Bharat Rakshak

This book, written by a Harvard physicist for people who remember some of their high school physics and are unfazed by numbers, provides quantitative answers to most of their questions about energy. It presents a whirlwind history of humans’ relationship with energy sources, which at first was mostly wood and brawn, with help from domesticated animals, wind, and water. All that changed when Abraham Darby discovered how to make coke from coal in 1709 and when, soon after, Thomas Newcomen invented the steam-driven pump. These two technical leaps ushered in the age of coal-generated steam power -- and the age of fossil-fuel dependency. McElroy’s book includes an extensive discussion of the physics and geology of coal, oil, and natural gas, along with useful chapters on nuclear energy, electricity, transportation, climate change, carbon capture, and ethanol (which, McElroy points out, will do nothing to mitigate climate change if it is made from corn but could be helpful if it could be made economically from cellulose). The book has a clearheaded discussion of a low-carbon energy future.

As a senior officer at Citigroup, Rhodes has been at the center of international banking for the past 30 years, especially when debt restructuring was involved. In Banker to the World, he reminisces about his challenging, and sometimes harrowing, experiences, organizing the book around eight lessons that he derived from them. These include the value of prompt, decisive action and of knowing the culture, history, and customs of the people on the other side of the negotiating table. Rhodes covers the debt restructurings of Nicaragua (1980), Mexico (1982), Brazil (1983), Argentina (1992), South Korea (1998), and Uruguay (2002) and the nonrestructuring by Argentina (2001). He also recounts Citibank’s successful efforts to engage in eastern Europe after the fall of communism and to reengage in China, a market its predecessor entered in 1902. For those interested in the operational side of international finance, this is an absorbing read.

This book is a vigorous and well-researched polemic against financial deregulation and the offshore tax havens around the world that have come into widespread use in recent decades. Shaxson, a British journalist, especially attacks the remnants of the British Empire -- Bermuda, the Cayman Islands, the Channel Islands, and the like -- and their supporters in the City of London and in the British political establishment, but their American fellow travelers also get a drubbing. He makes clear that “offshore” is a misnomer, since many ostensibly offshore practices have been adopted onshore in the United Kingdom and the United States. The U.S. state of Delaware and the British-controlled island of Jersey receive special scrutiny, and in the author’s view, the legislatures of small jurisdictions such as these are in effect for hire by major outside financial interests. Many of them enshrine client secrecy in law, which, not surprisingly, attracts wealthy people and companies (and criminal organizations) wanting to evade taxes and disagreeable regulations. Shaxson is not impressed with efforts during the past decade, seemingly led by the U.S. government, to make this global system more accessible to law enforcement agencies. Influential Americans, especially in finance, have too great a personal interest in preserving and even enlarging the gaping holes in the existing systems of taxation and regulation.

According to Victor, the Kyoto Protocol’s target-based approach to climate-change negotiations is fatally flawed, as is the UN-based process by which 193 governments are expected to reach agreement on a complex issue that touches every economy. Drawing on the history of successful international negotiations, Victor counsels greater patience; the term “urgent,” he says, is overused in public discussions of climate change. He argues that a smallish club of the major greenhouse gas emitters (including, of course, China and the United States) should undertake serious negotiations on actions to be taken, not just targets to shoot for. Victor also contends that existing technologies are not likely to limit climate change significantly, and so a major collaborative effort to develop new ones is called for. Given past emissions, some climate change is inevitable, putting a premium on strategies of adaptation. But adapting to climate change, in Victor’s view, will primarily be a local challenge, dependent on local circumstances, not an issue for a grand global bargain.

India is more than a nation state. It is also a unique civilization with philosophies and cosmologies that are markedly distinct from the dominant culture of our times – the West. India’s spiritual traditions spring from dharma which has no exact equivalent in western frameworks. Unfortunately, in the rush to celebrate the growing popularity of India on the world stage, its civilizational matrix is being digested into western universalism, thereby diluting its distinctiveness and potential.

This book addresses the challenge of direct and honest engagement on differences, by reversing the gaze, repositioning India from being the observed to the observer and looking at the West from the dharmic point of view. In doing so it challenges many hitherto unexamined beliefs that both sides hold about themselves and each other. It highlights that unique historical revelations are the basis for western religions, as opposed to dharma’s emphasis on self-realization in the body here and now. It describes the integral unity that underpins dharma’s metaphysics and contrasts this with western thought and history as a synthetic unity. The west’s anxiety over difference and fixation for order runs in contrast with the creative role of chaos in dharma. The book critiques fashionable reductive translations and argues for preserving certain non-translatable words of Sanskrit. It concludes with a rebuttal against western claims of universalism and recommends a multi-civilizational worldview.

The discussions and debate within the book employ the venerable tradition of purva-paksha, an ancient dharmic technique where a debater must first authentically understand in the opponent’s perspective, test the merits of that point of view and only then engage in debate using his own position. Purva-paksha encourages individuals to become truly knowledgeable about all perspectives, to approach the other side with respect and to forego the desire to simply win the contest. Purva-paksha also demands that all sides be willing to embrace the shifts in thinking, disruptive and controversial as they may be, that emerge from such a dialectical process.

