Academic literature on the topic 'Fearing new experiences'

Theatre has been a powerful means of eliciting social change. This paper describes methods and outcomes of a theatre project to reduce healthcare inequities experienced by Black women. We conducted narrative interviews with a convenience sample of Black women and conducted thematic analysis of interview transcripts to learn about their experiences of healthcare and to inform development of a professional theatrical production. To assess the impact of the performance on the audience, we used a single post-test concurrent mixed-methods design using a self-created Likert-type survey that included space for open-ended responses. Ten Black women completed narrative interviews. Thematic analysis revealed 5 main themes: being ignored, being accused, being talked-down to, fearing harm, and being hurt. Narratives were used to create a script that centered on these themes, and that was professionally produced and performed. Audience members (n = 113, 25% healthcare providers) produced a mean total post-test score of 19.28 (agree/strongly agree) on a 25-point survey with 2 items scoring in the 2 to 3 range (disagree/not sure). Thematic analysis data revealed the extent to which Black women experienced discrimination in multiple settings. Quantitative survey data suggested audience members conceptually understood and were aware of inequity, but open-ended responses revealed this information was new for some, and prior knowledge for others. The audience reported planning to change personal behaviors that may contribute to inequity. Participants were unsure if they had contributed to inequity in the past. The performance stimulated conversation about implicit bias and discrimination and encouraged audience members to examine their contributions to the problem. Future pre-post studies are needed to better assess the impact of the performance. Theatre has the potential to illuminate the extent and nature of discrimination in healthcare and society, and to foster conversations that allow audience members to consider their own potential contributions to discrimination.

AbstractExamining intra-colonial punitive relocations during the first decade of US occupation in the Philippines, this article shows how colonial police and prison officials used incarceration and transportation in tandem to suppress incipient populist revolutionary movements. They exploited historic regional and religious tensions in their effort to produce new modes of racialized and gendered prison and labor management. Finally, while colonial officials sought to brand certain imprisoned subjects as criminal outlaws, rather than political prisoners, many of these anticolonial fighters actually sharpened their ideas about freedom through their experience of being criminalized, incarcerated, and forcibly relocated.

The purpose of this study was to describe the experience of persons with permanent implantable cardiac devices. Purposeful sampling was by snowball method. Seven participants met the selection criteria with only three completing the data generation procedure. Interviews were guided by semistructured questions, conducted via the telephone, and electronically recorded. Van Manen’s (1990) phenomenological approach was used to analyze the data. Four thematic categories were identified: Longing and Loneliness, Dependency with Technology, a New Life, and Fear and Anticipation of Death. The experience of persons with life-sustaining cardiac devices is described as “dependency on technology is often expressed as longing and loneliness in anticipation of a new life while fearing and anticipating eventual death.” Implications are discussed and explained.

Mestrum draws from her extensive experience in the World Social Forum process to outline some of the reasons for past failures of left struggles to come together around the kind of fifth Internationale Amin proposes. A new Internationale, she argues “will require some serious and honest self-criticism and a downright rejection of all romanticism and naive utopianism…. we have to look for solutions beyond the easy slogans and assumptions.” Mestrum identifies important structural and ideological rifts in the global left. She is also wary of localized movements such as those advocated by Sklair, fearing that they could detract from the left’s ability to coalesce around a strong structural critique of globalized capitalism. What she sees as essential is the construction of “alter-globalist” identities and solidarity across issues and borders. This will require moving beyond abstract “anti-capitalist” ideology to build inter-connected campaigns that tackle the complex inter-connections among movement struggles. While cautioning against slogans, she sees lasting wisdom in Enlightenment principles of freedom, equality, and solidarity and modernity’s respect for universalism and diversity. These can help advance a politics of system change that is “emancipatory and transformative, geared towards the full realisation of individual and collective human rights for all.”

