The Colonial Present: How Transnational Genealogies Shape Migration, Space, and Identity Today

In many African countries, spatial inequalities in the provision and distribution of social services can be explained by a myriad of factors including the development approaches adopted in their colonial history. This paper explores the spatial inequality among cities in Northern and Southern Ghana as evident in the availability of infrastructural facilities such as health, education, telecommunication, and potable water. Using secondary data from various government documents, the paper sought to explain the contours of spatial inequality among six major and strategically located cities in Ghana- three each in northern and southern parts of the country. The paper uses Lorenz curve as the main technique in establishing spatial inequalities among the selected cities. The paper reveals that provision of and access to schools, hospitals and other social services tend to favour the southern parts of the country hence influencing the spatial distribution of population. This dichotomy took its roots from the colonial administration, which favoured the development of the mineral rich parts of Ghana to serve the interests of their metropolitan markets. Unfortunately, this skewed spatial development approach has been perpetuated by all post-independence governments due to their subtle but continuous dependence on their colonial masters. The paper recommended investments in intermediate settlements in the three northern regions to serve as service centres to stimulate the development of Northern Ghana. Key words: Spatial inequalities, disparities, infrastructural facilities, cities.

This article represents one section of a larger project entitled “Haole Homo: Complicating Queerness in Honolulu”. In this work I examine the intersections of haole (Caucasian) identity and queer politics in the context of the local culture of Hawai'i. To be more specific, what does it mean for haole queers to demand political space and visibility in the context of a two‐hundred‐year history of European and American colonization of the Hawaiian islands? Can haoles shed the legacy of white imperialism in Hawai'i merely by virtue of being queer? The larger project deals extensively with the politics of Hawai'i and with a very particular history of colonization, but in this article I focus more narrowly on questions of space relative to queer sexuality and political practice. I am especially concerned with the invocation of the trope of nationalism by groups such as the Queer Nation. The connection with nationalism is apparent not merely in the name of this group; the strategy of retro‐colonization ...

The twentieth-century rise of the United States as a global military superpower has resulted in the stationing of American armed forces personnel in dozens of allied countries and client states. On...

Click to increase image sizeClick to decrease image size Additional informationNotes on contributorsGeorg BaselitzGeorg Baselitz was born January 23, 1938, in Deutschbaselitz in Saxony, Germany, and given the name Hans-Georg Bruno Kern. He lives and works at the Lake Ammersee (Bavaria) and in Imperia (the Italian Riviera).Kirk AmbroseKirk Ambrose is associate professor of medieval art history at the University of Colorado. His publications include the book The Nave Sculpture of Vézelay: The Art of Monastic Viewing and a co-edited volume that surveys approaches to Romanesque sculpture [Department of Art and Art History, 318 UCB, University of Colorado, Boulder, Colo. 80309, kirk.ambrose@colorado.edu].Elizabeth EdwardsElizabeth Edwards is professor of photographic history and director of the Photographic History Research Centre, De Montfort University. A visual and historical anthropologist, she previously held academic and curatorial posts in Oxford and London. She has written extensively on cross-cultural relations between photography, anthropology, and history [Photographic History Research Centre, De Montfort University, The Gateway, Leicester LE1 9BH, U.K., eedwards@dmu.ac.uk].Ursula Anna FrohneUrsula Anna Frohne is professor of art history for twentieth- and twenty-first-century art at the Kunsthistorisches Institut, University of Cologne. Her research focuses on contemporary art practices, visual theory, video, film, photography, cinematographic aesthetics (http://kinoaesthetik.uni-koeln.de/), the political implications of art, and the economies of the art system [Kunsthistorisches Institut, University of Cologne Albertus-Magnus-Platz, 50923 Cologne, Germany, ursula.frohne@uni-koeln.de].Cordula GreweCordula Grewe, author of Painting the Sacred in the Age of Romanticism (2009), recently completed The Nazarenes: Romantic Avant-Garde and the Art of the Concept; her new projects explore the arabesque from eighteenth-century aesthetics to twentieth-century modernism and the tableau vivant from 1800 to 2000 [Department of Art History and Archaeology, Columbia University, MC 5517, New York, N.Y. 10027, cg2101@columbia.edu or cordula@grewe.us].Daniel Heller-RoazenDaniel Heller-Roazen is the Arthur W. Marks ‘19 Professor of Comparative Literature and the Council of the Humanities at Princeton University. He is the author of five books, among which, most recently, The Fifth Hammer: Pythagoras and the Disharmony of the World (Zone Books, 2011) [Department of Comparative Literature, 133 East Pyne, Princeton University, Princeton, N.J. 08544, dheller@princeton.edu].Ian McLeanResearch professor of Indigenous contemporary art at the University of Wollongong, Ian McLean has published How Aborigines Invented the Idea of Contemporary Art, The Art of Gordon Bennett, and White Aborigines: Identity Politics in Australian Art. He serves on the advisory boards of Third Text, World Art, and National Identities [Faculty of Creative Arts, University of Wollongong, NSW 2522 Australia, imclean@uow.edu.au].Saloni MathurSaloni Mathur, associate professor of art history at the University of California, is author of India by Design: Colonial History and Cultural Display (2007), editor of The Migrant's Time: Rethinking Art History and Diaspora (2011), and co-editor of No Touching, Spitting, Praying: Modalities of the Museum in South Asia (forthcoming) [Department of Art History, University of California at Los Angeles, 100 Dodd Hall, Los Angeles, Calif. 90095, mathur@ucla.edu].Lisa PonLisa Pon is associate professor at Southern Methodist University. Author of Raphael, Dürer, and Marcantonio Raimondi: Copying and the Italian Renaissance Print (Yale University Press, 2004), she is completing two books, Art, Icon, Print: Forlì's Madonna of the Fire and Raphael and the Italian Renaissance: Theorizing Artistic Collaboration [Department of Art History, Southern Methodist University, PO Box 750356, Dallas, Tex. 75275, lpon@smu.edu].Iain Boyd WhyteIain Boyd Whyte is professor of architectural history at the University of Edinburgh and has written extensively on architectural modernism and twentieth-century German art. Recent publications include Beyond the Finite: The Sublime in Art and Science (2011). He is also editor of the electronic journal Art in Translation [Edinburgh School of Architecture and Landscape Architecture, 20 Chambers Street, Edinburgh EH1 1JZ, Scotland, U.K., i.b.whyte@ed.ac.uk].

