Journal articles on the topic 'New Brunswick. Court of Chancery'

Abstract This article treats one of the least-known administrative institutions in Muscovy in the seventeenth century: the Commemoration Chancery (or Panikhidnyi prikaz). The discovery of previously unknown materials allows us for the first time to consider the timing of, and reasons for, the creation of this chancery. Income and Expenditure Books (Prikhodno-raskhodnye knigi) from the tsar’s Treasury (Kazennyi prikaz) include previously unnoticed references to the Commemoration Chancery, the earliest reference dating to 1616 – a full decade earlier than the previous first mention of the chancery in sources. An analysis of the available records suggests that the Commemoration Chancery during the reign of the first Romanov tsar, Mikhail Fedorovich (1613–1645), was originally an integral part of the Chancery of the Great Court, not a separate entity. This study also suggests that the chancery was set up during the early years of the reign of Tsar Mikhail Fedorovich in order to organize religious commemoration services (panikhidy) for previous Russian rulers, with the evident goal of helping to link the Romanovs to the old dynasty and thereby bolster the new dynasty’s legitimacy on the throne.

Abstract The £10 subject access request served by Ashley Dawson-Damer on Taylor Wessing LLP (TW) in August 2014 has already resulted in two substantial hearings in the Chancery Division1, and a two-day trip to the Court of Appeal. It is understood that the case is headed back to the Court of Appeal and that the appeal will be heard at some point in the new year.

As demonstrated in Part I, the question of Chancery reform before 1827 was much debated in party terms and focused largely on Lord Eldon's shortcomings as a decision-maker. After Eldon's departure, it largely ceased to be a party-political issue, although by 1830 law reform in general was firmly on the political agenda. With Eldon gone, there was much common ground on the outlines of Chancery reform. This can be seen from the plan proposed in the Commons by the conservative Sir Edward Sugden in December 1830. Sugden suggested creating a court of appeal for equity, on which the Lord Chancellor, Master of the Rolls, Chief Baron, and Vice Chancellor would sit. He proposed reforms in the masters' offices, under which they would be paid salaries rather than fees, and he wanted masters to sit in open court, with limited judicial functions. He also advocated retrenchment of sinecures and the removal of payment by fees. These ideas were all echoed in the new reformist Chancellor Brougham's proposals for the court, which he elaborated in the spring of 1831.

<span>The Marquis of Tábara, once he acquired Villafáfila manor and appurtenant properties, thought he had a right to use and abuse his new property as he deemed fit. The council and dwellers of the State opposed themselves to this conduct and brought an action against the Marquis before the Court of Chancery at Valladolid. The claimed that their custom and usage be respected as the forrner owners, the Comendadores of the Order of Santiago had done. The Court established thad there was case for the plaintiffs.</span>

ABSTRACTElder abuse is a social phenomenon which has recently been brought to light. As such it has brought about different legal responses in the Canadian provinces. The Atlantic provinces have all enacted Adult protection legislation modelled on child protection legislation. The author has undertaken a study of New Brunswick legislation in order to evaluate which factors are most important when judges order protective measures. Different materials have been analysed such as New Brunswick court files from 1983 to 1989, cases which have never gone to court collected by nurses and social workers, interviews with social workers, and the normal practice of New Brunswick judges and crown prosecutors. From those data, it was found that two different factors play an important role in the administration of Adult protection legislation. First, the legal representation of the elderly person is the most significant factor influencing the outcome of the case. The other important factor is the legal philosophy espoused by the relevant judges. Judges adopting a liberal philosophy are more critical of that legislation as compared with judges who accept the social intervention philosophy which forms the basis of this legislation.

The effectiveness and efficiency of the justice system is a continuing focus of research, and public attention. Burdened by crowded dockets and demands policy for improved conditions and service, the justice system is examining new operative and management alternatives to traditional adjudication such as court-ordered arbitration, mediation programs and even private sector initiatives for handling disputes. In this paper we discuss the Pulaski County Mediation Program (MPX an innovative alternative to the traditional courtroom resolution 01 disputes in small claims, juvenile, and chancery court. The MP brings together, in a joint program, the needs, facilities, support and strengths of Pulaski County and the human and administrative resources of the University of Arkansas at Little Rock (UALR), College of Liberal Arts.

In Commonwealth Bank of Australia v. Barker the High Court of Australia refused to impose an implied duty of mutual trust and confidence into the employment contract, reasoning that doing so would take the Court beyond its legitimate authority. Issued two months later, the Supreme Court of Canada went in a different direction. In Bhasin v. Hrynew, the Court crafted a new substantive doctrine of honest contractual performance, based on a newly-recognized central organizing principle of good faith in contract law. A few months later the Court applied the organizing principle of good faith to circumscribe the exercise of an employer’s discretion in Potter v. New Brunswick Legal Aid Services Commission. This article offers an assessment of the potential impact of Bhasin and Potter on the future direction of Canadian employment law.

The early-Tudor English government oversaw the rise of various centralised courts offering the king's subjects access to extraordinary justice in their private suits. One such new arena was the ‘Court of Requests’, an early equity or conscience court long overshadowed in histories of the period by the better-known courts of Star Chamber and Chancery. This article analyses the little-studied Requests archives to ask who sued there and when/why the court became associated with specifically poor men's causes. Focusing on the formative decade of ‘popularisation’ between 1515 and 1525, it finds that whilst litigants appear to have been largely from the lower sectors of society compared to their counterparts in the other conciliar courts, most petitioners opted for imprecise, rhetorical and non-static descriptions of their relative poverty – defined not just economically, but also in terms of age, property, and kin – in comparison to their opponents, appealing to the specific interpretation of conscience in Requests. The article thus scrutinises the methodologies we use for uncovering the demography of early-modern central courts, and has implications for understanding litigants' legal strategies, recorded identification as distinct from self-identification, and the theory and practice behind commonly-held ideals about the provision of royal justice for the ‘poor’.

In Dunsmuir v. New Brunswick, the Supreme Court of Canada attempted to clarify and simplify Canadian judicial review doctrine. I argue that the Court got it badly wrong, as evidenced by four of its recent decisions. The cases demonstrate that the new categorical approach is unworkable. A reviewing court cannot apply the categorical approach without reference to something like the much-maligned “pragmatic and functional” analysis factors. The categories regularly come into conflict, in that decisions could perfectly reasonably be assigned to more than one category. When conflict occurs, it must be resolved by reference to some factors external to the categorical approach. The new, single standard of reasonableness is similarly unworkable without reference to external factors. Different types of decision attract different degrees of deference, on the basis of factors that are external to the elegant elucidation of reasonableness offered in Dunsmuir. Clarification and simplicity have thus not been achieved.

Legal historians have surmised that court records of the British province of East Florida (1763-1783) have been either lost or destroyed. This assumption was based on the poor conditions for survival of documents in Florida and statements made in the secondary literature on the province. Nonetheless, a significant number of documents related to the courts of British East Florida exist in the National Archives (Kew). These materials reveal an active legal culture using English law in a wide range of courts including (1) the Court of Common Pleas; (2) the Court of Chancery; (3) the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, Oyer et Terminer, Assize and General Gaol Delivery; (4) Special Courts of Oyer et Terminer; (5) the Court of Vice-Admiralty; (6) the Court of Ordinary; (7) the General Court; and (8) a District Court. This article studies a portion of the documents related to the Court of Common Pleas to describe the nature of the court’s practice in civil litigation. It closely examines three cases for which sufficient extant pleadings permit the reconstruction of the general contours of recovery for breach of a sales contract through an action of trespass on the case, for contract enforcement through an action of covenant, and for recovery of a sum certain through an action of debt. The small window provided by these cases into the activities of this court reveals a heretofore unknown world of English common law in North America during and after the American Declaration of Independence. This new information supplements and challenges our established understanding of colonial law in North America in the revolutionary period and the use of law in the British Empire. This study illustrates the many opportunities these sources offer to legal historians of the period.

While serving in the New York Assembly in 1787, Alexander Hamilton identified a problematic clause in New York's constitution. Remarking on an act for settling intestate estates, Hamilton asked, “The question is what is meant in the constitution, by this phrase ‘the common law’?” He went on to describe an important distinction in his legal and constitutional thought: These words have in a legal view two senses, one more extensive, the other more strict. In their most extensive sense, they comprehend the [British] constitution, of all those courts which were established by memorial custom, such as the court of chancery, the ecclesiastical court, &c. though these courts proceed according to a peculiar law. In their more strict sense, they are confined to the course of proceedings in the courts of Westminster in England, or in the supreme court of this state. After suggesting that the constitution's reference to “common law” encompassed more than just the case reports generated by the central courts in Westminster, Hamilton determined that, “I view it as a delicate and difficult question; yet, I am inclined to think that the more extensive sense may be fairly adopted.” Although Hamilton referred here only to the intestacy bill, the distinction between a “strict” and an “extensive” common law would animate his constitutional and legal thought, many years later, during his famous defense of Federalist publisher Harry Croswell.