On February 26, 1794, Louis Narcisse Baudry des Lozières arrived at the port of Norfolk, Virginia, from Le Havre on the coast of France. His journey had not been an easy one. Shortly after leaving France, the ship carrying Baudry, his wife, their 13-year-old daughter, and a Norman servant girl was caught in a terrible storm. The family endured a harrowing four-month Atlantic crossing, but they had experienced far worse. Just two years earlier, Baudry had discovered his wife and daughter “wandering in the woods” of St. Domingue, after rebels had forced them to abandon their home in the early days of the Haitian Revolution. Baudry, a distinguished French military officer, had himself been wounded fighting the insurgents near Léogane, and the majority of the soldiers under his command had been slaughtered. Fearing for his life, Baudry fled the colony in March 1792. In Paris, he briefly reunited with his more famous brother-in-law, the lawyer and writer Médéric Louis Élie Moreau de Saint-Méry. However, both were soon forced into exile, and he eventually settled in Philadelphia. There, Baudry worked as a clerk, bookseller, and editor. He also used his exile as an opportunity to travel North America, spending time with his wife and in-laws in New Orleans. Eventually, Baudry presented himself as an expert on the natural history of the French colonies, delivering lectures to the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia and publishing several articles on “scientific” topics.

In the aftermath of the Nazi era and the Second World War the ‘Bloodlands’ of Eastern Europe including Germany were left with a pervasive and significant loss of empathy. Robi Friedman speaks of the ‘Soldier’s Matrix’ (2015), in which dehumanizing dissociation increases, and empathy, guilt and shame disappear. In the GDR (German Democratic Republic)—under totalitarian and authoritarian conditions—this state of emotional deficit persisted for longer than in the Federal Republic (BRD). Gradually, but only after reunification, could change in the whole of Germany become possible. In the following text I will review the fragmented state of psychoanalysis in the battered city of Berlin after the Second World War. I describe the predicament of psychoanalysts, who are hopelessly entangled in adaptation processes, fearing the new rulers and dreading their own conscience. Despite their weakened sense of courage, they were however able to create space for freedom of thought. I intend to convey the trajectory of that process. The GDR history, despite the experience of confinement, is also a story of opening. Specific developments within the borders enabled the preservation as well as the transportation of psychoanalytic thought: some examples can be seen in inpatient forms of psychotherapy, individual psychodynamic therapy and especially the Intended Dynamic Group Psychotherapy (IDG). The opening of the ‘Wall’ made profound psychoanalytic post-qualification possible, but it came at a cost to the specific developments of the health system in the East. Within this system group therapists took their own particular path. After several years of cautious rapprochement the founding of BIG (Berlin Institute for Group Analysis) could be negotiated and established in 2003, supported by all Institutes of Berlin belonging to the umbrella organization of the DGPT (German Society for Psychoanalyse, Psychotherapy, Psychosomatic). Nine years later the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Gruppenanalyse und Gruppenpsychotherapie (D3G) consolidated in the merger of several individual groups resulting in a continuous and refreshingly pluralistic cooperation today. This article will therefore describe a series of societal shifts, transitions, internal and external attempts to heal, that are well reflected within the parallel process visible in the development of group analysis and its practitioners. One example to consider would be the asymmetry between psychoanalytic ‘teachers’ (West) and ‘students’ (East) and the dynamics experienced during professional encounters, which were very particular and rather complicated. However, that is a chapter in itself and will be considered separately.

Various studies suggest that ankylosing spondylitis (AS) as a chronic inflammatory disease with many disabilities can have impacts on different aspects of patients’ life. Despite many quantitative studies, only few qualitative studies have thus far been published on this subject. For the first time, the present study aims at gaining insight into the life experience of Iranian AS patients. We performed a content analysis through semi-structured interviews with twenty-eight patients diagnosed with AS, including three females and twenty-five males with an average age of 38.5 years, to gain insight into their experiences. Whatever the patients expressed was written and transcribed verbatim. Then, we did analysis of the results after each interview. The detailed information completely extracted from the interviews was classified as sub-themes and main themes. Three main themes were identified by the analysis: (i) “Always with pain” describing the effects were found in regard to pain on patients’ life, (ii) “The perceived limitation” describing many difficulties that people may face in the society as a result of their disease, and (iii) “Fearing the unknown future” which implies to both patients and their families have concerns about the future and what will happen. Our research findings in line with other qualitative studies showed that AS disease puts a heavy and intolerable burden on patients and their family. It seems that the experiences of people living with AS can be useful to meet challenges caused by the disease and it can enhance their coping with the disease.