Some of the most potent analyses of past and present migratory crises, whether prompted by political, ethnic, or religious persecution, war, environmental catastrophe, or economic dispossession, have been produced through the visual arts. Privileged artistic subjectivity should never be conflated with that of a destitute migrant or refugee; however, artists themselves have often wished, chosen, or been forced to migrate to begin diasporic lives elsewhere. In this movement, they cross regional, national, continental, as well as cultural borders.1 Some have been able to return home; of course, their migratory experiences impact the questions raised and the work they produce upon homecoming. Drawing mostly on my research on Lusophone Africa—Angola, in particular—as well as on European diasporic spaces such as Portugal, I shall attend to the concrete ways in which African artists have critically examined a "fortress" Europe that is in denial of its colonial past.2 I shall also attend to an "archipelagic" Africa, which, despite efforts otherwise, is still marked by patterns of mobility (or the desire for it) inherited from colonialism. Despite the formal end of European colonialism on the continent, both Europe and Africa remain spaces of entrenched coloniality, to whose deconstruction cultural and artistic critical discourse has decisively, while also often limitedly, contributed. I shall later elaborate on these ideas through the lens of artworks by Edson Chagas (Angola, b. 1977), Kiluanji Kia Henda (Angola, b. 1979), and Mónica de Miranda (Portugal, b. 1976).Working from a variety of personal backgrounds against all sorts of essentialism, African and Afrodiasporic artists have addressed the historical and contemporary complexities of migration, identity, and belonging (see Gilroy 1993). Most notably, artists have produced work informed by the violence of the colonial encounter and its postand neocolonial aftermaths. The migratory artist necessarily negotiates disparate, even contradictory, experiences of belonging, from which an ethical and political positioning may arise. That is to say, through migration, a sense of shared, communal dwelling in the world can emerge: one that is comfortable with a mobile and future-oriented inhabiting of routes across geographies, histories, and cultures, rather than anxious to delineate origins and roots, borders and frontiers (Clifford 1997; see also Glissant 1997, Mbembe 2016, 2010). Of course, such a critical cosmopolitanism, potentially born from the migratory loss of home, can only truly occur when experienced by more than just a few privileged subjects. This situation requires our relentless examination of the systemic limits that global capitalism imposes on a politics and ethics of migration. One focus, of course, should be on the African continent, ridden as it has been by European colonial and neocolonial oppression, predation, and extraction for the benefit of Western and Eastern corporations and African elites (see Ferguson 2006). Another crucial focus should be on Europe, conveniently oblivious of its past colonial conquests and erecting itself ever more in the guise of a fortress, against the delusional danger of an annihilating invasion by black bodies that quickly turn into drowned black corpses at its Mediterranean gates.The multiple complexities of migration have been significantly analysed by Angolan artists. Angola was occupied by the Portuguese for five centuries and indelibly marked by the transatlantic trade of enslaved people to the Americas. The violent history of hinterland settlement began with the so-called pacification campaigns following the Berlin Conference of 1884–1885 and continued thereafter with postabolition forced labor (legal until the 1960s), among many other forms of exploitation (see Monteiro 2018). Angola endured thirteen years of liberation warfare culminating in independence (1961–1975)), and then twenty-seven years of civil war that took place both within and beyond the geopolitics of the Cold War (1975–2002).3 Following the end of socialism, the country has gone through a process of economic liberalization, first from the late 1980s to the early 1990s and increasingly since the end of the civil war in 2002. The period of accelerated growth in the 2000s was marked by the consolidation of an oil-financed oligarchic and kleptocratic capitalism, making the country totally dependent on oil revenues (Soares de Oliveira 2015). The decrease in oil prices from 2014 onwards has caused a severe economic and financial crisis, from which the country is still trying to recover. Migration experienced by Angolans, including artists, has been variously determined by these colonial and postcolonial histories— notably, by the long civil war for the younger generation, born after 1975.4 The ways in which migration is examined in these artists' works reflect the historical and contemporary condition of Africa in a globalized world. After broadly looking at how this generation has diversely lived through migration in between postcolonial Angola, Portugal, and beyond, I shall analyse how these themes unfold concretely in some of their artworks.The departure from Angola to study and/or work abroad, an experience shared by most Angolan artists born after 1975, was strongly motivated by the civil war. Men looked to avoid conscription through migration, but the majority found no escape from the war. Its effects were felt in many ways across all levels of Angolan society, and those families with the diasporic connections and economic capacity to send their sons and daughters abroad did not hesitate to do so. These were mostly, although not exclusively, urban, Luanda-based families with ties to the ruling party, the MPLA. The migratory trajectories of these Angolan artists—to Portugal, Spain, Italy, the United Kingdom, Holland, Germany, France, Monaco, Cuba, Brazil, Zimbabwe, South Africa, the United States, etc.