The construction of an underground car park beneath the main square of Turin,
Italy in 2004 led to the unearthing of the skeletonised remains of twenty-two
individuals attributable to the early eighteenth century. At this time the city
was besieged during the War of the Spanish Succession in a hard-fought battle
that resulted in unexpected triumph for the Piedmontese, a victory that marked a
fundamental turning point in Italian history. The current study assesses the
strength of evidence linking the excavated individuals to the siege and assesses
their possible role in the battle through consideration of their biological
profiles, patterns of pathology and the presence of traumatic injuries. This
article presents the first analysis of evidence for the siege of Turin from an
anthropological point of view, providing new and unbiased information from the
most direct source of evidence available: the remains of those who actually took
The author reviews Barry Jenkins’s 2018 film adaptation of
Baldwin’s novel, If Beale Street Could Talk, finding
that Jenkins’s lush, painterly, and dreamlike visual style successfully
translates Baldwin’s cadenced prose into cinematic language. But in
interpreting the novel as the “perfect fusion” of the anger of
Baldwin’s essays and the sensuality of his fiction, Jenkins overlooks the
novel’s most significant aspect, its gender politics. Baldwin began
working on If Beale Street Could Talk shortly after being
interviewed by Black Arts poet Nikki Giovanni for the PBS television show,
Soul!. Giovanni’s rejection of Baldwin’s
claims that for black men to overcome the injuries of white supremacy they
needed to fulfill the breadwinner role prompted him to rethink his understanding
of African American manhood and deeply influenced his representation of the
novel’s black male characters. The novel aims to disarticulate black
masculinity from patriarchy. Jenkins’s misunderstanding of this aspect of
the novel surfaces in his treatment of the character of Frank, who in the novel
serves as an example of the destructiveness of patriarchal masculinity, and in
his rewriting of the novel’s ending.
Uses and Misuses of International Humanitarian Law and Humanitarian Principles
Flamethrower, According To A Vietnam War Vet’ , 26 January, https://taskandpurpose.com/bring-back-flamethrower (accessed 27 June 2019) . Lachenal , G. , Lefèvre , C. and Nguyen , V. K. (eds) ( 2014 ), La médecine du Tri. Histoire, éthique, anthropologie ( Paris : PUF ). Magone , C. , Neuman , M. and Weissman , F. (eds) ( 2011 ), Humanitarian Negotiations Revealed: The MSF Experience ( London : Hurst & Co ). Lafta , R. , Al-Nuaimi , M. A. and Burnham , G. ( 2018 ), ‘Injury and Death during the ISIS Occupation of Mosul and Its Liberation
Staff Security and Civilian Protection in the Humanitarian Sector
of the differences in the measures taken for expatriate staff as compared with national staff. A duty of care requires employers to take all reasonable measures to ensure the safety of their staff and to avoid the risk of foreseeable injury. On at least one interpretation, an agency’s duty of care extends only to risks that arise from an individual’s employment with that agency, and this could exclude many of the risks that locally hired staff face ( EISF, 2018 : 14). There is no equivalent legal obligation to protect other civilians – even for those agencies with
Coalmining was a notoriously dangerous industry and many of its workers experienced injury and disease. However, the experiences of the many disabled people within Britain’s most dangerous industry have gone largely unrecognised by historians. This book examines the British coal industry through the lens of disability, using an interdisciplinary approach to examine the lives of disabled miners and their families. The book considers the coal industry at a time when it was one of Britain’s most important industries, and follows it through a period of growth up to the First World War, through strikes, depression and wartime, and into an era of decline. During this time, the statutory provision for disabled people changed considerably, most notably with the first programme of state compensation for workplace injury. And yet disabled people remained a constant presence in the industry as many disabled miners continued their jobs or took up ‘light work’. The burgeoning coalfields literature used images of disability on a frequent basis and disabled characters were used to represent the human toll of the industry. A diverse range of sources are used to examine the economic, social, political and cultural impact of disability in the coal industry, looking beyond formal coal company and union records to include autobiographies, novels and oral testimony. It argues that, far from being excluded entirely from British industry, disability and disabled people were central to its development. The book will appeal to students and academics interested in disability history, disability studies, social and cultural history, and representations of disability in literature.
This book argues for greater openness in the ways we approach human rights and international rights promotion, and in so doing brings some new understanding to old debates. Starting with the realities of abuse rather than the liberal architecture of rights, it casts human rights as a language for probing the political dimensions of suffering. Seen in this context, the predominant Western models of right generate a substantial but also problematic and not always emancipatory array of practices. These models are far from answering the questions about the nature of political community that are raised by the systemic infliction of suffering. Rather than a simple message from ‘us’ to ‘them’, then, rights promotion is a long and difficult conversation about the relationship between political organisations and suffering. Three case studies are explored: the Tiananmen Square massacre, East Timor's violent modern history and the circumstances of indigenous Australians. The purpose of these discussions is not to elaborate on a new theory of rights, but to work towards rights practices that are more responsive to the spectrum of injury that we inflict and endure.
worked as a rolley-way man, maintaining
the underground roads on which coal was transported. The dangers at
Cramlington were so ‘great’ and the incidence of injury so high that Burt
regarded it as remarkable that both he and his father ‘were fortunate enough
to leave the place unscathed and uninjured’.1
Written from the perspective of his later role as an MP and trade unionist,
Burt’s comments about the high number of injured workers he encountered in
mining were intended to highlight the dangers faced by miners in pits where
the safety of workers seemed to matter less
In November 1792 there was an explosion of gas at Benwell Colliery,
Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Among the victims was James Jackson, a thirty-sixyear-old miner, who suffered significant injuries to his face, neck, part of his
breast, hands and arms. Burns to his lips and nostrils indicated that he had suffered some internal injuries. When rescuers found him he was shivering, which
suggested, in the words of Edward Kentish, the surgeon who treated him, that
he had suffered a ‘violent shock to the general system’. In the weeks following
the accident, Jackson
feminist hurt to feminism hurts). We might let ourselves
be hurt all over again. When I teach, I teach about things that still hurt.
I am willing this still. When I write, I stay close to the histories of violence.
Sometimes I write with tears, in tears. I read the work that reminds me of
this hurt: I read about racism, sexism, injury, injustice. These words become
lifelines too, allowing me to live on by going on.
Hurt: still. We are moved because it hurts still.
We are not over it; it is not over.
The desire to get over suffering is of course an understandable desire
fascination than Shirley Millard’s gory descriptions
or Rebecca West’s clinically precise accounts and grim surgical realities. And yet, her writing claws insistently at the reader’s consciousness, presenting, every so often, an image that etches itself into the
memory leaving a troubling scar. Bagnold’s artistry creates vivid
images that – quite intentionally – disturb the complacency of those
who have never encountered war injury. And yet, even as her work
impresses with its honesty and openness, it repels with its detachment.
Enid Bagnold was a relatively wealthy and