Abstract In the vogue to provide Geneva with a health and social system with intermediate structures between practitioners and hospitals, many proposals have been made. All have the characteristic of omitting the fact that the general physician, central element of the system, could be set to one side. A family doctor remains a clinician, and is manager of the disease. The proposals lack what we call the community dimension and do not approach citizens from the point of view of their health. Some components of this new professional profile are at the individual level and already form part of the primary care physician’s activity. Others, on the other hand, are akin to collective or community-based interventions, so are not generally included in the primary care practice. Thus, in collaboration with the central structures of the canton and the authorities, activities such as medicine at school or nursing home, epidemiological surveillance, participation in development projects and actions dealing with the environment, etc., could represent the community part of this new practice. In view of this, the concept of ’county practitioner’ was implemented in the framework of a global project emanating from the authorities of a county of the state of Geneva in Switzerland, which aimed to develop social links, well-being and health through the complete restructuring of the village center. Other projects, in other municipalities, were inspired by this first experience, although the ’country practitioner’ is currently limited to a role of “health adviser”. Several examples could be presented. The conditions for bringing into being such a profile are numerous: the drafting of specifications, the political will and the benevolence of fellow practitioners fearing a loss of power. Once again, the community doctor does not replace the attending physician, he completes his action mainly in the field of community health. Key messages The concept of ’county practitioner’ was implemented in the framework of a global project emanating from the authorities of a county of the state of Geneva. The conditions for implementing such a profile are numerous.

While peacekeeping’s effects on receiving states have been studied at length, its effects on sending states have only begun to be explored. This article examines the effects of contributing peacekeepers abroad on democracy at home. Recent qualitative research has divergent findings: some find peacekeeping contributes to democratization among sending states, while others find peacekeeping entrenches illiberal or autocratic rule. To adjudicate, we build on recent quantitative work focused specifically on the incidence of coups. We ask whether sending peacekeepers abroad increases the risk of military intervention in politics at home. Drawing on selectorate theory, we expect the effect of peacekeeping on coup risk to vary by regime type. Peacekeeping brings with it new resources which can be distributed as private goods. In autocracies, often developing states where UN peacekeeping remuneration exceeds per-soldier costs, deployment produces a windfall for militaries. Emboldened by new resources, which can be distributed as private goods among the selectorate, and fearing the loss of them in the future, they may act to depose the incumbent regime. In contrast, peacekeeping will have little effect in developed democracies, which have high per-troop costs, comparatively large selectorates, and low ex-ante coup risk. Anocracies, which typically have growing selectorates, and may face distinctive international pressures to democratize, will likely experience reduced coup risk. We test these claims with data covering peacekeeping deployments, regime type, and coup risk since the end of the Cold War. Our findings confirm our theoretical expectations. These findings have implications both for how we understand the impact of participation in peacekeeping – particularly among those countries that contribute troops disproportionately in the post-Cold War era – and for the potential international determinants of domestic autocracy.

