제국의 시민권: 2020년과 19세기 영국문학 연구

Rights and citizenship in a world of global terrorism

Extract ‘Victorian’ is a term, at once indicative of a strongly determined concept and an often notoriously vague notion, emptied of all meaningful content by the many journalistic misconceptions that persist about the inhabitants and cultures of the British Isles and Victoria’s Empire in the nineteenth century. As such, it has become a by-word for the assumption of various, often contradictory habits of thought, belief, behaviour and perceptions. Victorian studies and studies in nineteenth-century literature and culture have, from their institutional inception, questioned narrowness of presumption, pushed at the limits of the nominal definition, and have sought to question the very grounds on which the unreflective perception of the so-called Victorian has been built; and so they continue to do. Victorian and nineteenth-century studies of literature and culture maintain a breadth and diversity of interest, of focus and inquiry, in an interrogative and intellectually open-minded and challenging manner, which are equal to the exploration and inquisitiveness of its subjects. Many of the questions asked by scholars and researchers of the innumerable productions of nineteenth-century society actively put into suspension the clichés and stereotypes of ‘Victorianism’, whether the approach has been sustained by historical, scientific, philosophical, empirical, ideological or theoretical concerns; indeed, it would be incorrect to assume that each of these approaches to the idea of the Victorian has been, or has remained, in the main exclusive, sealed off from the interests and engagements of other approaches. A vital interdisciplinarity has been pursued and embraced, for the most part, even as there has been contest and debate amongst Victorianists, pursued with as much fervour as the affirmative exploration between different disciplines and differing epistemologies put to work in the service of reading the nineteenth century.

This paper discusses the shifting image of Turkey in nineteenth-century English literature such as diplomats’ personal recollections, travelers’ accounts, monographs and some academic papers in periodicals. It shows that the image of Turkey began with the consolidation and the deepening of a negative image due to a negative stereotype which had been present from the earlier century. However, image discourse is affected by changes in the historical, cultural, political and economic contexts, and from then a positive image may be constructed, countering the negative image. This was happening in the case of Turkey in the middle of the nineteenth century. The negative image of the Turkey nonetheless mounted to a new height with the shift of Britain’s strategy and the tendency to criticize Turkey from a moral perspective. It concludes that the fluctuation of the image of Turkey was a reflection of Britain’s own self-image, thus displaying complexity and multi-dimensional being of the image of a nation.

One of the significant topics within the realm of civil society is citizenship rights, the education of which to children is of great importance. The purpose of this study is to investigate the role of citizenship education in nurturing citizens and its impact on political development. The method of this research is content and library analysis and is applied in purpose. Citizenship education and the nurturing of good citizens are policies that governments pursue today through the educational system. Citizenship rights consist of fundamental beliefs and information that learners must know and apply to be responsible and effective citizens in a democracy. Therefore, by studying the concepts of citizenship rights, students can become empowered in pursuing their individual and social rights and, with a correct understanding of citizenship rights and duties, can regulate their demands in society, and assess and monitor the government's behavior in providing and guaranteeing various citizenship rights to facilitate the realization of a rights-based, lawful society (civil society) and political development.

George W. Bush may not have been one of the more intellectual of US Presidents. At college he barely managed a C grade for the class ‘An Introduction to the American Political System’. Nor does he come from a strikingly bookish family. Famously, when the journalist Brendan Gill stayed with the Bushes, he found that the only thing to read in their Kennebunkport home was The Fart Book. Despite this, however, George junior has inspired volume after volume of analysis and commentary. Oddly enough, this book can be included in that category. The Lotus and the Lion, ostensibly an analysis of the impact of Buddhism on nineteenth-century English literature, ends with a remarkable final section. Part guide to modernism, part evocation of existentialism, the conclusion culminates with a cry to arms. America, argues Jeffrey Franklin, is politically, culturally, and socially divided. On the one hand, there is ‘the individualistic, patriotic, national-identity politics’ (p. 207) of those who embrace Christianity (or something like it). On the other hand, there is ‘the ecological, tolerance-and-equality based ethos’ (p. 207) of those who have embraced Buddhism (or something like it). This fissure—between Republican and Democrat, Conservative and Liberal, Christian and New Age—corresponds to the Victorian debate about Buddhism. It thus reflects ‘the cultural counter-invasion of the West by Buddhism’ (p. 208) which Franklin proposes. It all gives a surprising and revealing political twist to this work of literary criticism.