—and the multiple ways in which migrations have necessarily impacted their work disturb any fixed, stable, and essentialist sense of Africanness. At the same time, however, their practice suggests that the African continent in general, and Angola in particular, constitute a central place from, of, and to which they speak. In fact, since the end of the civil war, some of the artists living in the diaspora have returned to Angola (Edson Chagas, Binelde Hyrcan, Keyezua, Kiluanji Kia Henda, Ana Silva), while others remain connected to the country from abroad (Yonamine, Délio Jasse, Ihosvanny, Januário Jano, Alida Rodrigues), and others have yet to exhibit their work there (Alice Marcelino).This generation includes artists of Angolan descent who, although not born in the country, have inherited their families' memories and experiences. The familial and personal histories of Grada Kilomba, Mónica de Miranda, and Francisco Vidal exemplify the ways in which the broader political, economic, social, and cultural entanglements between Portugal, Angola, São Tomé and Príncipe, and Cape Verde (not to mention Guinea-Bissau and Mozambique, Portugal's other former colonial holdings) produced colonial and postcolonial migratory routes (back) to, and cultural and racial diasporic formations in, the former metropole. While these artists are Portuguese by birth, their cultural identities between Europe and Africa, Portugal and Angola, reflect a European postcolonial condition where cultural lives necessarily preclude any homogenous concepts of identity and nation. To further—and positively—complicate this state of things, all three have lived their own migratory experiences: Vidal in New York and Luanda, Miranda in London (and both now live in Lisbon), and Kilomba in Berlin (where she still lives).The Portuguese diasporic context excludes black and other racialized subjects (including migrants, nationals, and those who, although born in Portugal, are not Portuguese due to the primacy of the ius sanguinis over the ius soli of the nationality law),5 and even more so black women, who remain structurally and institutionally barred from a full political, economic, social, and cultural citizenship. These artists' works, alongside those of the Angola-born artists who exhibit regularly in Portugal, disseminate the still invaluable lessons of an identity politics that might elsewhere be perceived as somewhat outdated or excessively divisive. Portugal was the last of the European nations to abandon its African colonies, only doing so because a bloody and unwinnable war—waged in Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Mozambique (1961–1974)—culminated in the Carnation Revolution's overthrow of the Estado Novo dictatorial regime (1926–1974). Portugal has since cultivated both amnesia around the inconvenient truths of colonial violence and exploitation and nostalgia for the lost glory of the so-called discoveries and the empire. Such amnesia and nostalgia have been repackaged as benevolent and fraternal Portuguese influence around the world, notably in the formerly colonized African countries, through the political-, economic- and cultural-diplomacy project of lusofonia.6 If a political decolonization took place in 1974–1975, epistemic, psychic, and institutional ones did not. Without confounding a privileged diasporic subject with a destitute and racialized national, migrant, or refugee, and without falling into the dangerous traps of essentialism, a politics and ethics of migration in Portugal must be deeply attuned to the urgency of intersectional antiracist, feminist, and anticapitalist struggles.7 Despite the specificity of each context, such struggles, particularly the feminist and anticapitalist, remain similarly urgent in Angola.Artists such as Edson Chagas, Kiluanji Kia Henda, and Mónica de Miranda, among others, have raised pressing issues around migration, identity, and difference in powerfully inventive ways between Angola and Portugal, Africa and Europe. In Found Not Taken (2008-ongoing) (Fig. 1), Edson Chagas's performative actions of walking, finding, and relocating abandoned banal objects to be photographed against the backdrop of urban façades in cities he has inhabited—London; Newport, Wales; Luanda—intend to critically reflect on increasingly global patterns of mediatized and waste-producing mass consumption (or its desire) (see Balona de Oliveira 2015a, 2016, 2017a, 2018a). Chagas proposes alternative, slowed-down relationships to urban space through a sort of relational "retrieval" and rearrangement in space of objects that mass consumption has discarded. As the title of the series indicates, the objects are found, but not taken, acquired, or consumed—except as images—and are, instead, repositioned and reactivated by an artistic recycling of sorts. They become the photographer's fellow travellers for a while, always to be returned to (a renewed spatial relation to) the city. Found Not Taken has a personal, biographical quality which, if not obvious, is nonetheless relevant. It is marked by the experience of displacement and estrangement, first in London and Newport, and afterwards in Luanda, where the long experience of migration and the changes found in the postwar, fast-growing, increasingly gentrified urban