Since September 11, Muslims in Australia have experienced a heightened level of religiously and racially motivated vilification (Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission). These fears were poignantly expressed in a letter to the Editor of The West Australian newspaper from a Muslim woman shortly after the London terror attacks: All I want to say is that for those out there who might have kamikaze ideas of doing such an act here in Australia, please think of others (us) in your own community. The ones who will get hurt are your own, especially we the women who are an obvious target in the public and have to succumb to verbal abuse most of the time. Dealing with abuse and hatred from some due to 9/11 and Bali is not something I want to go through again. (21) The atmosfear of terror finds many expressions among the Muslim communities in Australia: the fear of backlash from some sectors of the wider community; the fear of subversion of Islamic identity in meeting the requirements of a politically defined “moderate” Islam; the fear of being identified as a potential terrorist or “person of interest” and the fear of potentially losing the rights bestowed on all other citizens. This fear or fears are grounded in the political and the media response to terrorism that perpetuates a popular belief that Muslims, as a culturally and religiously incompatible “other”, pose a threat to the Australian collective identity and, ostensibly, to Australia’s security. At the time of publication, for example, there was mob violence involving 5,000 young people converging on Sydney’s Cronulla beach draped in Australian flags singing Waltzing Matilda and Advance Australia Fair as well as chanting “kill the Lebs”, “no more Lebs” (Lebanese). The mob was itself brought together by a series of SMS messages, appealing to participants to “help support Leb and Wog bashing day” and to “show solidarity” against a government-identified “threat to Aussie identity” (The West Australian). Since September 11 and the ensuing war on terror, a new discourse of terrorism has emerged as a way of expressing how the world has changed and defining a state of constant alert (Altheide). “The war on terror” refers as much to a perpetual state of alertness as it does to a range of strategic operations, border control policies, internal security measures and public awareness campaigns such as “be alert, not alarmed”. According to a poll published in The Sydney Morning Herald in April 2004, 68 per cent of Australians believed that Australia was at threat of an imminent terrorist attack (Michaelsen). In a major survey in Australia immediately after the September 11 attacks Dunn & Mahtani found that more than any other cultural or ethnic group, Muslims and people from the Middle East were thought to be unable to fit into Australia. Two thirds of those surveyed believed that humanity could be sorted into natural categories of race, with the majority feeling that Australia was weakened by people of different ethnic origins. Fifty-four per cent of those surveyed, mainly women, said they would be concerned if a relative of theirs married a Muslim. The majority of the Muslim population, not surprisingly, has gone into a “siege mentality” (Hanna). The atmosfear of terror in the Western world is a product of the media and political construction of the West as perpetually at threat of a terrorist attack from a foreign, alien, politically defined “other”, where “insecurity…is the new normal” (Massumi 31). Framed in a rhetoric that portrays it as a battle for the Western values of democracy and freedom, the “war on terror” becomes not just an event in space and time but a metonym for a new world order, drawing on distinctions between “us” and “them” and “the West” and “others” (Osuri and Banerjee) and motivating collective identity based on a construction of “us” as victims and “them” as the objects of fear, concern and suspicion. The political response to the war on terror has inculcated an atmosfear of terror where Australian Muslims are identified as the objects of this fear. The fear of terrorism is being modulated through government and the popular media to perpetuate a state of anxiety that finds expression in the heightened levels of concern and suspicion over a perceived threat. In the case of the war on terror, this threat is typically denoted as radical Islam and, by inference, Australian Muslims. In his exposition of political fear, Corey Robin notes that a central element of political fear is that it is often not read as such – rendering it alien to analysis, critical debate and understanding. Nowhere is this more salient than in the rhetoric on the war on terror characterised by the familiar invocation of terms like democracy and freedom to make distinctions between “the West and the rest” and to legitimise references to civilised and uncivilised worlds. In his speech delivered at the United Nations Security Council Ministerial Session on Terrorism on 20 January 2003, Colin Powell invoked the rhetoric of a clash of civilisations and urged, “we must rid the civilised world of this cancer … We must rise to the challenge with actions that will ride the globe of terrorism and create a world in which all God’s children can live without fear”. It is this construction of the war on terror as a global battle between “the West and the rest” that enables and facilitates the affective response to political fear – a reaffirmation of identity and membership of a collective. As Robin states: Understanding the objects of our fear as less than political allows us to treat them as intractable foes. Nothing can be done to accommodate them: they can only be killed or contained. Understanding the objects of our fear as not political also renews us as a collective. Afraid, we are like the audience in a crowded theatre confronting a man falsely shouting fire: united, not because we share similar beliefs of aspiration but because we are equally threatened. (6) This response has found expression in the perception of Muslims as an alien, culturally incompatible and utterly threatening other, creating a state of social tension where the public’s anxiety has been and continues to be directed at Australian Muslims who visibly represent the objects of the fear of terror. The Australian Government’s response to the war on terror exemplifies what Brian Massumi terms “affective modulation” whereby the human response to the fear of terror, that of a reinforcement and renewal of collective identity, has been modulated and transformed from an affective response to an affective state of anxiety – what the authors term the atmosfear of terror. Affect for Massumi can be inscribed in the flesh as “traces of experience” – an accumulation of affects. It is in this way that Massumi views affect as “autonomous” (Megan Watkins also makes this argument, and has further translated Massumi's notions into the idea of pedagogic affect/effect). In the Australian context, after more than four years of collected traces of experiences of images of threat, responses to terrorism have become almost reflexive – even automated. Affective modulation in the Australian context relies on the regenerative capacity of fear, in Massumi’s terms its “ontogenetic powers” (45) to