Reviewed by: Caribbean Culture and British Fiction in the Atlantic World, 1780–1870 Sean X. Goudie (bio) Caribbean Culture and British Fiction in the Atlantic World, 1780–1870, by Tim Watson; pp. xv + 263. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008, £55.00, £21.99 paper, $95.00, $36.99 paper. Entitled "Family Worship in a Plantation in South Carolina," the cover illustration for Tim Watson's impressive study was reproduced in the Illustrated London News in late 1863 as a way of casting a nostalgic glance at American plantation society before the "bloody Civil War" on the one hand and Caribbean slavery pre-emancipation on the other (1). Especially relevant for Watson's purposes is how the illustration's "real" dimensions compete with the romantic gloss the editors seek to impose on it. For it turns out that the black man preaching to his fellow slaves and the ostensibly benevolent white master at the center of the congregation (and the image) depicts not a pre-Civil War scene but Port Royal in 1861 during its occupation by the Union Army when Northern missionaries—including the one depicted in the illustration, a master of a markedly different kind—were introduced for purposes of converting and instructing the soon-to-be former slaves. [End Page 323] Watson's incisive treatment of the illustration serves as a compelling entrée into the book's central focuses. In the nineteenth century, writers from distinct locations across the British Empire gauged their relationship to a deeply embedded set of social and cultural dynamics between Britain and its Caribbean colonies by drawing alternately on the conventions of romance and realism in their texts—fiction, but also plantation logs and diaries, court testimonies, print media, travel writings, and uncertain objects such as rebellion-laced placards—for authority and support. Watson urges us to take seriously the Caribbean's important if little appreciated influence on British society and culture writ large in the nineteenth century. Across the study's chapters Watson argues compellingly for the importance—both in a romantic and a real sense—of peripatetic Black politico-religious figures like the Port Royal preacher depicted in the book's cover illustration. Drawing on scholarship on slavery and genre by Ian Baucom and others, the study's chief analytic is most sharply defined and developed in the first two chapters, which take up writings shaped by and responsive to the debates leading to emancipation in the 1830s. Leaders of the plantocracy such as the notorious Jamaican Simon Taylor wrote in the mode of "creole realism," presenting themselves as possessive of "qualities of reasonableness and enterprise" to defend against attacks drawn in the language of "gothic melodrama and tropical romance" by abolitionists bent on exposing the violence and excess of plantation society (11). Conversely, when novels such as Maria Edgeworth's Belinda (1801) deployed a "metropolitan" realism that rendered illegitimate efforts of Creole realists like Taylor (11), his cultural inheritors—including Charles White Williams for whom Watson makes a compelling case as the author of the anonymously published gothic novel Hamel, the Obeah Man (1827)—adopted an "imperial" version of romance in order "to memorialize the impending loss of the world of the plantocracy" (12). Within such imperial romances, ironically, we begin to glimpse "the enslaved Jamaicans themselves, the real creoles … and the world to come after emancipation in the 1830s" (12). If the real/romance paradigm allows Watson to manage an otherwise unwieldy array of genres and texts, some readers might yearn for greater precision and consistency in the use of that paradigm across the book's second half, which examines works authored during the post-emancipation period and focused especially on events surrounding the 1865 Morant Bay Rebellion and its aftermath. Given, moreover, the extensive critical genealogies of the study's key terms, readers might wonder whether Watson understands the influence of Caribbean culture on British romance and realism to be like or unlike the shaping influence of gender and sexuality concerns, of developments in technology and visual culture, or of related colonial cultural sites like India—topics about which scholars in Victorian studies have had much to say. Perhaps we might properly regard such...