landscape prevented any easy and immediate sense of homecoming. Migration and isolation, the urban experience of commuting amid the crowds in London and Newport, and the continued search for a lost familiarity upon his return to Angola are at the core of Chagas's cartographic and archival impulses.8But Chagas gathers transient catalogues and lived encyclopaedias by walking across several sorts of borders. When Found Not Taken was exhibited in the context of Luanda, Encyclopedic City (Fig. 2)—the exhibition curated by Beyond Entropy, which won the Golden Lion for the Angolan Pavilion at the 55th Venice Biennale in 2013—Chagas's performative-photographic encyclopaedia of Luanda "occupied" Venice's Palazzo Enciclopedico, the overarching theme of that year's biennial and title of the main exhibition curated by Massimiliano Gioni (2013), and, more literally, the Palazzo Cini, amid its collection of Renaissance masterpieces.9 This northward movement of occupation recalled and symbolically countered Europe's centuries-old exploitation and stereotypical representation of Africans and the ways in which Eurocentric historical and artistic narratives, including those of Venice and the biennial, have oten omitted, while appropriating, African knowledge and practice. But Chagas and Beyond Entropy made Luanda circulate further: Visitors were invited to take away the photographs, printed as posters and stacked in sculptural sets of varying heights placed on wooden pallets on the floor, in order to make their own version of the catalogue and disseminate the exhibition within and beyond the urban space of Venice. The way the images circulated contained a suggestion of dislocation and movement different from those of capital and commodities and reminiscent of the process of their making.10The several geographic coordinates of Chagas's affective cartography, between South and North, Africa and Europe, migratory displacements and the embrace of an active, unhomely process of unbelonging as the inevitable but also positive outcome of the migratory experience—one which reveals clearly the mythic, unreal nature of supposedly stable identities and circumscribed origins (see Bhabha 1994)—is also evident in Tipo Passe (2012–2014) (Fig. 3) (Balona de Oliveira 2015b & 2017b). Here, the artist presents us with his own version of a possible collection of large-scale passportlike photos of African global citizens (or Afropolitans, in line with Mbembe 2010). The faces of these potential travellers are "identified" by several types of traditional African masks, with all sorts of forms, colors, patterns, and provenances in the African continent, sometimes disrupting national borders (and evincing how artificially they were drawn at the Berlin Conference), and by the hybrid, mixed-origin names (both African and European) given in the titles. These passportlike images can only subvert the logic of defining origins and circumscribing borders that is inherent to the identification documents for which they are usually intended. Here, too, Chagas proposes another type of displacement of bodies and objects in space, both within and beyond the African continent. These travellers' mixed names and ethnicities, as well as their fluid genders and sexualities, are reminiscent of Stuart Hall's important reminder that the question of identity and of its multiple "positionalities" can only be conceived as an endless, always unfinished conversation between being and becoming (Hall 1990; Akomfrah 2012, 2013).Nevertheless, however ethicopolitical the migratory experience might ultimately become, and despite the very commoditization of the globalized art world itself, Chagas's work also continually reminds us that, as Homi Bhabha noted more than twenty years ago in words that continue to resonate powerfully today, one must not lose sight of the fact that "the globe shrinks for those who own it," whereas "for the displaced or the dispossessed, the migrant or refugee, no distance is more awesome than the few feet across borders or frontiers" (1992: 88). This warning is also the driving force behind some of Kiluanji Kia Henda's works, such as the earlier project Self-Portrait as a White Man (2010), comprising The Great Italian Nude (Fig. 4) and The Merchant of Venice (Fig. 5), and the more recent The Island of Venus (2018). Prompted by the migratory crisis in the Mediterranean, in both installations the artist examines European racism and xenophobia historically, that is, as aftermaths of colonialism and slavery. Whereas such an ongoing crisis underlies the former project, it comes decisively to the fore in the latter, almost a decade later.Self-Portrait as a White Man was conceived in the framework of a residency in Venice, during which Kia Henda investigated the fundamental role that enslaved Africans have historically played in the very construction of the city and its accumulation of wealth. Kia Henda also explores the discursive obliteration of this black presence by Europe's pervasive whitewashing of its colonial and enslaving history, despite the many traces left in artistic representation (such as the black Moors often sculpted as the carriers of all sorts of weights in European art). The historical omission, in turn, culminates in the very physical incarceration, deportation, and all kinds of deadly eradication inherent in securitized and criminalizing migratory policies, based on closing borders and access to citizenship and nationality to those coming from the African countries that Europe once colonized. The installation traces the historical ambivalence at the heart of Europe's