Problems 1-8, 10, 11, and 13-17 were prepared by HarrisS. Shultz, California State University, Fullerton, P. O. Box 6850, Fullerton, CA 92834-6850. Problems 18-29 and problem 31 were submitted by Marian Small, Faculty of Education, University of New Brunswick, Fredericton, NB E3B 6E3. Problems 9 and 12 were contnbuted by M1chael A. Stueben, 4651 Brentleigh Court, Annandale, VA 22003. Problem 30 was taken from 101 Puzzle Problems by Nathaniel B. Bates and Sanderson M. Smith (Concord, Mass.: Bates Publishing Co., 1980).

In his early twenties, John Maxwell entered the London publishing scene as a scrappy and ambitious Irish immigrant with a strong desire to make a name for himself. What Maxwell lacked in gentility he made up for with his willingness to take risks and flaunt convention. Within a decade he had become one of the leading magazine entrepreneurs of his age. Between 1860 and 1862, a period in which he was frantically launching new periodicals and solidifying his partnership with Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Maxwell regularly appeared in the Court of Chancery as a party to copyright infringement lawsuits, some of which stemmed from his attempts to republish works by contributors to his magazine the Welcome Guest without seeking explicit authorial permission. This essay investigates what these disputes tell us about conceptions of the often vague laws pertaining to reprinting in the periodical press and examines how the outcomes of these cases shaped the development of Maxwell’s publishing business as well as his bourgeoning relationship with Braddon.

Are privative clauses useless in contemporaneous Administrative Law ? That is what the Report of Groupe de travail sur les tribunaux administratifs presided by professor Yves Ouellette appears to assume when it recommends their abolishment to Quebec legislators. Privative clauses are statutory protection given to administrative tribunals against any judicial interference, except in the cases of want or excess of juridiction. Since the Alliance case in 1953 it has been held that superior courts cannot be deprived of their supervisory jurisdiction on jurisdictional errors of law or fact ; a full privative clause would even be unconstitutional since Crevier in 1982. More recently, in New Brunswick Liquor Corporation and in Control Data, the Supreme Court specified that jurisdictional control extends to pattently unreasonable intrajurisdictional errors of law or fact. Nevertheless, the Superior Court cannot get involved in the review of any other question of law or fact in the presence of a privative clause. That is the very reason of the enactment of such a clause as the Supreme Court recalls in Control Data. Otherwise the control of the Superior Court extends to all aspects of legality. The Ouellette Report favours on the one hand, the autonomy of Administrative Tribunals; and on the other, it recommends a more extensive control by the Courts... Not easy to reconcile !

The author analyses the crucial factors in the development of pragmatic literacy in thirteenth-century Trogir, which is associated with significant transformations of the communal political and social order, primarily the increasing power of the municipal government at the expense of episcopal authority. Accumulation of power in the hands of not so many urban families resulted in the growing need to (re)define the position of communal institutions in relation to the external (the king, the Croatian nobility, Venice) and internal (the bishop, the contending factions) centres of power and other members of the local community. Greater reliance of the local political elite on the written word as a means to shape and maintain a desirable social order was becoming increasingly pronounced in this context. Hence, the paper regards the development of pragmatic literacy in thirteenth-century Trogir as one of the major pillars in configuring new government institutions and power relations, which is then associated with the creation of the first city statute, professionalization of the chancery, and transition from charters to notarial, court, council, and other communal registers.

Administrative Tribunals have jurisdiction to deal with questions of law. In the exercise of such jurisdiction they may sometimes make mistakes in the construction of the statutes, regulations or other instruments. Even in the presence of a privative clause, an inferior tribunal should not be the supreme interpret of the law. It is one of the requirements of the « rule of law » that the Superior Court should have a supervisory « droit de regard ». Traditionally, only errors of law going to jurisdiction were out of the shield of the privative clause ; the Superior Courts used to restrain their intervention only after charactarizing the alleged error as « jurisdictional error of law ». Two difficulties came to arise from the approach about whether there exists an error of jurisdiction or one « merely » of law. Firstly, who can tell whether there is a genuine error of law. Secondly, what criteria transmute in the minds of Superior Court Judges an error into one of jurisdiction. The recent case law convinces us of the necessity of a different approach in order to achieve some clarity in this field of Administrative law. Mr. Justice Dickson of the Supreme Court of Canada hints at it in the Nispawin and the New Brunswick Liquor Corporation cases. This approach would put an end to the confusion that still prevail in other Supreme Court cases like Blanco or Labrecque. The distinction between errors of law going to jurisdiction and « merely » errors of law is unrational and so unpracticable that it should be abandoned and replaced by what we suggest in the following lines... Mr. Justice Robert Reid of the Ontario Divisional Court has also expressed the same concern in a remarquable judgment.

The business judgment rule (BJR or the Rule) is an American legal export which has become a key corporate governance tool in most leading common law jurisdictions, such as, Australia, Canada and South Africa. However, the Rule has not been formally embraced in the United Kingdom. In Zimbabwe, the Rule has traditionally been treated as a common law feature. However, section 54 of Zimbabwe's new Companies and Other Business Entities Act represents one of the significant advances in strengthening the jurisdiction's corporate governance principles by codifying the Rule. The BJR originated together with the directors' duty of care and skill. There are two main formulations of the BJR. The first one is by the Delaware Chancery Court and the second one derives from the American Law Institute's Principles of Corporate Governance. The Rule mostly applies in determining the procedural aspects of the directors' decision or the decision-making process and only in exceptional cases is it invoked to review the merits of their decision. This article seeks to critically analyse the major elements of Zimbabwe's codified BJR and to ascertain its place in the corporate governance framework. As will become clear, it will also be argued that the statutory BJR is intended for the enhancement of directorial accountability.

Since the 1960s, celebrity drug trials have usually involved actors or musicians. The first drug prosecution of a Canadian “celebrity” took place in 1985 after the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) found a small amount of marijuana in the luggage of New Brunswick Premier Richard Hatfield at the airport in Fredericton. He was charged with simple possession and, aided by a team of lawyers, pleaded not guilty. Although Hatfield was the most successful premier in the province’s history, he was facing challenges over the economy and language policy, and a finding of guilt would have devastated both his political career and the fortunes of his party. This article examines the Hatfield drug prosecution, which was followed by revelations of drug use with university students in 1981, as a chapter in Canadian legal and political history. It involved not only a privileged defendant, but also the independence of judges, the role of the RCMP, the relationship between the courts and the media, federal-provincial relations and an internal RCMP probe. Hatfield, the political celebrity, won his 1985 court battle but, with his lifestyle impugned, lost in the court of public opinion. In 1987, his party was crushed by the landslide victory of Frank McKenna’s Liberals.

The plaintiff, a New Brunswick company, maintained aircraft engines and often sent engines to the United States to be repaired by the original manufacturer or other repair facilities. The plaintiff contracted with the first defendant, a Canadian logistics operator, to handle the customs clearances. The first defendant often subcontracted the work to the second defendant, a United States logistics operator. When the plaintiff, under pressure from United States authorities, undertook a review of its compliance with United States customs laws, the defendants (so the plaintiff alleged) failed to provide sufficient or timely assistance, a default for which the plaintiff sued them in British Columbia. The first defendant was registered as an extraprovincial corporation in British Columbia, and so had appointed an agent for service there, but the second defendant applied to have the claim against it dismissed on the basis that the court lacked jurisdiction. Jurisdiction depended on whether the claim had a real and substantial connection with the province as required by section 3(e) of the Court Jurisdiction and Proceedings Transfer Act, S.B.C. 2003, c. 28. The chambers judge held that the plaintiff had pleaded sufficient jurisdictional facts to bring its claim with one or other of the categories of presumed real and substantial connection in section 10 of the act.