Wandering: An Essay on Histories, Genders, Mobilities, and Forms

The colonial history of India is frequently associated with the British Empire, yet the French Empire also had a long-lasting and significant presence in India. Jessica Namakkal illuminates this important aspect of India’s colonial history and its legacy in her engaging book, which offers original insights and contributions to various disciplines, including French studies, colonial history, postcolonial studies, political science, and memory studies. Namakkal draws on a wide range of sources, perspectives, and original methodologies, including the study of archival material, the press of various nations, memoirs, interviews, visual media, and observations of the landscape and events taking place in contemporary Pondicherry, the former capital of the French Empire in India. The work highlights the complex entanglements, tensions, and rivalries between the British and French Empires that shaped India’s colonial history. The author offers detailed portraits of key figures who played important roles in defining the colonial history and the future of French India, such as Sri Aurobindo, Mira Alfassa, Édouard Goubert, and Raphael Ramanyya Dadala, tracing their actions and examining their thought. The volume also explores the complex interrelations between identity, nationality, ethnicity, and caste of residents of French India, and highlights the ways in which attitudes towards nationality shifted in tandem with the evolving policies and politics of the Empire. Namakkal casts light on the various migrant trajectories which arose as a consequence of the French Empire in India, including the experiences of those who migrated from Europe to French India, those who sought refuge from the British Empire in French Indian territories, and those who migrated from India to France after independence. Through an analysis of various case studies, Namakkal explores the plight of French nationals of Indian origin after independence, who were frequently alienated from both nations. She also provides fresh insight into the experiences and political significance of mixed-race residents of French India, offering a new perspective on the concept of ‘creolization’ in the context of Pondicherry. A particular strength of the work lies in its novel approach to the concept of decolonization. The author argues that decolonization in the context of French India is not merely to be equated with liberation and peace, but suggests that it engendered violence, and remains incomplete in various senses. Namakkal casts light on the ways in which various aspects of the colonial regime, including divisions and inequalities between local and foreign populations, and the oppression of indigenous populations, continue today in the form of the settlement of Auroville near Pondicherry, which, despite the utopian vision of its founder, Alfassa, ‘exemplifies the phenomenon of anticolonial colonialism, a key concept in understanding neocolonialism in a postcolonial world’ (p. 183). This thoroughly researched and thought-provoking book, which offers insights into a frequently neglected aspect of India’s colonial history, is ­especially valuable to scholars working in postcolonial, French, and South Asian studies.

This chapter presents a historiography of a select group of Brazilian women's independent, alternative film and video production during the 1980s, which contributed to new definitions of citizenship during the last years of the dictatorship and the transition toward democracy. Concomitant to the goal to define new political and cultural identities, Brazilian women's alternative media at the time sought to reclaim and expand citizenship rights by intervening in understandings of brasilidade (Brazilian cultural identity) and shaping debates surrounding issues such as abortion and women's access to healthcare. The chapter then examines works by film and video maker Eunice Gutman, the Lilith Video Collective—a group of three women who dedicated themselves to bringing greater awareness to women's issues as the Brazilian constitution was being rewritten, and the feminist nongovernmental organization SOS-Corpo.