create an ever-present threat and maintain fear as a way of life. The introduction of a range of counter-terrorism strategies, internal-security measures, legislative amendments and policies, often without public consultation and timed to coincide with “new” terror alerts is testimony to the affective machinations of the Australian government in its response to the war on terror. Virilio and Lotringer called “pure war” the psychological state that happens when people know that they live in a world where the potential for sudden and absolute destruction exists. It is not the capacity for destruction so much as the continual threat of sudden destruction that creates this psychology. Keith Spence has stated that in times of crisis the reasoned negotiation of risk is marginalised. The counter-terrorism legislation introduced in response to the war on terror is, arguably, the most drastic anti-libertarian measures Australia has witnessed and constitutes a disproportionate response to Australia’s overall risk profile (Michaelsen). Some of these measures would once have seemed an unthinkable assault on civil liberties and unreasonably authoritarian. Yet in the war on terror, notes Jessica Stern, framed as a global war of good versus evil, policies and strategies that once seemed impossible suddenly become constructed as rationale, if not prudent. Since September 11, the Australian government has progressively introduced a range of counter-terrorism measures including over 30 legislative amendments and, more recently, increased powers for the police to detain persons of interest suspected of sedition. In the wake of the London bombings, the Prime Minister called a summit with Muslim representatives from around the nation. In the two hours that they met, the summit developed a Statement of Principles committing members of Muslim communities to combat radicalisation and pursue “moderate” Islam. As an affective machination, the summit presents as a useful political tool for modulating the existing anxieties in the Australian populace. The very need for a summit of this nature and for the development of a Statement of Principles (later endorsed by the Council of Australian Governments or COAG) sends a lucid message to the Australian public. Not only are Australian Muslims responsible for terrorism but they also have the capacity to prevent or minimise the threat of an attack in Australia. Already the focus of at least a decade of negative stereotyping in the popular Australia media (Brasted), Australian Muslims all too quickly and easily became agents in the Government’s affective tactics. The policy response to the war on terror has given little consideration to the social implications of sustaining a fear of terrorism, placing much emphasis on security- focused counter-terrorism measures rather than education and dialogue. What governments and communities need to address is the affective aspects of the atmosfear of terror. Policy makers can begin by becoming self-reflexive and developing an understanding of the real impact of fear and the affective modulation of this fear. Communities can start by developing an understanding of how policy induced fear is affecting them. To begin this process of reflection, governments and communities need to recognise fear of terrorism as a political tool. Psychological explanations for fear or trauma are important, especially if we are to plan policy responses to them. However, if we are to fight against policy-induced fear, we need to better understand and recognise affective modulation as a process that is not reducible to individual psychology. Viewed from the perspective of affect, the atmosfear of terror reveals an attempt to modulate public anxiety and sustain a sense of Australia as perpetually at threat from a culturally incompatible and irreconcilable “other”. References Altheide, David. L. “Consuming Terrorism.” Symbolic Interaction 27.3 (2004): 289–308. Brasted, Howard, V. “Contested Representations in Historical Perspective: Images of Islam and the Australian Press 1950-2000”. In A. Saeed & S. Akbarzadeh, Muslim Communities in Australia. Sydney: U of NSW P, 2001. Dunn, K.M., and M. Mahtani. “Media Representations of Ethnic Minorities.” Progress in Planning 55.3 (2001): 63–72. Dunn, K.M. “The Cultural Geographies of Citizenship in Australia.” Geography Bulletin 33.1 (2001): 4–8. “Genesis of Cronulla’s Ugly Sunday Began Years Ago.” The West Australian 2005: 11. Green, Lelia. “Did the World Really Change on 9/11?” Australian Journal of Communication 29.2 (2002): 1–14. Hanna, D. 2003. “Siege Mentality: Current Australian Response.” Salam July-Aug. (2003): 12–4. Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission. Ismaa – Listen: National Consultations on Eliminating Prejudice against Arab and Muslim Australians. Sydney: Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 2004. Kerbaj, Richard. “Clerics Still Preaching Hatred of West.” The Australian 3 Nov. 2005. Kinnvall, Catarina. “Globalization and Religious Nationalism: Self, Identity, and the Search for Ontological Security.” Political Psychology 25.5 (2004): 741. “Letters to the Editor.” The West Australian 25 July 2005: 21. Massumi, Brian. “Fear (The Spectrum Said).” Positions 13.1 (2005): 31–48. Massumi, Brian. “The Autonomy of Affect.” In P. Patton, ed., Deleuze: A Critical Reader. Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1996. “Meeting with Islamic Community Leaders, Statement of Principles.” 23 Aug. 2005. http://www.pm.gov.au/news/media_releases/media_Release1524.html> Michaelsen, Christopher. “Antiterrorism Legislation in Australia: A Proportionate Response to the Terrorist Threat?” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 28.4 (2005): 321–40. Osuri, Goldie, and Subhabrata Bobby Banerjee. “White Diasporas: Media Representations of September 11 and the Unbearable Whiteness of Being in Australia.” Social Semiotics 14.2 (2004): 151–71. Powell, Colin. “Ridding the World of Global Terrorism: No Countries or Citizens are Safe.” Vital Speeches of the Day 69.8 (2003): 230–3. Robin, Corey. Fear: The History of a Political Idea. New York: Oxford UP, 2004. Spence, Keith. “World Risk Society and War against Terror.” Political Studies 53.2 (2005): 284–304. Stern, Jessica. “Fearing Evil.” Social Research 71.4 (2004): 1111–7. “Terrorism Chronology.” Parliament of Australia Parliamentary Library. http://www.aph.gov.au/library/intguide/law/terrorism.htm> Tomkins, Silvan. Affect, Imagery and Consciousness. New York: Springer Publishing, 1962. Virilio, Paul, and Sylvere Lotringer. Pure War. New York: Semio-text(e), 1997. Watkins, Megan. “Pedagogic Affect/Effect: Teaching Writing in the Primary Years of School.” Presented at Redesigning Pedagogy: Research, Policy, Practice Conference. Singapore: National Institute of Education, 31 May 2005. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Aly, Anne, and Mark Balnaves. "The Atmosfear of Terror: Affective Modulation and the War on Terror." M/C Journal 8.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/04-alybalnaves.php>. APA Style Aly, A., and M. Balnaves. (Dec. 2005) "The Atmosfear of Terror: Affective Modulation and the War on Terror," M/C Journal, 8(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/04-alybalnaves.php>.