Climate change is the greatest global challenge that humankind has ever faced. It has changed the way in which communities, governments and businesses interact with each other, how they contract one with another and what legal disputes they face. National and international legal frameworks currently in place rarely provide the necessary mechanisms to resolve new kinds of disputes that have emerged and as a result, important gaps remain. International commercial arbitration is uniquely placed to respond to the transboundary nature of climate change. Its inherent flexibility, innovativeness, ability to deal with complex, cross-border issues and the possibility to choose a neutral adjudicator according to his/her expertise give commercial arbitration an important advantage over court litigation. However, some of its characteristics that are seen as welcome and desired in different contexts create important challenges for achieving climate justice. Therefore, innovation in this area will be necessary if commercial arbitration is to become an attractive option for resolving climate change-related disputes between businesses. The arbitration community should try to find constructive ways in which commercial arbitration can innovate itself so that it can complement other methods of dispute resolution traditionally used for climate change disputes. climate change, climate justice, ESG, international commercial arbitration, private finance, Paris Agreement, arbitration clause, expertise, transparency, Campaign for Greener Arbitrations, Chancery Lane Project, COP 26

Sigismund of Luxemburg, King of Hungary spent much time journeying abroad. His “itinerant” court visited diverse places from Istria to Wallachia. The members of his entourage, mainly a new generation of homo novus lords, escorted him from the Aachen (1414) to the Rome (1433) coronations and were active in foreign service. This article reconstructs the itinerant entourage mostly during the Council of Constance (1414–18). It also aims to explore which “core” members of the retinue accompanied the king most of the time and show that there emerged an inner circle commissioned with special tasks. As an evidentiary control sample, the article uses Sigismund’s second period of journeys (1430–1434). There will be two further pieces of corresponding evidence examined, a list enumerated by Eberhard Windecke (1422) and a 1430 Nuremberg register. In order to give a descriptive list, the range of the available sources undergo a methodological analysis (direct and indirect evidence: royal letters and commissions; safe conducts; charters issued in personis and in praesentibus; armales and ius gladii donations; prorogatio and papal supplicatio documents; chancery writs signing someone’s relatio; narrative and iconographic sources). A possible reconstruction of Sigismund’s retinue is given in an appendix, on the grounds of which one may conclude that the king had a special company by his side. The presence of “a Constance group” was constant in the 1420s–30s. There are some “permanently” serving families. A nucleus was being formulated, remaining together from Aachen to Rome.

The traditional view of the scope of the tort of private nuisance is that the action protects a person's right to the use and enjoyment of land, and therefore only a person who can show that he has an interest in land is entitled to sue. What is a sufficient interest in the land affected, however, has never been free from doubt. Whilst freeholders and lessees in possession may certainly sue, there is doubt as to the entitlement of certain licensees, such as members of the family of a freeholder or lessee. In the recent case of Deuon Lumber Co Ltd u MacNeill, the New Brunswick Court of Appeal held, by a majority, that the children of a freeholder who had been adversely affected by dust from the defendant's adjacent cedar mill were entitled to sue in private nuisance, for ‘even though the children lacked any legal title to the property, they had a right of occupation sufficient to support an action on their behalf for damages for any unreasonable and substantial interference with their lawful use or enjoyment of the family residence’.

Although the Supreme Court of Canada’s seminal decision in Dunsmuir v. New Brunswick has now been cited more than 10,000 times by Canadian courts and administrative tribunals, many of its key features remain obscure. In this article, the author analyzes recent cases decided under the Dunsmuir framework with a view to determining where Canadian courts might usefully go next. The author’s argument is that the two important principles said to underlie the Dunsmuir framework—the rule of law and democracy—can provide guidance to courts in simplifying and clarifying judicial review of administrative action. In Part I, the author explains how the relationship between Dunsmuir’s categorical approach and the contextual approach that it replaced is uncertain and causes significant confusion, and explores the potential utility of the two underlying principles in simplifying the law. The application of the reasonableness standard of review is the focus of Part II, in which the author criticizes the general approach to reasonableness review in Canada, but suggests that the rule of law and democracy may assist in clarifying the law, by setting the boundaries of the “range” of reasonable outcomes and structuring the analytical framework for identifying unreasonable administrative decisions. Finally, the author draws the strands of Parts I and II together by arguing for the adoption of a unified, context-sensitive reasonableness standard, underpinned by the rule of law and democracy, with the aim of providing clarity and simplicity to Canadian administrative law in a manner faithful to the Supreme Court of Canada’s decision in Dunsmuir.

The paper examines the Old Czech and the Middle High German versions of the petition that was sent to Sigismund of Luxemburg by the Bohemian estates after the death of his brother King Wenceslas in 1419. The author has drawn the conclusion that both versions did have a common Old Czech archetype that was modified in both cases. The German translation is to be considered as the final version received by Sigismund: it had been composed not by the court chancery, but by the petitioners themselves. As lay people they have partly ignored, partly misunderstood what the Bohemian clergymen and scholars have expressed in the archetype: 1) the papal charters that set the divine service to a stop they considered being such document that set somebody to an office; 2) two requests are excluded from the final version, the first request demanding the unobstructed promotion of a master degree to the students of Prague university and second one asking for the convocation of a new council of the Catholic Church that would legitimate the utraquism; 3) the noetic notion of freedom from the Old Czech version («the freedom to God’s Law and God’s Word») has been profanized in the final German version: it has been considered a privilege to be granted by the monarch («the freedom of God’s Law and Word… to all Christian people»), while the utraquism is said to be not only the Law of God, but also as a terrestrial law allegedly imposed by King Wenceslas and to be renewed by his brother.

The article tends to show the hidden semantics of Old Ukrainian customary law procedures concerning the land boundaries’ marking. The author used a comparativehistorical approach. At first, the main significant elements of boundaries marking and making were distinguished in the range of historical sources (the Book of Kyiv Chamberlaine Court, City Book of Poltava, Kyivan Rus princes’ charts from 14 c., «Rus’ka Pravda», and South Russian acts from 17 c., which are ethnographically close to Ukrainian material). These elements comprise: circular movements («obyizd», «obkhid», «zayizd», «uyizd»), sings («gran’», «kopci»), and especially oaks and trees with bee-hives («bort’»). Since in the cognate Indo-European traditions, an oak is known to be a tree of a thunder-god, a comparative analysis of land boundaries setting laws of Hittite, Old Indic, and Old Irish traditions was undertaken. Mythological notion of an oak and bees in Baltic other Indo-European folklores were considered as well. All elements of Old Ukrainian rite of boundary setting have ancient mythological semantics. The circular motion around a certain territory had special semantics in the Hittite and Old Indian traditions, where the ruler undertook a yearly tour of his domain. In Ancient Irish laws, an oak was one of the main boundary marks. An oak as a tree that belonged to the thunder-god had a specific semantics in Baltic beliefs, where it was connected both with bees and Perkons. The approach suggested in the article is a new, original one, and may enhance reconsidering the significance of old chancery documents as a possible source for studies in mythological outlook survivals among the inhabitants of old Ukrainian territories, as well as to trace the inheritance of law procedures at stylistic level from the time of Kyivan Rus up to 17 c.