This dissertation explores the social, political, and economic transitions which occurred among the French-Canadian inhabitants of Vincennes (in present-day southern Indiana) as the colonial French village became an American frontier town. Few studies in recent decades have explored the colonial history of the Middle West, and even fewer make the chronological transition from the Colonial Period to the Early National Period. This study investigates the changes experienced by the French when they became British subjects (in 1763) and American citizens (in 1783). It also contributes to a fuller understanding of midwestern history by showing how the normal process of pioneer settlement was altered when Americans encountered long-established French towns and villages with already-constructed houses, churches, taverns, mills, merchants' shops, cultivated farmland, and a population who enjoyed friendly relations with local Indian tribes. The first section of the dissertation describes what life was like in colonial Vincennes with chapters on daily life, making a living, religion, and the particular experiences of women. The cultural distinctness and unique experiences of midwestern French colonists offer a valuable comparison to English colonists in America. The middle section chronicles political and military developments in Vincennes and the West as the region was caught up in eighteenth-century imperial struggles, first between France and Great Britain and later between Great Britain and the United States. While the British Period was marked by much continuity in Vincennes due to the failure of the British government to establish firm political or military control, the Vincennes villagers faced many challenges and economic hardships during and after the American Revolution. The most significant part of the study is the last section which describes the rapid changes which occurred in Vincennes in the decades after the American Revolution (1785-1820). Topics covered in the last section include: Indian relations, French adaptation to American laws, French efforts to secure land claims, the French role in local/regional government; and the social and economic transformations which occurred from 1790 to 1820 as the French village took on increasing characteristics of an American frontier town.

The British Empire was a remarkable empire for many good reasons. First, it belonged to that very rare club of empires, which included as far as I can tell only two (the Spanish ‘empire’) over which the sun never set. Indeed, at its peak, the British Empire was the largest formal empire the world had ever known. True to size, the British Empire extended its power and influence in the nineteenth century over a very large tract of lands mostly in Latin and Central America which was formally sovereign but colloquially known as the ‘informal empire’. Second, considering its size and wealth, the rapid and generally speaking orderly collapse of the British Empire after World War II was even more remarkable. By the 1980s, the largest empire the world has ever seen shrank down to contain just remnants and debris, including the United Kingdom, three adjacent Crown territories – Jersey, Guernsey and the Isle of Man – and fifteen dependent territories – since 2002 called ‘overseas territories’ – which include some small Caribbean islands, the Falkland Islands and Gibraltar. Collectively these overseas territories encompass a population of approximately 260,000 people and a land area of 1.7 million square kilometres, the vast majority of which constitutes the British Antarctic Territory. A third remarkable fact about the British Empire is that while it disappeared completely from most contemporary maps of the world, it remains very much alive in one crucial map: the map of contemporary international finance.

Reviewed by: On the Muslim Question by Anne Norton Shabbir Ahsen On the Muslim Question. By Anne Norton. The Public Square Book Series, Ruth O’Brien, series editor. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013. Pp. xii + 265. Hardcover $24.95, £16.95, isbn 978-0-691-15704-7. In On the Muslim Question Anne Norton attempts to demolish the dominant view in the post-9/11 context in Europe and the United States of a clash between Islam and the West. The clash is articulated in neat terms. Both Islam and the West are seen as monolithic entities, incapable of existing together. Since the West supports democracy, freedom of speech, equality, and human rights plus the liberation of women, the argument goes, it must be in conflict with Islam, which does not submit itself to these Western values. As opposed to the West, we are told, Islam is against democracy and it supports violence and terrorism, and treats women in a way that cannot be tolerated by Western civilization. Norton questions each of these points of view in her attempt to reject the “us versus them” thesis, something that is widely accepted by both academics and the dominant political paradigm. The Muslim question, for her, lies at the center of political and philosophical discourse that is going to shape our world in the twenty-first century, much like the Jewish Question that shaped the nineteenth century. Both, she argues, revolve around the questions of citizenship, equality, and discrimination. There are two dominant themes in the book. One questions the grounds of the clash-of-civilizations thesis while the other attempts to bring to the fore the lived experience of Europe and America in which people are shaping “a common life together.” Norton derives her inspiration from the Enlightenment ideals of equality, freedom, and fraternity, and is deeply committed to democracy and multiculturalism. In her opinion, the Muslim question is a question not about Islam but more about Western values. She rejects Derrida’s view that “Islam is the other of democracy.” In a world as diverse as ours there may be different forms of democracy that prosper in areas where Muslims are in the majority. Muslims sometimes take violent measures against free speech, but she suggests that Muslims in the West have not taken recourse to violent measures against Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses or against the recent anti-Muslim Danish cartoons, which she maintains were provocative, and that Muslims were within their rights in voicing their anger against these publications. British citizens were asking for equal treatment in matters relating to the blasphemy laws. But this is not how things were seen then or afterwards in public discourse. Although she sees some aspects of Rushdie’s writings in a positive light, Norton is quick to point out that her orthodox students, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, made a common cause with conservative Muslims in expressing dislike for Satanic Verses. She further points out that Rushdie’s life was not endangered by British Muslims, and [End Page 800] that they did not set out to carry out the fatwa declared by Ayatollah Khomeini. She deals with possible counter-examples such as the killing of Theo van Gogh, the producer of the provocative film Submission, and the loss of lives (almost all of them Muslim) during protests in the Islamic world against anti-Muslim cartoons by arguing that the former was the individual act of an angry Dutchman, while the latter is explained in terms of the prevalence of violence in those countries where people lost their lives. Such violence has not been limited to the cartoon issue alone. A brief explanation in this regard would have been helpful. Norton maintains that freedom of speech need not be provocative or insulting—here criticizing those who hold that whatever can be said must be said, an attitude that she finds widely prevalent. The status of women, their dress, sex, and sexuality are recurrent themes of the book. Agreeing with Alain Badiou, Norton explains the opposition to the veil in terms of its being a challenge to capitalism and the commodification of female sexuality. As sex is now taken to be more of an...