This book tells the story of the Muslim community in modern Bulgaria during a period of imperial dissolution, conflicting national and imperial enterprises, and the emergence of new national and ethnic identities. Following the Ottoman-Russian war of 1877-1878 that paved the way for Bulgarian independence, a movement for cultural reform and political mobilization gained momentum within Bulgaria’s sizable Muslim population. From the establishment of the Bulgarian state in 1878 until the 1908 Young Turk revolution, this reform movement emerged as part of a struggle to redefine Muslim collective identity without severing ties to the Ottomans, during a period when Muslims were losing faith in the Sultan, while also fearing Young Turk secularism. This book draws on both Ottoman and Eastern European historiographies, and approaches the question of Balkan Muslims’ engagement with modernity through a transnational lens, demonstrating how Bulgarian Muslims debated similar questions as Muslims elsewhere around the world. This book situates the Bulgarian story within a global narrative of Muslim political and cultural reform movements, analyzes how Muslims understood and conceptualized “Europe,” and reveals the centrality of the Bulgarian Muslims to the Young Turk Revolution. Milena Methodieva makes a compelling case for how the experience of a Muslim minority provides new insight into the nature of nationalism, citizenship, and state formation.

The final chapter traces Mai’s voyage back from Britain to the Pacific. This voyage was arranged by the British government and led, again, by James Cook. Mai experiences various adventures during the voyage, including some altercations with different indigenous groups. In New Zealand, Mai secures two Maori boys to join him as servants. His arrival on Tahiti proves moving for Islanders and British alike. Here Mai reunites with a sister and an aunt, wrangles with a chief, and acquires a large canoe. Mai expects to be deposited back on Ra‘iatea, but Cook at the last minute decides against it, fearing Islander conflagration, and takes him to Huahine instead. Disappointed, Mai is at least gratified to have Cook’s men build him a house. In many ways, Mai’s plotline is the most tragic of the three characters: he begins as a refugee from his own society and never fulfils his dream of restitution. Even so, Mai offers at least one small twist to the old tale—European empire never steals the limelight in his story; instead, Mai turns the tables by employing European empire, almost entirely on his own terms, to seek his ultimate end.