This article uses a case study of a Melbourne-based youth media project called Youthworx to explore the processes at stake in cultural engagement for marginalised young people. Drawing on ethnographic research conducted between 2008 and 2010, I identify some ways in which the city is implicated in promoting or preventing access to socially valued spaces of creativity and intended social mobility. The ethnographic material presented here has both empirical and theoretical value. It reveals the important relationships between the experience of place, creativity, and social life, demonstrating potentialities and limits of creativity-focused development interventions for marginalised youth. The articulation of these relationships and processes taking place within a particular city setting has theoretical implications. It opens up an opportunity to consider "suburbs" as enacted by specific forms of access, contingencies, and opportunities for a particular demographic, rather than treating "suburbs" as abstract, analytical constructs. Finally, my empirically grounded discussion draws attention to cultural and social consequences that inhabiting certain social worlds and acts of travelling "to and beyond" them have for young people. Youthworx is a community-based youth media initiative employing pathway-based semi-formal creative practices to re-engage young people who have a history of drug or alcohol abuse or juvenile justice, who have been long disconnected from mainstream education, or who are homeless. The focus on media production allows it to tap into, and in fact leverage, popular creativity, tacit knowledge, and familiar media-based activities that young people bring to bear on their media training and work in this context. Underpinned by social and creative industry policy, Youthworx brings together social service agency The Salvation Army (TSA), educational provider Northern Melbourne Institute of TAFE (NMIT), youth community media organisation SYN Media, and researchers at Institute for Social Research, Swinburne University. Its day-to-day operation is run by contractual, part-time media facilitators, social workers (as part of TSA’s in-kind support), as well as media industry experts who provide casual media training. Youthworx is characterised by the diversity of its young demographic. One can differentiate between at least two groups of participants: those who join Youthworx because of the social opportunities, and those who put more value on its skill-development, or vocational creative industries orientation. This social organisation is, however, far from static. Over the two years of research (2008-2010) we observed evolving ideas about the identity of the program, its key social functions, and how they can be best served. This had proceeded with the construction of what the Youthworx staff term "a community of safe belonging" to a more "serious" media work environment, exemplified by the establishment of a social enterprise (Youthworx Productions) in 2010 that offers paid traineeships to the most capable and determined young creators. To accommodate the diversity of literacy levels, needs, and aspirations of its young participants, the project offers a tailored media education program with a mix of diversionary, educational, and commercial objectives. One-on-one media training sessions, accredited courses in Creative Industries (Media), and industry training within Youthworx Productions are provided to help young people develop a range of skills transferable into a variety of personal, social and professional contexts. Its creative studio, where learning occurs, is located in a former jeans factory warehouse in the heart of an industrial area of Melbourne’s northern inner-city suburb of Brunswick. Young people are referred to Youthworx by a range of social agencies, and they travel to Brunswick from across Melbourne. Some participants are known to spend over three hours commuting from outer suburbs such as Frankston or even regional towns such as King Lake. Unlike community-based creative programs reliant on established community structures within local suburbs (for example, ICE in Western Sydney), Youthworx moved into Tinning Street in Brunswick because its industry partner—The Salvation Army—had existing youth service infrastructure there. The program, however, was not tapping into an existing media “community of practice” (Lane and Wenger); it had to forge its own culture of media participation. In the early days of the program, there were necessary material resources and professional expertise (teachers/social workers/a creative venue), but it took a long while, and a high level of dedication, passion, and practical optimism on the part of the project managers and teaching staff, for young people to genuinely engage in media training and production. Now, Youthworx’s creative space is a “practised place” in de Certeau’s sense. As “the street geometrically defined by urban planning is transformed into a space by walkers” (De Certeau 117), so is the Youthworx space produced by practices of media learning and making by professional creative practitioners and young amateur creators (Raffo; for ideas on institutionalised co-creative practice see Spurgeon et al.). The Brunswick location is where our extensive ethnographic research has taken place, including regular participant observation and qualitative interviews with staff and young participants. The ethnographers frequently travelled with young people to other locations within Melbourne, accompanying them on their trips to youth community radio station SYN Media in the CBD, where they produce a weekly radio show, as well as to film shoots and public social events around the city. As an access learning program for marginalised youth from around Melbourne, Youthworx provides an interesting example to explore how the concerns of material and cultural capital, geographic and cultural distance intersect and shape processes of creative participation and social inclusion. I draw on our ethnographic material to illustrate how these metonymic relationships play out in the ways young participants “travel distance” (Dewson et. al.) on the project and across the city, both figuratively and literally. The idea of “distance travelled” is adapted here from evaluation literature (for other relevant references see Dowmunt et al.; Hayes and Edwards; Holdsworth et al.), and builds on the argument made previously (Podkalicka and Staley 5), to encompass both the geographical mobility and cultural transformation that young people are supported to undergo as an intended outcome of their involvement in Youthworx. This paper also takes inspiration from ethnographic approaches that study a productive and transformative relationship between material culture, spatial geography and processes of identity formation (see Miller). What happens to Youthworx young participants as they travel in a trivial, and at first sight perhaps inconsequential, way between the suburbs they live in, the Youthworx Brunswick location and the city is both experientially real and meaningful. “Suburban space” is then a cultural site that simultaneously refers to concrete, literal places as well as “a state of mind”—that is, identification and connections that are generative of a sense of identity and belonging (Ferber et al.). Youthworx is an intermediary point on these young people’s travels, rather than the final destination (Podkalicka and Staley 5). It provides access to various forms of new spatial, social, and creative experiences and modes of expression. Creating opportunities for highly disenfranchised young people to access and develop new social and creative experiences is an important aspect of Youthworx’s developmental agenda, and is played out at both philosophical and practical levels. On the one hand, a strength-based approach to youth work assumes respect for young people’s potential and knowledges—unlike public discourses that deny them agency due to an assumed lack of life experience (e.g., Poletti). In addition to the material provision of "food and shelter" typical of traditional social work, attention is paid the higher levels of the Maslow hierarchy of human needs, with creativity, self-esteem, and social connectedness at the top of the scale (see also Podkalicka and Campbell; Podkalicka and Thomas). Former Manager of The Salvation Army’s Brunswick Youth Services (BYS)—one of Youthworx’s partners—Craig Campbell argues: Things like truth and beauty are a higher order of dreams for these kids. And by truth I don’t mean the simple lies that can be told to get them out of trouble [but] is there a greater truth to life than a grinding existence in the impoverished neighbourhood, is there something like beauty and aesthetics that wakes us up in the morning and calls a larger life out of us? Most of those kids only faintly dream of such a thing, and this dream is rapidly being extinguished under the weight of drugs and alcohol, abusive family systems, savage interaction with law and justice system, and education as a toxic environment and experience. (Campbell) Campbell's articulate reflection captures the way the Youthworx project has been conceived. It is also a pertinent example of the many reflections on experience and practice at Youthworx that were recorded in my fieldwork, which illustrate the way these kinds of social projects can be understood, interpreted and evaluated. The following personal narrative and contextual description introduce some of the important issues at stake. (The names and other personal details of young people have been changed.) Nineteen-year-old Dave is temporarily staying in an inner-city refuge. Normally, however, like most Youthworx participants, he lives in Broadmeadows, a far northern suburb of Melbourne. To get to Brunswick, where he does his accredited media course three days a week, he either catches a train or waits for a mini-bus to drive him there. The early-morning pick-up for about ten young people is organised by the program’s partner—The Salvation Army. At the Youthworx creative studio, located in the heart of Brunswick, right next to railway tracks, young people produce an array of media products: live and pre-recorded radio programs, digital storytelling, mini-documentaries, and original music. Once at Youthworx, they share the local neighbourhood with other artists who have adapted warehouses into art workshops, studios and galleries. The suburb of Brunswick is well-known for its multicultural profile, a combination of industrial and residential estates, high rates of tertiary students due to its proximity to universities, and its place in the recent history of urban gentrification. However, Youthworx participants don’t seek out or engage with the existing, physically proximate creative base, even within the same street. On a couple of occasions, the opposite has been the case: Youthworx students have been involved in acts of vandalism of local residents’ property, including nearby parked cars. Their connections to the Brunswick neighbourhood remain poor, often reflecting their low social capital as a result of unstable residential situations, isolation, and fraught relationships with family. From Brunswick, they often travel to the city on their own, wander around, sit on the steps of Flinders Street train station—an inner-city hub and popular meeting place for locals and tourists alike. Youthworx plays an important role in these young people’s lives, as an important access point to not only creative digital media-based experiences and skill development, but also to greater and basic geographical mobility and experiences within the city. As one of the students commented: They are giving us chances that we wouldn’t usually get. Every day you’re getting to a place, where it’s pretty damn easy to get into; that’s what’s good about it. There are so many places where you have to do so much to get there and half the time, some people don’t even have the bloody bus ticket to get a [job] interview. But [at Youthworx/BYS], they will pick you up and drive you around if you need it. They are friends. It is reportedly a common practice for many young people at Youthworx and BYS to catch a train or a tram (rather than bus) without paying for a ticket. However, to be caught dodging a fare a few times has legal consequences and young people often face court as a result. The program responds by offering its young participants tickets for public transport, ready for pick-up after afternoon activities, or, if possible, "driving them around"—as some young people told me. The program’s social workers revealed that girls are particularly afraid to travel on their own, especially when catching trains to the outer northern suburbs, for fear of being harassed or attacked. These supported travels are as practical and necessary as they are meaningful for young people’s identity formation, and as such are recognised and built into the project’s design, co-ordination and delivery. At the most basic level, The Salvation Army’s social workers pick young people up from the Broadmeadows area in the mornings. Youthworx creative practitioners assist young people to make trips to SYN Media in the city. For most participants, this is either the first or sporadic experience of travelling to the city, something they enjoy very much but are also somewhat daunted by. Additionally, as part of the curriculum, Youthworx staff make a point of taking young people to inner-city movie theatres or public media events. The following vignette from the fieldwork highlights another important connection between physical journey and creative expression. There is an excitement in Dave’s voice when he talks about his favourite pastime: hanging out around the city. “Why would you walk around the streets?” a curious female friend interjects. Dave replies: “No, it’s not the streets, man. It’s just Federation Square, everywhere … There is just all these young wannabe criminals and shit. People don’t know what goes on; and I want to do a doco on the city, a little doco of the people there, because I know a lot of it.” Dave’s interest in exploring the city may be interpreted as a rather common, mundane routine shared by mildly adventurous adolescents of all walks. And yet, there is much more at stake in his account, and for Youthworx young participants more generally. As mentioned before, for many of these young people, it is the first opportunity to travel to the city. This experience then is crucial in a sense of self-exploration and self-discovery. As they overcome their fear of venturing out into the city on their own, they also learn that they