concomitant fascination for and exploitation and erasure of African wealth and knowledge, while at the same time addressing the ways in which, as a consequence of the colonial encounter, the West has itself become an object of always alienating and frustrated desire for the majority of Africans. The work also critically addresses the unresolved tension between the disposable lives and deaths of the dispossessed African migrants who can hardly cross the Mediterranean by boat (see Mbembe 2003), and the luxurious lives of the rich African elites who fly to Venice in their private jets. This tension is encapsulated in the artist's own experience of taking an Angolan friend's jet ride from Lisbon back to Venice in order to continue his residency project in collaboration with poor Malian and Senegalese immigrants (Kia Henda 2018: 102).Inspired by, while at the same time countering, Manet's white Olympia (where Laure's female blackness is kept in the background), The Great Italian Nude depicts a naked black male body posing regally on a couch with a sultan-like black Venetian mask on his face. Kia Henda's model is his Angolan friend Orlando Sérgio who, according to the artist, was the first black actor to perform, in Portugal, the role of Othello in Shakespeare's early seventeenth-century play Othello, The Moor of Venice (Kia Henda 2018: 102). In Kia Henda's majestic seaside Venetian and somewhat similarly to Manet's and this both the African who Venetian and the so-called of to enslaved who were most often the black Moors that the artist at the in Venice (Kia Henda 2018: Drawing on Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, a late play with a around in of and Kia Henda's Merchant was for his by a Senegalese who made a living in of the at the Palazzo the of of African in Europe while to all those who Venice's with of their own the artist invited to for the first time the space of the and with his in his as the due of one of its the historical of enslaved to the contemporary of Kia Henda reminds us that it is Europe that is in by the of the three of and and Shakespeare's line that that is not of Venice the work includes three which the artist to elaborate on the displacement of the dispossessed in of and the of a in European in one through the from and ones by photos in one at a with a for the of the destitute African in a decade at a time when the ongoing migratory crisis in the Mediterranean heights and was by Kia Henda exhibited Island of Venus (Fig. at in Lisbon (Kia Henda & 2018). black floor, an made of concrete construction was by of in concrete of in a of on of which an of white and history and is and for the of many and of only a the black of in the of and drowned black powerfully reminiscent of the deadly of the enslaving The also the to the black access to migrant lives and deaths on photos that were on an These black and recalled Europe's to its historical and contemporary for such crises, as well as the to the visual of a while the mediatized exploitation of African Such were also the through which one to a by the Angolan traditional who for their in in the and in the of some of its by is a for the of one of Kia Henda the of colonialism to the neocolonial and oligarchic of the with the also the of the and the war construction of now due to the Europe's that of a continent that has not its of its to an of European all often into a the of Europe to Portugal, a diasporic for so many Angolans, I these on the and of migration with Mónica de (Fig. a work a across urban of it traces the contemporary landscape of which was as a against potential from to and, several was as the Lisbon in since War it was in although some the other more physical of this construction Lisbon and its from the remain in place and, to have from in this line a of the and almost as by those in as the of the has urban space, both and after the Carnation of destitute from the African countries formerly colonized by Portugal and from of the the spaces this into the early these have been by the for and by and of (where there has been which have and alienating turn, by the and the (see The by the artist and of some of the whose have been these in over time, and across space, historically, and and, the of their ongoing decade in the and installation South (Fig. Miranda these to the urban of this that the of the line from the us of black a a and a and a a Europe, which do not the past and the it also at the often histories of the African who in the liberation the black of postcolonial in of Lisbon the artist has and with and with since Here, the in a version and includes in Portuguese that, of the of the broader historical the construction of this the of and Portugal and the War of the escape of the Portuguese to in and the with the who their after the in in the that in Portugal in independence in and independence of in the civil war between and of and the In this version of the the of and the of past and present and and personal history that was at work in the conversation in the to the the work depicts the landscape of a a of the in one long comprising several images (Balona de Oliveira Its title spatial and not only the photographed turn, the dislocation across the but also the as well as the histories of the and the country, and of own the of the urban in these over the and project more than a decade of research collaboration with and has an archival both political and it to the fact that such ongoing a of the of and other racialized (and in particular, their as and to the nation. behind the as born from an and to the colonial The work of must be similarly