Englishness is not a fixed identity but a series of contesting identifies, a terrain of struggle as to what it means to be English. - Catherine Hall, White, Male, and Middle Class 26 So between you I often wonder who I am and where is my country and where do I belong and why was I ever born at all. - Jean Rhys, Wide Sea 102 In a twentieth-century universe increasingly dazzled by fragmentary subjects and delighted by the logics of a global economy, the task of feminist inquiry must be to refuse celebrations of difference in which what is most frequently forgotten is the question of how and why such differences continue to be reproduced. Feminist inquiry must, instead, enter into the ongoing struggles over difference, participating in the battle over the meaning of gender and ethnicity, sexuality and national identity; in short, it must enlist in the tempestuous border disputes over what counts as the way things are. Jean Rhys's best-known novel, Wide Sea, dramatizes the persistent struggles over meaning that are at the critical center of such a feminist politics of knowledge. Wide Sea succeeds in more than simply inserting itself into the literary and cultural frameworks of Jane Eyre, the novel that Gayatri Spivak has called a cult (263) of English feminism. Wide Sea also inquires into the production of knowledge about Englishness and, in the process, puts Englishness itself into crisis. This article is, therefore, just as much about the details of Rhys's modernist textual intervention as it is about the making of Englishness in the early nineteenth century, both before and following emancipation. I am interested in the connections forged by Rhys's text between a politics of imperialism and a politics of gender, between English nationhood and English womanhood, and between the local geographies of English fiction and the global terrain of colonialism in the nineteenth century. I would like, further, to read Rhys's text not only as an expose of empire but also as the occasion to confront the ever-shifting relations between complicity and resistance that mark all aspects of feminist thought. If Antoinette Cosway, the white West Indian woman of Wide Sea, has come to stand for a form of native resistance to English patriarchal power for many contemporary feminist readers of Rhys's text (as well as for Rhys herself), she also ultimately discloses a certain complicity with the very English patriarchal logics she challenges. My reading of Wide Sea consequently explores some of the ways in which the various feminisms of the text both unsettle and reenact many of the commonsense structures of Englishness in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The competing narrative frames, authorial voices, and shifting points of view that characterize Wide Sea reenact the struggles over meaning that are embedded within the fictions of colonial identity and English imperial control. One of Rhys's early experiments with a title for the novel, Sargasso Sea (The Wide) Crossing Across (Letters 204), appropriately emphasizes this relentless movement.(1) Antoinette's narrative is literally shaped by the uncertainties of a Creole(2) vision that is fractured by the contradictory claims of British colonial history and the cultural residues of a dying West Indian plantation society. Her impossible task in Wide Sea is to negotiate between the contradictory logics of British colonialism while also wending her way through the Creole culture and postemancipation English society that continue to elude her.(3) Antoinette explains: ... a white cockroach. That's me. That's what they call all of us who were here before their own people in Africa sold them to the slave traders. And I've heard English women call us white niggers. So between you I often wonder who I am and where is my country and where do I belong and why was I ever born at all. …