As late as 1911, a leading American geographer could confidently assert that blacks in the United States would always live chiefly in "the warm, moist air of the Gulf and South Atlantic states," "where they find the heat and moisture in which they thrive"; nature decreed that few would ever settle and fewer survive in the North because they could not withstand the cold. Events, though, were contradicting this blend of racial and climatic determinism. Black migration from the South to the colder states was already substantial. It intensified dramatically during World War I. A boom in labor demand in industry, along with a near-cessation of the immigration from Europe that had once filled it, drew black and white southerners alike in unheard-of numbers to the manufacturing cities of the North. The black exodus to Kansas in 1879 and 1880 had briefly looked as if it would become just such a mass interregional movement of population. But the pioneer Exodusters had suffered from the drastic change in climate, most of all because it affected their livelihoods in farming. Their skills, which lay in cotton growing, were useless in Kansas, and their experience did little to encourage others to follow. The great northward migration of the early twentieth century was a migration not to new farmlands but to the cities for factory and service employment. The difference in climate between southern origin and northern destination did not matter much to it. White southern farmers, fearing the loss of cheap labor, warned departing blacks that they would find the winters of the North too bitter to endure. The new exodus proceeded all the same, and it discredited in the process the long-held idea that either race or habit always imposed a latitudinal pattern on human movement. The change in climate from South to North did mean discomfort or worse for many who undertook it. They suffered especially from the unaccustomed cold that few could afford stoves and fuel to ward off—though they had suffered too from inadequate shelter and clothing in the southern winter.

Jeff foster arrived at Pier 56 in the summer of 1971 eager to get started. Although just fifteen, the Bellevue native already had extensive experience with wildlife. His father was head veterinarian at Seattle’s Woodland Park Zoo, and Foster himself was a skilled diver who often brought live fish and octopuses to the Seattle Marine Aquarium. When Don Goldsberry offered him a job with the seal trainers, Foster accepted, and after a quick introduction to his co-workers, he received his first assignment. “There’s a bum out back,” said one of the trainers. “Go get him out of there.” In the aquarium business, this was a serious matter. Over the years, vandals had thrown objects into tanks and even attacked captive animals. The teen made his way to the rear entrance, where he could hear dolphins and seals splashing in nearby pools. There he found a man sleeping beside a dumpster. “He’s laid out, he looks pretty big, and I give him my tough voice—my voice that’s still cracking,” laughed Foster, adding in a high-pitched squeal, “You gotta get out of here!” As he helped the derelict to his feet, Foster was stunned by his size. His hand was “like a baseball mitt,” Foster recalled. “He is like six foot six—huge, huge guy.” At first, the confused man seemed willing to leave, but as they approached the gate, he decided to take a swing at the teen. Foster managed to duck away, and he never forgot what happened next. Unknown to Foster, Goldsberry had followed behind to make sure the youngster was safe, and he now grabbed the flailing attacker before he could throw another punch. “The next thing I know this guy is just lifted up and thrown,” Foster recounted. “Don picks this guy up and tosses him easily from here to that wall.” Yet protection quickly gave way to rage. “He proceeded to kick his teeth in, kicked the shit out of him.” Fearing for the man’s life, Foster sprinted to the aquarium office, where he found a woman behind a desk, Goldsberry’s wife, Pat.