Teaching & Learning Guide for: A Review of the Study of the Political Status of Indigenous Peoples in the Global Context

Cities are shaped by historical power structures that persist in governance, spatial organization, and socio-economic hierarchies. In postcolonial cities like Kuala Lumpur, colonial legacies continue to reinforce exclusionary policies and spatial inequalities, limiting inclusive urban growth. While existing scholarship explores urban transformations and ethnic contestations, few studies critically assess how colonial governance, ethno-spatial hierarchies, and socio-political structures collectively sustain urban exclusion. This study examines the enduring influence of British colonial governance on Kuala Lumpur’s contemporary urban development, governance failures, and socio-spatial inequalities. Using a mixed-methods approach, it investigates the disconnect between urban policies and residents’ lived experiences. Findings reveal that centralized governance, displacement-driven redevelopment, and affirmative action policies often reproduce, rather than redress, urban inequalities. Addressing these postcolonial urban challenges requires more than policy reforms – it necessitates a fundamental re-examination of entrenched governance models and a shift toward inclusive, community-driven urban planning.

"We Will Show the Country": Bringing History to Life

Author’s Introduction Having spent several years researching and writing about the experiences of lesbian and gay parents, alongside conducting research on issues of race and whiteness in Australia, I was invited to contribute a chapter to an edited book on lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer psychology on issues pertaining to race and whiteness to. I was unable at first to think of a way to go about this, despite the fact that in my writing on whiteness I had struggled with my own positioning as a white gay middle‐class man: how did my feelings of marginalisation on the basis of sexuality sit alongside or against my experiences of privilege as a white person living in a colonial nation? Writing this book chapter became my first foray into thinking about what it means to identify as a white non‐heterosexual person, and how we think about the lives of people who occupy social locations of both privilege and marginalisation. Subsequent to writing this chapter, I came to see many instances where white non‐heterosexual people were making claims to rights, or speaking about their experiences of living in a context of homophobia, and yet were failing to equally examine their race privilege. This led to an increasing interest in understanding how white non‐heterosexual privilege functions. At times this has put me in an uncomfortable relationship to other white non‐heterosexual people who have seen my work as undermining the right claims of this group. I like to think instead that my work challenges us all to think about how rights operate, how privilege always comes at the expense of marginalisation, and how right movements can better understand and account for the intersecting experiences of all people. My approach to understanding white non‐heterosexual privilege firmly centres upon the importance of context, and as this applies to Australia, the histories of colonisation that shape the nation. In my teaching, these ideas about privilege inform the texts that I draw upon, the attention that I pay to intersections of identity and the emphasis I place upon recognising both resistances and complicity within white non‐heterosexual communities. I find that students engage with this approach in ways that open up a space for considering a wide range of identities as intersectional, and from this strive to engage in the work of unpacking privilege and marginalisation as intimately related to one another. Author Recommends: Crenshaw, K. M. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review , 43, 1241–1299. In this early and ground‐breaking work, Crenshaw outlines an African–American standpoint on the intersections of identities that continue to inform much of my own work and that of others examining the multiple ways in which we are all positioned with regard to norms of gender, race, sexuality, ability and class. Barnard, I. (2003). Queer Race: Cultural Interventions in the Racial Politics of Queer Theory. New York: Peter Lang. Written by a white gay academic, this book was the first, and possibly still one of the most exciting, texts that I have read looking at the whiteness of queer theory, and the implications of this for how we understand the lives of white‐middle‐class people. Hutchison, D. L. (2000). ‘Gay rights’ for ‘gay whites’?: Race, sexual identity, and equal protection discourse. Cornell Law Review, 85 , 1358–1391. Hutchison, an African–American legal scholar, provides an incisive and detailed analysis of the ways in which white privilege operates in claims for gay rights. McBride, D. A. (2005). Why I Hate Abercrombie and