The belief that clergymen had the power to influence individual emigration decisions had considerable currency in nineteenth-century Ireland. Radical constitutional and economic reform aside, this influence was long thought to be the best weapon in the anti-emigration armoury. A great deal of practical involvement was expected of Irish clergymen when it came to emigration from their congregations. The image of the grave featured heavily in the clergy's anti-emigration rhetoric, and in poetic laments and Catholic periodical fiction. Clergy were also apt to remind would-be emigrants that the city slums of America and Britain were already clogged with those who had gone before, their own hopeful journeys ending in misery and degradation. Worst of all, as Archbishop John Joseph Lynch of Toronto later claimed for North America, and as a private survey of England contemporaneously revealed, Irish Catholic immigrants, both male and female, tended to be over-represented in the prison population.
The Australian and New Zealand repertoires and fortunes of North American performers Margaret Anglin, Katherine Grey and Muriel Starr
In the early twentieth century the careers of female professional actors generated complex webs of international activity, with prolonged touring mixed with occasional sustained residence in national regions. The performers explored in this chapter were all significant Australian theatre stars for varied periods. Most of their careers were played out working with major commercial managements and venues, in vehicles which typically placed at the centre of the spectacle the charismatic, socially transformative or suffering feminine. Their varied careers exhibit the typical early-century generic syncretism wherein probing explorations of contemporary life and social change effortlessly spanned modernism and social or costume melodrama.
This chapter explores how a street theatre company deploys different aesthetic and rhetorical tactics to engage with working-class heritage and local identity before and during urban redevelopment. PlayRec (2006–08) and SPP (2011–12), by KompleXKapharnaüM, offer two models of theatre archaeology that re-enact the excavation of the industrial past and the construction of local memory. PlayRec uses montage and shock aesthetics to restage the collection and distortion of personal testimony. SPP plays on the relation between irony and authenticity to engage spectators in the construction of a blatantly invented past for a blatantly invented neighbourhood (the Carré de Soie, straddling Villeurbanne and Vaulx-en-Velin, on the eastern outskirts of Lyon). The peculiar theatricality of each project reveals how street theatre can engage in critical praxis while caught up in redevelopment: its capacity to make change is linked to its capacity to make sense of change.
This chapter explores the personal and professional networks created by female theatre practitioners in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century through a detailed case study of Gabrielle Enthoven – actor, playwright, translator and theatre collector. Born into privilege, Enthoven was the daughter of a colonial administrator who grew up in Egypt and the Sudan. She lived in Windsor, met Oscar Wilde and played with the royal children, spending her twenties messing about on boats and in theatres with the local soldiers. She then married and moved to Chelsea and began to network with theatre and arts professionals before devoting her life and wealth to creating a world-class collection of theatre ephemera that she donated to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.
The chapter juxtaposes quantum cosmology and Lacanian psychoanalysis in a
reading of Michael Frayn’s play Copenhagen, and discusses its staging and
the controversies it provoked. The play explores the visit of Werner
Heisenberg to Neils Bohr in Copenhagen during the Second World War and their
discussions about the feasibility of developing nuclear weapons. Did either
of them attempt, as experts, to stall the development of nuclear weapons? It
enacts three divergent scenarios of the meeting and shows how it is not
possible to determine which is the more accurate. Memory is unreliable, and,
more importantly, we cannot even know our own thoughts and motivations, let
alone those of others. The chapter points to the impossibility of either
physical security or intellectual certainty in a world of entanglements.
The chapter provides a semi-autobiographical narrative that considers
classism and racism against the background of movement from one class to
another and the dislocation that produces. It explores James Martell’s
notions of misinterpellation – when someone responds to a call that they
know is not for them – and how a refusal of interpellation can function
politically as a decolonising move. If, instead of taking on the habits and
values to which we are called, we retain our loyalty to the place we are
from, whatever that might be, then we have the potential to resist
interpellation’s colonising move.
In this chapter, the slow violence of austerity, classism and racism is
contrasted with the swift justice that is meted out to Omega Mwaikambo, a
Grenfell resident who took photographs of one of the people who jumped from
the tower on the night of the fire. It examines the ‘blackening’ of the
community both before and after the fire and their ongoing search for
justice and recognition. The chapter assembles traces from the public domain
of what happened to Mwaikambo into a narrative account that points to the
complexities of the interactions between individuals, the police, and the
courts after the fire, and highlights the inadequacy of procedures for the
forensic identification of those who died.
The chapter examines the desire to help those we see as victims of crisis or
disaster, in particular through what we call humanitarian intervention. It
looks at how such actions can perpetuate the very divisions that produce the
problem in the first place. Through their reliance on a distinction between
the human and the non-human, those politically qualified and those not,
humanitarianism shares a secret solidarity with the exclusionary practices
of the state and the coloniser. The chapter examines David Reiff’s book A
Bed for the Night and considers the dangers of ethics and criteria for a
‘good’ or humanitarian war. There is a tension, the chapter argues, between
small actions, face to face, and the desire to do more: to change the
The chapter explores practices of problematisation and expertise. It argues
that looking for solutions to problems can reproduce the regime of truth
that leads to the so-called problems in the first place. Problematising
famine is an example, and what are put forward as ways of ending hunger can
turn out to be functioning to reproduce it. Turning to expertise, the
chapter examines the case of Dr David Kelly, a scientist who attempted to
challenge the manipulation of intelligence to justify the Iraq war. When an
‘expert’ such as Kelly enters the political fray, their voices are sometimes
either not heard, or even suppressed. Is there an alternative? The chapter
suggests that thinking in terms of a slow listening and an excavation of
forgotten subaltern knowledge – and a quiet rebuilding of the world, brick
by brick – may help.