have knowledge which others might lack. This moment of realisation is significant and empowering, and they want to communicate this knowledge to others. Youthworx assists them in learning how to translate this knowledge in a creative and constructive way, through an expression that weaves between the free individual and the social voice constructed to enable a dialogue or understanding (Podkalicka; Podkalicka and Campbell; Podkalicka and Thomas; also Soep and Chavez). For an effective communication to occur, a crafted social voice requires skills and a critical awareness of oneself and an audience, which is very different from the modes of expression that these young people might have accessed previously. Youthworx's young participants draw heavily on their life experiences, geographical locations, the suburbs they come from, and places they visit in the city: their cultural productions often reference their homes, music clubs and hang-out venues, inner city streets, Federation Square, and Youthworx’s immediate physical surroundings, with graffiti-covered narrow alleys and railway tracks. The frequent depiction of Youthworx in young people’s creative outputs is often a token of appreciation of the creative, educational and social opportunities it has offered them. Social and professional connections they make there are found to be very valuable. The existing creative industries literature emphasises the importance of social networks to existing communities of interest and practice for human capacity building. Value is argued to lie not only in specific content produced, but in participatory processes that establish a link between personal growth, individual skills and social and professional networks (Hearn and Bridgestock). In a similar vein, Carlo Raffo uses Granovetter’s concept of “weak ties” to suggest that access to “social relations that go beyond the immediate locality and hence their immediate experiences” can provide marginalised young people with “pathways for authentic and informal learning that go beyond the structuring influences of class, gender and ethnicity and into new and emerging economic experiences” (Raffo 11). But higher levels of confidence or social skills are required to make the most of vocational or professional opportunities beyond the supportive context of Youthworx. Connections between Youthworx participants and other creative practitioners within the creative locality of Brunswick have been absent thus far. Transitions into mainstream education and employment have also proven challenging for this group of heavily marginalised youth. As we found during our ongoing fieldwork, even the most talented students find it hard to get into mainstream education courses, or to get or keep jobs. The project serves as a social basis for young people to develop self-agency and determination so they can start engaging with new opportunities and social networks outside the program (Raffo 15). Indeed, the creative practitioners at Youthworx are key facilitators of connections between young people and the external world. They act as positive role models socially, and illustrate what is possible professionally in terms of media excellence and employment (see also Raffo). There are indications that this very supportive, gradual process of social learning is starting to bear fruit for individual students and the Youthworx community as a whole as they grow more confident with themselves, in interactions with others, and the media work they do. Media projects such as Youthworx are examples of what Leadbeater and Wong call “disruptive innovation,” as they provide new ways of learning for those alienated by formal education. The use of digital hands-on media production makes educational processes relevant and engaging for young people. However, as I demonstrate in this paper, there are tangible, material barriers to releasing creativity, or enhancing self-discovery and sociality. There are, as Leadbeater and Wong observe, persistent links between cultural environment, socio-economic status, corresponding attitudes to learning and educational success in the developed world. In the UK, for example, only small percent of those from the lowest socio-economic background go to university (Leadbeater and Wong 10). Youthworx provides an opportunity and motivation for young people to break a cycle of individual self-destructive behaviour (e.g. getting locked up every 6 months), intergenerational reliance on welfare, or entrenched negative attitudes to learning. At the basic level, it encourages and often insists that young people get up in the morning, with social workers often reporting to have to “knock at people’s houses and get them ready.” The involvement in Youthworx is often an important reason to start delineating between day and night, week and weekend. A couple of students commented: I slept a lot. Yeah, I was always sleeping during the day and out at night; I could have still been doing nothing with my life [were it not for Youthworx]. Now people ask if I want to go out during the week, and I just can’t be bothered. I just want to sleep and then go to [Youthworx] and then weekends are when you go out. It also offers a concrete means to begin exploring the city beyond the constraints of their local suburbs. This literal, geographical mobility is interlocked with potential for a changed perception of opportunities, individual transformation and, consequently, social mobility. Dave, as we have seen, is attracted to the idea of exploring the city but also has creative aspirations, and contemplates professional prospects in the creative industries. It is important to note that the participants are resilient in their negotiation between the suburban, Youthworx and inner city worlds they can inhabit. Accessing learning, despite previous negative schooling experiences, is for many of them very important, and reaffirming of life they aspire to. An opportunity to pursue dreams, creative forms of expression, social networks and education is a vital part of human existence. These aspects of social inclusion are recognised in the current articulation of social policy reconceptualised beyond material, economic equality. Creative industry policy, on the other hand, is concerned with fostering creative outputs and skills to generate engagement and employment opportunities in the knowledge-based economies for wide sections of the population. The value is located in human capacity building, involving basic social as well as vocational skills, and links to social networks. The Youthworx project merges these two policy frameworks of the social and creative to test in practice new collaborative approaches to youth development. The spatial and cultural practices of young people described here serve a basis for proposing a theoretical framework that can help understand the term "suburb" in an intrinsically relational, grounded way. The relationships at stake in cultural and social participation for marginalised young people lead me to suggest that the concept of ‘suburb’ takes on two tightly interwoven meanings. The first refers symbolically to a particular locale for popular creativity (Burgess) or even marginal creativity by a group of young people living at the periphery of the social system. The second meaning refers to the interlocked forms of material and cultural capital (and distance), as theorised in Bourdieu’s work (e.g., Bourdieu). It includes physical, spatial conditions and relations, as well as cultural resources and possibilities made available to young participants by the project (e.g., the instituted, supported travel across the city, or the employment of creative practitioners), and interlinked with everyday dispositions, practices, and status of young people (e.g., taste). This empirically-grounded discussion allows to theorise ‘suburbs’ as perceived and socially enacted by concrete, relational forms of access, contingencies, and opportunities for a particular demographic, rather than analytically pre-conceived, designated spaces within an urban system. The ethnographic material reveals that cultural participation for marginalised youth requires an integrated approach, with a parallel focus on material and creative opportunities made available within creative sites such as Youthworx or even the Brunswick creative area. The important material constraints exemplified in this paper concern socio-economic background, cultural disadvantage and geographical isolation and point to the limits of the creative industries-based interventions to address social inclusion if carried out in isolation. They tap into the very basis of risks for this specific demographic of marginalised youth or "youth at risk." The paper suggests that the productive emphasis on the role of media and communication for (youth) development needs to be contextualised and considered along with the actual realities of everyday existence that often limit young people’s educational and vocational prospects (see Bentley et al.; Leadbeater and Wong). On the other hand, an exclusive focus on material support risks cancelling out the possibilities for positive life transitions, such as those triggered by constructive, non-reductionist engagement with “beauty, aesthetics” (Campbell) and creativity. By exploring how participation in Youthworx engenders both the physical mobility between suburbs and the city, and identity transformation, we are able to gain insights into the nature of social exclusion, its meanings for the youth involved and the project managers and staff. Thinking about Youthworx not just as a hub of creative production but as a cultural site—“a space within a practiced place of identity” (De Certeau 117) in the suburb of Brunswick—opens up a discussion that combines the policy language of opportunity and necessity with concrete creative and material possibilities. Social inclusion objectives aimed at positive youth transitions need to be considered in the light of the connection—or disconnection—between the Youthworx Brunswick site itself, young participants’ suburbs, and, by extension, the trajectory between the inner city and other spaces that young people travel through and inhabit. Acknowledgment I would like to thank all the young participants, staff and industry partners involved in the Youthworx project. I also acknowledge the comments of anonymous peer reviewer which helped to strengthen the argument by foregrounding the value of the empirical material. The paper draws on the larger project funded by the Centre of Excellence in Creative Industries and Innovation. Youthworx research team includes: Prof Denise Meredyth (CI); Prof Julian Thomas (CI); Ass/Prof David MacKenzie (CI); Ass/Prof Ellie Rennie; Chris Wilson (PhD candidate), and Jon Staley (Youthworx Manager and PhD candidate). References Bentley, Tom, and Kate Oakley. “The Real Deal: What Young People Think about Government, Politics and Social Exclusion.” Demos. 12 Jan. 2011 ‹http://www.demos.co.uk/files/theRealdeal.pdf›. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Cambridge: Harvard U P, 1987. Burgess, Jean. “Hearing Ordinary Voices: Cultural Studies, Vernacular Creativity and Digital Storytelling.” Continuum 20.2 (2006): 201–14. Campbell, Craig. Personal Interview. Melbourne, 2009. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984. Dewson, Sara, Judith Eccles, Nii Djan Tackey and Annabel Jackson. “Guide to Measuring Soft Outcomes and Distance Travelled.” The Institute for Employment Studies. 12 Jan. 2011‹http:// www.dwp.gov.uk/docs/distance.pdf›. Dowmunt, Tom, Mark Dunford, and N. van Hemert. Inclusion through Media. London: Open Mute, 2007. Ferber, Sarah, Chris Healy, and Chris McAuliffe. Beasts of Suburbia: Reinterpreting Cultures in Australian Suburbs. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 1994. Hayes, Alan, Matthew Gray, and Ben Edwards. “Social Inclusion: Origins, Concepts and Key Themes.” Australian Institute of Family Studies, prepared for the Social Inclusion Unit, Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. 2008.12 Jan. 2011 ‹http://www.socialinclusion.gov.au/Documents/AIFS_SI_concepts_report_20April09.pdf›. Hearn, Gregory, and Ruth Bridgstock. “Education for the Creative Economy: Innovation, Transdisciplinarity, and Networks. Education in the Creative Economy: Knowledge and Learning in the Age of Innovation. Ed. Daniel Araya and Michael Peters. New York: Peter Lang, 2010. 93–116. Holdsworth, Roger, Murray Lake, Kathleen Stacey, and John Safford. “Doing Positive Things: You Have to Go Out and Do It: Outcomes for Participants in Youth Development Programs.” Australian Youth Research Centre. 12 Jan. 2011 ‹http://www.dest.gov.au/NR/rdonlyres/5385FE14-A74C-4B24-98EA-D31EEA8447B2/21803/doing_positive_things1.pdf›. Lave, Jean, and Etienne Wenger. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991. Leadbeater, Charles, and Annika Wong. “Learning from the Extremes.” CISCO. 12 Jan. 2011 ‹http://www.socialinclusion.gov.au/Documents/AIFS_SI_concepts_report_20April09.pdf›. Miller, Daniel. Stuff. Cambridge: Polity, 2010. Podkalicka, Aneta. “Young Listening: An Ethnography of Youthworx Media's Radio Project." Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 23.4 (2009): 561–72. ———, and Jon Staley. “Youthworx Media: Creative Media Engagement for ‘at Risk’ Young People.” 3CM 5 (2009). ———, and Julian Thomas. “The Skilled Social Voice: An Experiment in Creative Economy and Communication Rights.’’ International Communication Gazette 72.4–5 (2010): 395–406. ———, and Craig Campbell. “Understanding Digital Storytelling: Beyond the Politics of Voice in Youth Participation Programs.” seminar.net: Media Technology and Lifelong Learning 6.2 (2010). ‹http://www.seminar.net/index.php/home/75-current-issue/150-understanding-digital-storytelling-individual-voice-and-community-building-in-youth-media-programs›. Poletti, Anna. Intimate Ephemera: Reading Young Lives in Australian Zine Culture. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2008. Raffo, Carlo. "Mentoring Disenfranchised Young People: An Action Research Project on the Development of 'Weak Ties' and Social Capital Enhancement." Education and Industry in Partnership 6.3 (2000): 22–42. Soep, Elizabeth, and Vivian Chavez. Drop That Knowledge: Youth Radio Stories. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010. Spurgeon, Christina, Jean Burgess, Helen Klaebe, Kelly McWilliam, Jo Tacchi, and Mimi Tsai. “Co-Creative Media: Theorising Digital Storytelling as a Platform for Researching and Developing Participatory Culture.” 2009 ANZC Conference Proceedings. 2009. 16 Nov. 2010 ‹http://eprints.qut.edu.au/25811/2/25811.pdf›.

