites of a large number of competing ideologies. Lukose observes the remarkable development from the peasant labor-centered Kerala of the 1970s to today’s simulacrum: “Keraleeyatham.” When discussing the beauty contests staged in Kerala in the 1990s, she discovers (through analysis of the dress and Sanskrit-centred questions) that: “Miss Kerala must be a naden pennu [a girl of the native/rural land] in her dress, comportment, and knowledge. Written onto the female bodies of a proliferation of Miss Keralas, the nadu, locality itself, becomes transportable and transposable” (929). Lukose observes that these women have room to enact their passions and artistry only within the metadiegetic space of the “song and dance” spectacle; once they leave it, they return to a modest, Kerala-gendered space in which the young female performers are quiet to the point of inarticulate, stuttering silence (930). However, while Lukose’s term, Keraleeyatham, is useful as a sociological compass, I contend that it has even more complex connotations. Its ethos of “Nair-ism” (Nayar was the dominant caste identity in Kerala), which could have been a site of resistance and identity formation, instead becomes a site of nationalist, regional linguistic supremacy arising out of Hindu imaginary. Second, this ideology could not have been developed in the era of pre-globalised state-run television but now, in the wake of globalisation and satellite television, we see this spectacle of “discipline and punish” enacted on the world stage. Thus, although I do see a possibility for a more positive Keraleeyatham that is organic, inclusive, and radical, for the moment we have a hegemonic, exclusive, and hierarchical statist approach to regional identity that needs to be re-evaluated. Articulating the Authentic via the Simulacrum Welcome to the Malayalee matrix. Jean Baudrillard’s simulacrum is our entry point into visualising the code of reality television. In a state noted for its distinctly left-leaning politics and Communist Party history which underwent radical reversal in the 1990s, the political front in Kerala is still dominated by the LDF (Left Democratic Front), and resistance to the state is an institutionalised and satirised daily event, as marked by the marchers who gather and stop traffic at Palayam in the capital city daily at noon. Issues of poverty and corporate disenfranchisement plague the farming and fishing communities while people suffer transportation tragedies, failures of road development and ferry upkeep on a daily basis. Writers and activists rail against imminent aerial bombing of Maoists insurgent groups, reading in such statist violence repression of the Adivasi (indigenous) peoples scattered across many states of eastern and southern India. Alongside energy and ration supply issues, politics light up the average Keralaite, and yet the most popular “reality” television show reflects none of it. Other than paying faux multicultural tribute to all the festivals that come and go (such as Id, Diwaali, Christmas, and Kerala Piravi [Kerala Day on 1 November]), mainly through Renjini’s dress and chatter, ISS does all it can to remove itself from the turmoil of the everyday. Much in the same way that Bollywood cinema has allowed the masses to escape the oppressions of “the everyday,” reality television promises speculative pleasure produced on the backs of young performers who do not even have to be paid for their labour. Unlike Malayalam cinema’s penchant for hard-hitting politics and narratives of unaccounted for, everyday lives in neo-realist style, today’s reality television—with its excessive sound and light effects, glittering stages and bejewelled participants, repeat zooms, frontal shots, and artificial enhancements—exploits the paradox of hyper-authenticity (Rose and Wood 295). In her useful account of America’s top reality show, American Idol, Katherine Meizel investigates the fascination with the show’s winners and the losers, and the drama of an American “ideal” of diligence and ambition that is seen to be at the heart of the show. She writes, “It is about selling the Dream—regardless of whether it results in success or failure—and about the enactment of ideology that hovers at the edges of any discourse about American morality. It is the potential of great ambition, rather than of great talent, that drives these hopefuls and inspires their fans” (486). In enacting the global via the site of the local (Malayalam and Tamil songs primarily), ISS assumes the mantle of Americanism through the plain-spoken, direct commentaries of the singers who, like their US counterparts, routinely tell us how all of it has changed their lives. In other words, this retrospective meta-narrative becomes more important than the show itself. True to Baudrillard’s theory, ISS blurs the line between actual need and the “need” fabricated by the media and multinational corporations like Idea Cellular and Confident Group (which builds luxury homes, primarily for the new bourgeoisie and nostalgic “returnees” from the diaspora). The “New Kerala” is marked, for the locals, by extravagant (mostly unoccupied) constructions of photogenic homes in garish colours, located in the middle of chaos: the traditional nattumparathu (countryside) wooden homes, and traffic congestion. The homes, promised at the end of these shows, have a “value” based on the hyper-real economy of the show rather than an actual utility value. Yet those who move from the “old” world to the “new” do not always fare well. In local papers, the young artists are often criticised for their new-found haughtiness and disinclination to visit ill relatives in hospital: a veritable sin in a culture that places the nadu and kin above all narratives of progress. In other words, nothing quite adds up: the language and ideologies of the show, espoused most succinctly by its inarticulate host, is a language that obscures its distance from reality. ISS maps onto its audience the emblematic difference between “citizen” and “population”. Through the chaotic, state-sanctioned paralegal devices that allow the slum-dwellers and other property-less people to dwell in the cities, the voices of the labourers (such as the unions) have been silenced. It is a nation ever more geographically divided between the middle-classes which retreat into their gated neighbourhoods, and the shanty-town denizens who are represented by the rising class of religio-fundamentalist leaders. While the poor vote in the Hindu hegemony, the middle classes text in their votes to reality shows like ISS. Partha Chatterjee speaks of the “new segregated and exclusive spaces for the managerial and technocratic elite” (143) which is obsessed by media images, international travel, suburbanisation, and high technology. I wish to add to this list the artificially created community of ISS performers and stars; these are, indeed, the virtual and global extension of Chatterjee’s exclusive, elite communities, decrying the new bourgeois order of Indian urbanity, repackaged as Malayalee, moneyed, and Nayar. Meanwhile, the Hindu Right flexes its muscle under the show’s glittery surface: neither menacing nor fundamentalist, it is now “hip” to be Hindu. Thus while, on the surface, ISS operates according to the cliché, musicinu mathamilla (“music has no religion”), I would contend that it perpetuates a colonising space of Hindu-nationalist hegemony which standardises music appreciation, flattens music performance into an “art” developed solely to serve commercial cinema, and produces a dialectic of Keraleeyatham that erases the multiplicities of its “real.” This ideology, meanwhile, colonises from within. The public performance plays out in the private sphere where the show is consumed; at the same time, the private is inserted into the public with SMS calls that ultimately help seal the juridicality of the show and give the impression of “democracy.” Like the many networks that bring the sentiments of melody and melancholy to our dinner table, I would like to offer you this alternative account of ISS as part of a bid for a more vociferous, and critical, engagement with reality television and its modes of production. Somehow we need to find a way to savour, once again, the non-mimetic aspects of art and to salvage our darkness from the glitter of the “normalising” popular media. References Baudrillard, Jean. The Mirror of Production. Trans. Mark Poster. New York: Telos, 1975. ———. Selected Writings. Ed. Mark Poster. California: Stanford UP, 1988. Chatterjee, Partha. The Politics of the Governed: Reflections on Popular Politics in Most of the World. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage, 1995. Lukose, Ritty. “Consuming Globalization: Youth and Gender in Kerala, India.” Journal of Social History 38.4 (Summer 2005): 915-35. Meizel, Katherine. “Making the Dream a Reality (Show): The Celebration of Failure in American Idol.” Popular Music and Society 32.4 (Oct. 2009): 475-88. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood. “Paradox and the Consumption of Authenticity through Reality Television.” Journal of Consumer Research 32 (Sep. 2005): 284-96.