Fitch: Essays on Race and Sexuality. New York: New York University Press. This text, written by an African–American cultural theorist, is the perfect bookend to Barndard’s text. It examines the endemic nature of racism within white non‐heterosexual representation, and the fetishisation of African–American men in particular. Moreton‐Robinson, A. (2003). I still call Australia home: Indigenous belonging and place in a white postcolonizing society. In S. Ahmed, C. Castaňeda, A. Fortier & M. Sheller (Eds.), Uprootings/Regroundings: Questions of Home and Migration (pp. 131–149). Oxford: Berg. Moreton‐Robinson’s theorising of place and belonging, from an indigenous standpoint, clearly outlines the problematic claims of white Australians to belonging and emphasises an indigenous account of ontology that renders visible the limitations of (primarily feminist) accounts of essentialism. Thomas, G. (2007). The Sexual Demon of Colonial Power: Pan‐African Embodiment and Erotic Schemes of Empire. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. This text sits perfectly alongside Moreton‐Robinson’s indigenous critique of white epistemologies of place and identity. Thomas outlines some of the founding assumptions of research on gender relations among African people since colonisation, and the ways in which they fundamentally fail to understand the specificities of African experience. Brown, W. (1994). States of injury . Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Brown’s feminist theorising, written as a white woman, holds to account the claims to ‘injury’ spoken by some marginalised group members who also occupy positions of privilege. Brown examines the implications of claiming injury as a means to gaining rights and the limitations of this in relation to racial politics. Riggs, D. W. (2006a). Priscilla, (White) Queen of the Desert: Queer Rights/Race Privilege. New York: Peter Lang. Riggs, D. W. (2007). Recognising race in LGBT psychology: Privilege, power and complicity. In V. Clarke & E. Peel (Eds.), Out in Psychology : Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Queer Perspectives (pp. 59–76). West Sussex: John Wiley. These are two of my own works that best exemplify the attention I have paid to issues of white non‐heterosexual privilege. I focus on a range of sites in the book where white queer activism has failed to examine its racialised politics. In the chapter, I examine how research on non‐heterosexuality in psychology typically presumes a white norm for all LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer) people. Online Materials Special Issue of the Australian Critical Race and Whiteness Studies e‐journal focusing on issues of race and sexuality and their intersections: http://www.acrawsa.org.au/ejournalVol2no22006.htm Kim Diehl and Barbara Smith in conversation about the US LGBT Millenium March and its racial politics: http://www.colorlines.com/article.php?ID=73 Two Dads documentary. Excellent resource for examining how white privilege shapes the lives of gay men who choose surrogacy as an option for starting a family: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sfr3Nr9Jyc

This paper deals with the ways women of color in the visual arts express their perceptions of their own sexuality, with the work of Kara Walker as the centerpiece. The work reviews early conceptions of female sexuality, drawing on the history of colonialism and slavery, using tools from various discourses and disciplines including post-colonialism, politics of identities, politics of differences and feminism.

These transfers of sovereignty resulted in extensive, unforeseen movements of citizens and subjects to their former countries. The phenomenon of postcolonial migration affected not only European nations, but also the United States, Japan and post-Soviet Russia. The political and societal reactions to the unexpected and often unwelcome migrants was significant to postcolonial migrants’ identity politics and how these influenced metropolitan debates about citizenship, national identity and colonial history. The contributors explore the historical background and contemporary significance of these migrations and discuss the ethnic and class composition and the patterns of integration of the migrant population.

These transfers of sovereignty resulted in extensive, unforeseen movements of citizens and subjects to their former countries. The phenomenon of postcolonial migration affected not only European nations, but also the United States, Japan and post-Soviet Russia. The political and societal reactions to the unexpected and often unwelcome migrants was significant to postcolonial migrants' identity politics and how these influenced metropolitan debates about citizenship, national identity and colonial history. The contributors explore the historical background and contemporary significance of these migrations and discuss the ethnic and class composition and the patterns of integration of the migrant population