This final chapter opens with Toussaint Louverture in Santo Domingo in 1802, preoccupied with the possibility of a new French invasion. In February, General Leclerc invaded Cape Haitian in the north; Toussaint was captured by French troops and taken to France as prisoner. Although his demise occurred for various reasons, most problematic are the tactics he embraced during the period of 1793-1799, wherein he neglected the interests of the former enslaved people and instead allied himself with the upper class and military interests. The rallying cry of “freedom for all” for the population of the former French colony did not imply that formerly enslaved masses could enjoy autonomy or freely cultivate edible crops on their own properties. While not all rebel leaders fit into the same social category, they did have different interests than the former slaves. Trouillot reminds readers that a true revolution produces profound social changes, inverting the old social order; and thus formerly-enslaved people should have all become property owners. However, the competing revolutionary leaders (including Rigaud, Beauvais, and Toussaint) stunted this possibility, neglecting the needs of the poor majority. It was chiefly the economic aspect of independence that divided Toussaint from the masses. After taking control of the former colony, Toussaint imposed import and export taxes that benefited European countries and the United States instead of Haitians; U.S.-built warehouses popped up on the capital’s wharf, and Saint-Domingue remained economically dependent. The former slaves benefited in no way from growing the sugar, coffee or cotton that they were required to produce during Toussaint’s reign; they were punished for planting food crops. Worse still, Toussaint required that the ex-slaves “respect” the integrity of former plantations by staying and working on them, while he distributed free land to rebel officers. The idea of “freedom” thus lost its resonance amongst the masses. Although members of the State of Saint-Domingue and the ruling class gained economically, it was at the expense of the former enslaved workers. From this point, the behavior of the Haitian State was that of sitting heavily upon the new nation, since their economic and political interests were at odds with one another. A host of contradictions emerged: Dependence/ Independence, Plantations/Small Farms, Commodity/Food crops, White/Black, Mulatto/Black, Mulatto/White, Catholic/Vodou, and French/Creole. Although the Constitution of 1801 abolished slavery and supposedly “guaranteed freedom” to all, it reinforced these fundamental contradictions. The “Moyse Affair” in late 1801 illustrates Trouillot’s understanding of Toussaint’s betrayal of the Haitian people. Moyse, Toussaint’s adopted nephew, had populist political ideas that attracted the black masses. Fearing his potentially subversive ambitions, Toussaint had Moyse judged by a military commission that included Christophe, Vernet, and Pageaux. Moyse was condemned to death and executed, effectively crushing the interests of the masses. Throughout the Revolution Toussaint maintained power by crafting coalitions amongst a wide variety of social classes and competing interests. The dominance of the new military class was a social contradiction that had to be masked, and Toussaint’s actions showed a will to conceal it. Aspects of this problematic behavior and ideology have reappeared in Haiti under Dessalines, Christophe, Salomon, Estimé, Duvalier and others. Official discourse is grounded in several central notions that are easily manipulated by Haitian leaders: first, the notion of “family,” allowing the concealed dominance of one group and the privileging the organized Catholic religion; second, the idea that Haitians should “respect property”; and, the myth of nèg kapab (“capable people”) who possess an inherent right to govern and oppress the people. The political concept of “family,” common throughout Africa and countries with African descendants, was employed by Toussaint as a form of social control: throughout the revolution Toussaint refers to the new Haitian society as a family in order to advance his own “paternal” political objectives and conceal its many contradictions. The state—which his ideology came to epitomize—began to take advantage of the people; it was akin to a vèvè, a matrix holding society together, and a Gordian knot, where complex and twisted socio-economic contradictions favoring a certain class were inscribed. Although Toussaint was kidnapped by the invasion of Leclerc in 1802, this motivated the Haitian masses to stand up and fight for independence from France, which ultimately led to freedom. Thus, living up to the surname of “Louverture” that was given him, Toussaint indeed opened the barrier to independence and warrants appreciation for that. When one revisits the ideology of Toussaint Louverture, and concurrently that of the state of Saint-Domingue, one must not forget that, in spite of all its weaknesses, libèté jénéral (“freedom for all”, or “universal freedom” in today’s terms) was originally a powerful unifying factor, which merits recognition: it helped Toussaint’s troops defeat the British, crush Hédouville, etc. Toussaint was betrayed by plantation owners and French and American commissioners alike, and he always maintained some faith in France, even if the masses did not. Trouillot implies that Toussaint understood the direction in which he wanted to go, but he got lost on the way. To his credit, Toussaint’s experience demonstrated that liberty without political independence was a senseless notion, and others (such as Dessalines) were able to break with his approach and capitalize on this lesson. The book closes with Grinn Prominnin declaring that he is exhausted and that everyone must return to discuss the situation tomorrow to reach a conclusion. The scene remains peaceful, the people complacent. Trouillot suggests that, more than 170 years after the revolution, the task of bringing about real social change in Haiti—and seeing the ambitions of the Revolution fulfilled—remains starkly inert. Readers easily infer that Haiti’s stagnant socio-economic and political situation (in 1977) is due not only to the as yet unfulfilled promises of the Revolution and War for Independence, but also to the escalating damages wreaked upon the Haitian nation by the Duvalier regime and its manipulative cronyism coupled with its totalitarian indigenist ideology.