The paper presented by Lucille Marr, “Ontario’s Conference of Historic Peace Church Families and the ‘Joy of Service,’” may be found in the Mennonite Quarterly Review(forthcoming). A revised version of the paper presented by Douglas H. Shantz, “The Master Work of a Minor Prophet: The Literary Career of German Court Pietist Court Preacher Conrad Bröske,” may be found in the Festschrift für Prof. Dr. Hans Schneider, to be published and presented to him in July 2001. The volume will appear in the series “Quellen und Studien zur hessischen Kirchengeschichte.” The papers by Elsie Watts (“From YMCA to University 101: Secularization and the University of South Carolina after 1945”) and Thomas W. Evans (“British Religious Experiences in Nineteenth-Century New Brunswick”) were not made available for publication.

Abstract Sacrum imperium (literally: holy empire) is a Latin phrase that entered the chancery of Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa (1152–1190) in 1157. Sacrum imperium developed into the name of the Empire only much later, but scholars interpreted it as a programmatic phrase that Frederick and his chancellor, Rainald of Dassel, introduced as a part of their plan to ‘resacralize the state’ after its supposed desacralization by Pope Gregory VII (1073–1085) and the Empire’s defeat in the Investiture Controversy (1076–1122). In this article I show that sacrum imperium was introduced not by Frederick and Rainald but by a group of Italian courtiers who had developed a new political vocabulary based on that of Justinian’s Corpus iuris civilis and the contemporary Byzantine court language. I also demonstrate on the basis of Italian, Byzantine and papal sources that a desacralization of the state in 1122 never happened.

IntroductionIn New Brunswick Canada (NB) in 2017, the Provincial Government passed a bill called the Act Respecting Research. This Act took the form of an omnibus bill modifying 20 pieces of legislation to define a legal authority for the New Brunswick Institute for Research, Data and Training (NB-IRDT) to receive prepared, linkable microdata from multiple public bodies in NB. This was followed in 2019 by a second Act Respecting Research that broadened the scope of the first. Together this legislation has helped to expand NB-IRDT’s data holdings from its first dataset – hospital records received in 2015 – to over 40 different linkable datasets as of March 2020. These datasets are underpinning ambitious research partnerships between NB-IRDT and the Provincial Government. Objectives and ApproachThis presentation will detail the rapid progress made since the first Act was passed in 2017 and presented at IPDLN-2018. It will outline enabling factors, including secured funding, the central role of the Department of Health, engagement with senior decisionmakers, and interaction with other provincial data centres and national networks including HDRN Canada. Ongoing and new challenges arising from the rapid increase in the scale of data collection and their resolution will be discussed. ResultsIn addition to a wide range of provincial health administrative and clinical datasets, recent datasets include school records (report cards, standardized testing, attendance), income support data, workers compensation claims data, higher education program and graduation data, court appearances, adult training/retraining programs and immigration landing records. All files are linkable at the individual level. Multi-year research projects to support program evaluation are underway, with departments now able to access other agency data through NB-IRDT. Conclusion / ImplicationsNB-IRDT and the experience in NB offer important lessons for other jurisdictions aiming to expand access to linkable multi-agency data for research and evaluation.

During the War of 1812, hundreds of private armed vessels, or privateers, carrying letters of marque and reprisal from their respective governments, served as counterweights to the navies of Great Britain and the United States. By 1812, privateering was acknowledged as an ideal way to annoy the enemy at little or no cost to the government. Local citizens provided the ships, crews and prizes while the court and customs systems took in the appropriate fees. The entire process was legal, licensed and often extremely lucrative. Unlike the navy, privateers were essentially volunteer commerce raiders, determined to weaken the enemy economically rather than militarily. So successful were they, that from July 1812 to February 1815, privateers from the United States, Britain, and the British provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia (as well as those sailing under French and Spanish flags) turned the shipping lanes from Newfoundland to the West Indies, Norway to West Africa, and even the South Pacific into their hunting grounds. In the early months of the war, privateers were often the only seaborne force patrolling their own coasts. With the Royal Navy pre-occupied with defending Britain and its Caribbean colonies from French incursions, there were relatively few warships available to protect British North American shipping from their new American foes. Meanwhile, the United States Navy had only a handful of frigates and smaller warships to protect their trade, supported by 174 generally despised gunboats. The solution was the traditional response of a lesser maritime power lacking a strong navy—private armed warfare, or privateering.