Reviewed by: Define and Rule: Native as Political Identity by Mahmood Mamdani Chloe Ahmann Mahmood Mamdani, Define and Rule: Native as Political Identity. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012. 168 pp. In an intellectual climate where scholars are increasingly wary of categories like “custom,” “tribal,” and “traditional,” Mahmood Mamdani’s latest work offers a satisfying unmasking of colonial constructions, and an antidote to their legal and political legacies. As a scholar whose work frequently straddles the border between law, politics, and culture, Mamdani has a reputation for revealing the rational bases for otherwise unconscionable histories. From his examination of the Rwandan genocide in When Victims Become Killers (2001), to more recent works examining politics, identity, and terrorism such as Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War and the Roots of Terror (2004) and Saviors and Survivors: Darfur, Politics, and the War on Terror (2009), Mamdani convincingly traces the philosophical foundations of community, citizenship, and policy to evidence the influence of colonial categories. His latest work stems squarely from this tradition, offering the added value of comparative analysis, and demonstrating the holding power of “native” as a political identity in the post-colonial world. Indeed, while decades of anthropological literature on the technologies, philosophies, and legacies of imperialism have located the origins of racism in practices of colonial rule, Mamdani asserts that racism is only half the story. In Define and Rule: Native as Political Identity, Mamdani argues that colonial authority from British India to the Dutch East Indies was specifically based on two different axes of discrimination—“race” and “tribe”—through which natives and settlers were legally distinguished, differently ruled, and confined to separate social and political destinies. Mamdani further argues that the shift from direct to indirect colonial rule, [End Page 927] rather than lax control over colonized populations (which promises of “non-interference” might suggest), masked colonizers’ vast ambitions to renegotiate the native’s subjectivity. Binding the movement to indirect rule with parallel shifts—from civilizing missions to projects of protection, from assimilationism to a preoccupation with defining and managing difference, and towards a new form of governmentality dependent upon an emerging settler/native binary—Mamdani powerfully asserts that “the native was the creation of theorists of an empire-in-crisis” (6). No longer under the clear control of crown rule, colonial subjects became objects in need of stricter rule and, therefore, necessarily more subversive forms of subjugation.1 Mamdani places the colonial crisis point at the 1857 Sepoy Mutiny in India: “In the reflection that followed the crisis,” Mamdani explains, “the colonial mission was redefined—from civilization to conservation and from progress to order” (8). The movement culminated in 1858 with Queen Victoria’s proclaimed doctrine of noninterference in India (8). While this doctrine superficially diluted colonial control of the region by abandoning assimilationist projects in favor of protecting customary practices, Mamdani suggests that indirect rule achieved the opposite, for “the prerogative to define the boundary, the substance and the authority of the ‘customary,’ gave vast scope to the powers of the occupying authority” (27). Combining the political necessity of social order with an interest in conserving custom, administrators capitalized upon the bureaucratic implications of indirect rule to emphasize differences that would keep the masses divided among themselves. With great attention to colonial political history, Mamdani traces this movement from the Indian subcontinent through reforms in British Malaya, the Dutch East Indies, and several African colonies, arguing that colonial intellectuals undertook the process of defining, and by extension transforming, race and tribe as academic and administrative shortcuts to gaining control of subject populations. Define and Rule develops this thesis through the book’s three chapters, originally written as lectures for the W. E. B. Du Bois series at Harvard University. In his first chapter, Mamdani focuses on “architects” of the theory of nativism, in particular Sir Henry Maine, whose theories—articulated in his mid-19th century publications on ancient law, the development of society, and the transition from status to contract—fill one-third of Mamdani’s short book. Mamdani justifies this focal weight by characterizing Maine, a member of the viceroy’s cabinet [End Page 928] in post-mutiny India, as the source of an authoritative...

China scholarship in Taiwan, in social sciences as well as humanities disciplines, is constituted by the choices of scholars over encountered and constantly reinterpreted imaginations of how China's names, identities and images are contextualised. Due to its colonial history, its civil war and Cold War legacies, and internal cleavages, China scholarship in Taiwan is characterised by strategic shifting among the Japanese, American and Chinese approaches to China, as well as their combination and recombination. The mechanism of choice, including travels that orient, reorient and disorient existing views on China, produces conjunctive scholarship. The rich repertoire of views on China, together with the politics of identity, challenge the objectivist stance of the social sciences to the extent that no view on China could be exempted from political implications and politicised social scrutiny. Concerns over exigent propriety in a social setting are internal to knowledge production. Therefore, understanding the process with which the historically derived approaches inform the China scholarship in Taiwan through the mechanism of encountering reveals both the uncertain nature of knowledge, in general, and the uncertain meaning associated with China worldwide, in particular.

Recent work in social science challenges managerial assumptions about homogenous knowledge domains, and traces the effects of a world economy of knowledge structured by the history of colonialism and current north-south global inequalities. The differentiation of knowledge rests on the very different histories and situations of metropolitan, creole, colonized and post-colonial intelligentsias. Different knowledge projects have been constructed in global space, which feed back on our understanding of knowledge itself. Less recognized, but increasingly important, are uses of southern and postcolonial perspectives in applied social science, in areas ranging from education to urban planning. Some implications of these applications are discussed: southern theory is not a fixed set of propositions but a challenge to develop new knowledge projects and new ways of learning with globally expanded resources.