HE emigration and status of in T foreign counties in general and in the regions within the British Empire in particular have attained a significance in India far greater than their numbers may warrant. No question has given rise to so much bitter criticism as this, and the very mention of the subject of Indians raises in India a unique resentment, for it affects the self-respect and dignity of India as a nation. Before we inquire into the genesis, growth, the present position, and disabilities of the numerous little Indias abroad, the basis of the present resent-complex in India must be explained briefly. The explanation lies largely in three historical factors. India is not a sovereign nation. Perhaps this is the most galling of all the factors that hurt the nationals of India. India is, as well known, neither a Colony nor a Dominion. Her constitutional status is as yet unknown though officially she is often described as a semi-Dominion or a quasi-Dominion. She has a large measure of internal autonomy but her external status as a dependent country has not changed, and it is this dependent status that counts when an Indian goes abroad. He is not a citizen of a free republic but the subject of Britain. India's long, bitter, and vain struggle for her own constitutional independence has shown that she cannot expect any equality of treatment or status for her children abroad when her nationals are not free even on her own native soil. Naturally the British Government which is unprepared to concede freedom in their own country can hardly be expected to champion the rights of in foreign countries, even if some of those countries are within the British Empire and Commonwealth of Nations. This has been demonstrated frequently in recent years. Whenever a conflict arises on any particular issue of rights of citizenship between the India Office and the Colonial Office, both in London, the latter has always gained the point. The second factor is the charge that is often levelled against the Indian immigrants by the receiving countries, or rather the countries that once received them. It is that Indian immigrants as a whole are of a low class and social status, being laborers, and as such they cannot expect to be accorded the same reception and status as accorded to Indian visitors of social dignity, intellectual worth, or economic consequence. This charge is only partially true, for Indian emigration had its origins in the demands of the Colonial Government and private colonial estate owners for Indian indentured labor to develop certain of those undeveloped regions. But once the emigration of indentured labor ceased, there was free emigration of people who were not laborers but who belonged to the merchant and other commercial classes. The charge that the original Indian immigrants were not men of learning or decent bank balances can be levelled against practically every other immigrant community. It is not the successful intellectual or the economically stable individual that seeks to emigrate from one country to another. Emigration implies a desire to better one's economic position or social status or escape some undesirable feature of the home country, be it religious intolerance, racial persecution, or economic disinheritance. The purpose of voluntary emigration being, therefore, some form of betterment, the Government of India must satisfy itself that betterment is likely to result when it assumes the power of permitting emigration. Emigration, unlike water, flows from a country of low level of living to a country of high level of living. So the charge levelled against Indian immigrants can be said against the nationals of any European country, who have sought to emigrate to the United States. The British that went to Australia, the Dutch that went to South Africa, and all the nationalities that came 1 By is meant nationals of India. Sometimes, as in the United States, they are called Hindus, irrespective of their religion, apparently to distinguish them from American Indians. In Canada, they are called British to distinguish them from indigenous Canadian Indians. In the West Indies they are called East to distinguish them from West who are Negroes. Throughout this article the correct term-Indians-is used, and whenever necessary the term has been qualified to distinguish them from other ethnic groups.

<i>Modernizing Marriage: Family, Ideology, and Law in Nineteenth and Twentieth-Century Egypt</i> by Kenneth M. Cuno