Introduction Nun habe ich Euch genug geschrieben, diesen Brief wenn sei [sic] lesen würden, dann würde ich den Genickschuß bekommen.Now I have written you enough, this letter if they would read it, I would get the neck shot. (M., all translations from German sources and quotations by the author) When the German soldier Otto M. wrote these lines from Russia to his family on 3 September 1943 during the Second World War, he knew that his war letter would not be subject to the National Socialist censorship apparatus. The letter contains, inter alia, detailed information about the course of the war on the front, troop locations, and warnings about the Nazi regime. M., as he wrote in the letter, smuggled it past the censorship via a “comrade”. As a German soldier, M. was a member of the Volksgemeinschaft—a National Socialist concept that drew a “racist and anti-Semitic borderline” (Wildt 48)—and was thus not socially excluded due to his status. Nevertheless, in the sentence quoted above, M. anticipates possible future consequences of his deviant actions, which would be carried out by “them”—potentially leading to his violent death. This article investigates how social and societal exclusion is brought forth by everyday media practices such as writing letters. After an introduction to the thesis under discussion, I will briefly outline the linguistic research on National Socialism that underlies the approach presented. In the second section, the key concepts of agency and dispositif applied in this work are discussed. This is followed by two sections in which infrastructural and interactional practices of exclusion are analysed. The article closes with some concluding remarks. During the Second World War, Wehrmacht soldiers and their relatives could not write and receive letters that were not potentially subject to controls. Therefore, the blunt openness with which M. anticipated the brutal sanctions of behavioural deviations in the correspondence quoted above was an exception in the everyday practice of war letter communication. This article will thus pursue the following thesis: private communication in war letters was subject to specific discourse conditions under National Socialism, and this brought forth excluding agency, which has two intertwined readings. Firstly, “excluding” is to be understood as an attribute of “agency” in the sense of an acting entity that either is included and potentially excludes or is excluded due to its ascribed agency. For example, German soldiers who actively participated in patriotic service were included in the Volksgemeinschaft. By contrast, Jews or Communists, to name but a few groups that, from the perspective of racist Nazi ideology, did not contribute to the community, were excluded from it. Such excluding agencies are based on specific practices of dispositional arrangement, which I refer to as infrastructural exclusion of agency. Secondly, excluding agency describes a linguistic practice that developed under National Socialism and has an equally stabilising effect on it. Excluding agency means that agents, and hence protagonists, are excluded by means of linguistic mitigation and omission. This second reading emphasises practices of linguistic construction of agency in interaction, which is described as interactional exclusion of agency. In either sense, exclusion is inextricably tied to the notion of agency, which is illustrated in this article by using data from field post letters of the Second World War. Social exclusion, along with its most extreme manifestations under fascism, is both legitimised and carried out predominantly through discursive practices. This includes for the public domain, on the one hand, executive language use such as in laws, decrees, orders, court hearings, and verdicts, and on the other hand, texts such as ideological writings, speeches, radio addresses, folk literature, etc. Linguistic research on National Socialism and its mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion has long focussed on the power of a regulated public use of language that seemed to be shaped by a few protagonists, most notably Hitler and Goebbels (Schlosser; Scholl). More recent works, however, are increasingly devoted to the differentiation of heterogeneous communities of practice, which were primarily established through discursive practices and are manifested accordingly in texts of that time (Horan, Practice). Contrary to a justifiably criticised “exculpation of the speakers” (Sauer 975) by linguistic research, which focusses on language but not on situated, interactional language use, such a perspective is increasingly interested in “discourse in National Socialism, with a particular emphasis on language use in context as a shared, communicative phenomenon” (Horan, Letter 45). To understand the phenomenon of social and societal exclusion, which was constitutive for National Socialism, it is also necessary to analyse those discursive practices of inclusion and exclusion through which the speakers co-constitute everyday life. I will do this by relating the discourse conditions, based on Foucault’s concept of dispositif (Confessions 194), to the agency of the correspondents of war letters, i.e. field post letters. On Agency and Dispositif Agency and dispositif are key concepts for the analysis of social exclusion, because they can be applied to analyse the situated practices of exclusion both in terms of the different capacities for action of various agents, i.e. acting entities, and the inevitably asymmetrical arrangement within which actions are performed. Let me first, very briefly, outline some linguistic conceptions of agency. While Ahearn states that “agency refers to the socioculturally mediated capacity to act” (28) and thus conceives agency as a potential, Duranti understands agency “as the property of those entities (i) that have some degree of control over their own behavior, (ii) whose actions in the world affect other entities’ (and sometimes their own), and (iii) whose actions are the object of evaluation (e.g. in terms of their responsibility for a given outcome)” (453). Deppermann considers agency to be a means of social and situational positioning: “‘agency’ is to capture properties of the subject as agent, that is, its role with respect to the events in which it is involved” (429–30). This is done by linguistic attribution. Following Duranti, this analysis is based on the understanding that agency is established by the ascription of action to an entity which is thereby made or considered accountable for the action. This allows a practice-theoretical reference to Garfinkel’s concept of accountability and identifies agentive practices as “visibly-rational-and-reportable-for-all-practical purposes” (7). The writing of letters in wartime is one such reflexive discursive practice through which agents constitute social reality by means of ascribing agency. The concept of semantic roles (Fillmore; von Polenz), offers another, distinctly linguistic access to agency. By semantic roles, agency in situated interaction is established syntactically and semantically. Put simply, a distinction is made between an Agent, as someone who performs an action, and a Patient, as someone to whom an action occurs (von Polenz 170; semantic roles such as Agent, Patient, Experiencer, etc. are capitalised by convention). Using linguistic data from war letters, this concept is discussed in more detail below. In the following, “field post” is considered as dispositif, by which Foucault means a thoroughly heterogeneous ensemble consisting of discourses, institutions, architectural forms, regulatory decisions, laws, administrative measures, scientific statements, philosophical, moral and philanthropic propositions – in short, the said as much as the unsaid. Such are the elements of the apparatus [dispositif]. The apparatus [dispositif] itself is the system of relations that can be established between these elements. (Foucault, Confessions 194) The English translation of the French “dispositif” as “apparatus” encourages an understanding of dispositif as a rather rigid structure. In contrast, the field post service of the Second World War will be used here to show how such dispositifs enable practices of exclusion or restrict access to practices of inclusion, while these characteristics themselves are in turn established by practices or, as Foucault calls them, procedures (Foucault, Discourse). An important and potentially enlightening notion related to dispositif is that of agencement, which in turn is borrowed from Deleuze and Guattari and was further developed in particular in actor-network theory (Çalışkan and Callon; Gherardi). What Çalışkan and Callon state about markets serves as a general description of agencement, which can be defined as an “arrangement of heterogeneous constituents that deploys the following: rules and conventions; technical devices; metrological systems; logistical infrastructures; texts, discourses and narratives …; technical and scientific knowledge (including social scientific methods), as well as the competencies and skills embodied in living beings” (3). This resembles Foucault’s concept of dispositif (Foucault, Confessions; see above), which “denotes a heterogeneous ensemble of discursive and nondiscursive elements with neither an originary subject not [sic] a determinant causality” (Coté 384). Considered morphosemantically, agencement expresses an important interrelation: in that it is derived from both the French agencer (to construct; to arrange) and agence (agency; cf. Hardie and MacKenzie 58) and is concretised and nominalised by the suffix -ment, agencement elegantly integrates structure and action according to Giddens’s ‘duality of structure’. While this tying aspect certainly contributes to a better understanding of dispositional arrangements and should therefore be considered, agencement, as applied in actor-network theory, emphasises above all “the fact that agencies and arrangements are not separate” (Çalışkan and Callon) and is, moreover, often employed to ascribe agency to material objects, things, media, etc. This approach has proven to be very fruitful for analyses of socio-technical arrangements in actor-network theory and practice theory (Çalışkan and Callon; Gherardi). However, within the presented discourse-oriented study on letter writing and field post in National Socialism, a clear analytical differentiation between agency and arrangement, precisely in order to point out their interrelation, is essential to analyse practices of exclusion. This is why I prefer dispositif to agencement as the analytical concept here. Infrastructural Exclusion of Agency in Field Post Letters In the Second World War, writing letters between the “homeland” and the “frontline” was a fundamental everyday media practice with an estimated total of 30 to 40 billion letters in Germany (Kilian 97). War letters were known as field post (Feldpost), which was processed by the field post service. The dispositif “field post” was, in opposition to the traditional postal service, subject to specific conditions regarding charges, transport, and above all censorship. No transportation costs arose for field post letters up to a weight of 250 grams. Letters could only be sent by or to soldiers with a field post number that encoded the addresses of the field post offices. Only soldiers who were deployed outside the Reich’s borders received a field post number (Kilian 114). Thus, the soldiers were socially included as interactants due to their military status. The entire organisation of the field post was geared towards enabling members of the Volksgemeinschaft to communicatively shape, maintain, and continue their social relationships during the war (Bergerson et al.). Applying Foucault, the dispositif “field post” establishes selection and exclusion mechanisms in which “procedures of exclusion” (Discourse 52) become manifest, two of which are to be related to the field post: “exclusion from discourse” and “scarcity of speaking subjects” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73). Firstly, “procedures of exclusion ensure that only certain statements can be made in discourse” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73). This exclusion procedure ought to be implemented by controlling and, ultimately, censoring field post letters. Reviews were carried out by censorship offices (Feldpostprüfstellen), which were military units independent of the field post offices responsible for delivery. Censorship initially focussed on military information. However, “in the course of the war, censorship shifted from a control measure aimed at defence towards a political-ideological review” (Kilian 101). Critical remarks could be legally prosecuted and punished with prison, penitentiary, or death (Kilian 99). Hence, it is assumed that self-censorship played a role not only for public media, such as newspapers, but also for writing private letters (Dodd). As the introductory quotation from Otto M. shows, writers who spread undesirable information in their letters anticipated the harshest consequences. In this respect, randomised censorship—although only a very small proportion of the high volume of mail was actually opened by censors (Kilian)—established a permanent disposition of control that resulted in a potentially discourse-excluding social stratification of private communication. Secondly, the dispositif “field post” was inherently exclusive and excluding, as those who did not belong to the Volksgemeinschaft could not use the service and thus could not acquire agentive capacity. The “scarcity of speaking subjects” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73) was achieved by restricting participation in the field post system to members of the Volksgemeinschaft. Since agency is based on the most basic prerequisite, namely the ability to act linguistically at all, the mere possibility of exercising agency was infrastructurally restricted by the field post system. Excluding people from “agency-through-language” means excluding them from an “agency of an existential sort” (Duranti 455), which is described here, regarding the field post system, as infrastructural exclusion of agency. Interactional Exclusion of Agency in Field Post Letters In this section, I will elaborate how agency is brought forth interactionally through linguistic means on the basis of data from a field post corpus that was compiled in the project “Linguistic Social History 1933 to 1945” (Kämper). The aim of the project is an actor-based description of discursive practices and patterns at the time of National Socialism, which takes into account the fact that society in the years 1933 to 1945 consisted of heterogeneous communities of practice (Horan, Practice). Letter communication is considered to be an interaction that is characterised by mediated indexicality, accountability, reflexivity, sequentiality, and reciprocity (Dang-Anh) and is performed as situated social practice (Barton and Hall). The corpus of field letters examined here provides access to the everyday communication of members of the ‘integrated society’, i.e. those who were neither high-ranking members of the Nazi apparatus nor exposed to the repressions of the fascist dictatorship. The corpus consists of about 3,500 letters and about 2.5 million tokens. The data were obtained by digitising letter editions using OCR scans and in cooperation with the field post archive of the Museum for Communication Berlin (cf. sources below). We combine qualitative and quantitative methods, the latter providing heuristic indicators for in-depth hermeneutical analysis (Felder; Teubert). We apply corpus linguistic methods such as keyword, collocation and concordance analysis to the digitised full texts in order to analyse the data intersubjectively by means of corpus-based hermeneutic discourse analysis (Dang-Anh and Scholl). However, the selected excerpts of the corpus do not comprise larger data sets or complete sequences, but isolated fragments. Nevertheless, they illustrate the linguistic (non-)constitution of agency and thus distinctively exemplify exclusionary practices in field post letter writing. From a linguistic point of view, the exclusion of actors from action is achieved syntactically and semantically by deagentivisation (Bernárdez; von Polenz 186), as will be shown below. The following lines were written by Albert N. to his sister Johanna S. and are dated 25 June 1941, shortly after the beginning of the German Wehrmacht’s military campaign in Russia (Russlandfeldzug) a few days earlier. Vor den russ. Gefangenen bekommt man einen Ekel, d.h. viele Gefangene werden nicht gemacht.One gets disgusted by the Russian prisoners, i.e. many prisoners are not made. (N.) In the first part of the utterance, “mitigation of agency” (Duranti 465) is carried out using the impersonal pronoun “man” (“one”) which does not specify its referent. Instead, by means of deagentivisation, the scope of the utterance is generalised to an indefinite in‑group of speakers, whereby the use of the impersonal pronoun implies that the proposition is valid or generally accepted. Moreover, the use of “one” generalises the emotional expression “disgust”, thus suggesting that the aversive emotion is a self-evident affect experienced by everyone who can be subsumed under “one”. In particular, this includes the author, who is implicitly displayed as primarily perceiving the emotion in question. This reveals a fundamental practice of inclusion and exclusion, the separating distinction between “us”/“we” and “them”/“the others” (Wodak). In terms of semantic roles, the inclusive and generalised formal Experiencer “one” is opposed to the Causative “Russian prisoner” in an exclusionary manner, implicitly indicating the prisoners as the cause of disgust. The subsequent utterance is introduced by “i.e.”, which marks the causal link between the two phrases. The wording “many prisoners are not made” strongly suggests that it refers to homicides, i.e. executions carried out at the beginning of the military campaign in Russia by German troops (Reddemann 222). The depiction of a quasi-universal disgust in the first part establishes a “negative characterization of the out-group” (Wodak 33) which, in the expressed causal relation with the second phrase, seems to morally legitimise or at least somehow justify the implied killings. The passive form entirely omits an acting entity. Here, deagentivisation obscures the agency of the perpetrators. However, this is not the only line between acting and non-acting entities the author draws. The omission of an agent, even the impersonal “one”, in the second part, and the fact that there is no talk of self-experienceable emotions, but war crimes are hinted at in a passive sentence, suggest the exclusion of oneself as a joint agent of the indicated actions. As further data from the corpus indicate, war crimes are usually not ascribed to the writer or his own unit as the agents but are usually attributed to “others” or not at all. Was Du von Juden schreibst, ist uns schon länger bekannt. Sie werden im Osten angesiedelt.What you write about Jews is already known to us for some time. They are being settled in the East. (G.) In this excerpt from a letter, which Ernst G. wrote to his wife on 22 February 1942, knowledge about the situation of the Jews in the war zone is discussed. The passage appears quite isolated with its cotext in the letter revolving around quite different, trivial, everyday topics. Apparently, G. refers in his utterance to an earlier letter from his wife, which has not been preserved and is therefore not part of the corpus. “Jews” are those about whom the two agents, the soldier and his wife, write, whereas “us” refers to the soldiers at the front. In the second part, agency is again obscured by deagentivisation. While “they” anaphorically refers to “Jews” as Patients, the agents of their alleged resettlement remain unnamed in this “agent-less passive construction” (Duranti 466). Jews are depicted here as objects being handled—without any agency of their own. The persecution of the Jews and the executions carried out on the Russian front (Reddemann 222), including those of Jews, are euphemistically played down here as “settlements”. “Trivialization” and “denial” are two common discursive practices of exclusion (Wodak 134) and emerge here, as interactional exclusion of agency, in one of their most severe manifestations. Conclusion Social and societal exclusion, as has been shown, are predominantly legitimised as well as constituted, maintained, and perpetuated by discursive practices. Field post letters can be analysed both in terms of the infrastructure—which is itself constituted by infrastructuring practices and is thus not rigid but dynamic—that underlies excluding letter-writing practices in times of war, and the extent to which linguistic excluding practices are performed in the letters. It has been shown that agency, which is established by the ascription of action to an entity, is a central concept for the analysis of practices of exclusion. While I propose the division into infrastructural and interactional exclusion of agency, it must be pointed out that this can only be an analytical distinction and both bundles of practices, that of infrastructuring and that of interacting, are intertwined and are to be thought of in relation to each other. Bringing together the two concepts of agency and dispositif, despite the fact that they are of quite different origins, allows an analysis of exclusionary practices, which I hope does justice to the relation of interaction and infrastructure. By definition, exclusion occurs against the background of an asymmetrical arrangement within which exclusionary practices are carried out. Thus, dispositif is understood as an arranged but flexible condition, wherein agency, as a discursively ascribed or infrastructurally arranged property, unfolds. Social and societal exclusion, which were constitutive for National Socialism, were accomplished not only in public media but also in field post letters. Writing letters was a fundamental everyday media practice and the field post was a central social medium during the National Socialist era. However, exclusion occurred on different infrastructural and interactional levels. As shown, it was possible to be excluded by agency, which means exclusion by societal status and role. People could linguistically perform an excluding agency by constituting a division between “us” and “them”. Also, specific discourses were excluded by the potential control and censorship of communication by the authorities, and those who did not suppress agency, for example by self-censoring, feared prosecution. Moreover, the purely linguistic practices of exclusion not only constituted or legitimised the occasionally fatal demarcations drawn under National Socialism, but also concealed and trivialised them. As discussed, it was the perpetrators whose agency was excluded in war letters, which led to a mitigation of their actions. In addition, social actors were depreciated and ostracised through deagentivisation, mitigation and omission of agency. In extreme cases of social exclusion, linguistic deagentivisation even prepared or resulted in the revocation of the right to exist of entire social groups. The German soldier Otto M. feared fatal punishment because he did not communicatively act according to the social stratification of the then regime towards a Volksgemeinschaft in a field post letter. This demonstrates how thin the line is between inclusion and exclusion in a fascist dictatorship. 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