"Aryan," a word that today evokes images of racial hatred and atrocity, was first used by Europeans to suggest bonds of kinship, as Thomas Trautmann shows in his far-reaching history of British Orientalism and the ethnology of India. When the historical relationship uniting Sanskrit with the languages of Europe was discovered, it seemed clear that Indians and Britons belonged to the same family. Thus the Indo-European or Aryan idea, based on the principle of linguistic kinship, dominated British ethnological inquiry.
In the nineteenth century, however, an emergent biological "race science" attacked the authority of the Orientalists. The spectacle of a dark-skinned people who were evidently civilized challenged Victorian ideas, and race science responded to the enigma of India by redefining the Aryan concept in narrowly "white" racial terms. By the end of the nineteenth century, race science and Orientalism reached a deep and lasting consensus in regard to India, which Trautmann calls "the racial theory of Indian civilization," and which he undermines with his powerful analysis of colonial ethnology in India. His work of reassessing British Orientalism and the Aryan idea will be of great interest to historians, anthropologists, and cultural critics.

One of the United States' strongest assets has been its capacity to turn its rivals into partners and its adversaries into allies. The United Kingdom, Mexico, Germany, and Japan all fought against the United States before they joined with it in what has become a zone of stable peace. At the start of the twenty-first century, this capacity is needed as much as ever before. The rise of major non-Western powers, such as Brazil, China, India, Iran, South Africa, Turkey, and others makes the avoidance of traditional geopolitical rivalries a must if one wants a peaceful world order.

In How Enemies Become Friends, Kupchan discusses how and why peace breaks out. He takes on the notion that stable peace can only be the product of liberal democratic development, an idea he calls unnecessary and unwise, and uses a rigorous theoretical framework and a wealth of historical evidence to elucidate pathways to stable peace. These include unilateral accommodation, reciprocal restraint, societal integration, and the generation of new narratives and identities.

Kupchan's findings are particularly relevant to Euro-Atlantic relations. Two decades after the end of the Cold War, Europe is still divided on security issues. Both NATO and the EU have expanded considerably, but countries such as Russia, Ukraine, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan are beyond the zone of stable peace. The theory of democratic peace has worked for some but not others. Kupchan's timely book can help solve the hard cases

It may seem at first sight a little odd to recommend a history book as a guide to the future. But Morris' new book illustrates perfectly why one really scholarly book about the past is worth a hundred fanciful works of futurology. Morris is the world's most talented ancient historian, a man as much at home with state-of-the-art archaeology as with the classics as they used to be studied. Here, he has brilliantly pulled off what few modern academics would dare to attempt: a single-volume history of the world that offers a bold and original answer to the question, Why did the societies that make up "the West" pull ahead of "the rest" not once but twice, and most spectacularly in the modern era after around 1500? Wearing his impressive erudition lightly -- indeed, writing with a wit and clarity that will delight the lay reader -- Morris uses his own ingenious index of social development as the basis for his answer. He also dares to pose explicitly some fascinating counterfactual questions. What if the Chinese had conquered the New World before the Europeans got there in the fifteenth century? What if the West had ended up subjugated by the East in the nineteenth century, instead of the other way around? Precisely because he has such a profound understanding of the ways that culture, technology, and geography interact over the very long run, Morris is better qualified than almost anyone else to answer the final question he asks: Is the world heading for "the Singularity" -- a technological quantum leap beyond our traditional limitations as a species -- or for a disastrous "Nightfall" brought on by climate change, famine, state failure, mass migration, pandemic disease, and nuclear war? Readers will find nothing better on the subject than his final, mind-blowing chapter.

Early European histories of India frequently reflected colonialist agendas. The idea that Indian society had declined from an earlier Golden Age helped justify the colonial presence. It was said, for example, that modern Buddhism had fallen away from its original identity as a purely rational philosophy that arose in the mythical 5th-century BCE Golden Age unsullied by the religious and cultural practices that surrounded it. In this book Robert DeCaroli seeks to place the formation of Buddhism in its appropriate social and political contexts. It is necessary, he says, to acknowledge that the monks and nuns who embodied early Buddhist ideals shared many beliefs held by the communities in which they were raised. In becoming members of the monastic society these individuals did not abandon their beliefs in the efficacy and the dangers represented by minor deities and spirits of the dead. Their new faith, however, gave them revolutionary new mechanisms with which to engage those supernatural beings. Drawing on fieldwork, textual, and iconographic evidence, DeCaroli offers a comprehensive view of early Indian spirit-religions and their contributions to Buddhism-the first attempt at such a study since Ananda Coomaraswamy's pioneering work was published in 1928. The result is an important contribution to our understanding of early Indian religion and society, and will be of interest to those in the fields of Buddhist studies, Asian history, art history, and anthropology.

Inept leadership, inefficient campaigning, and enormous losses would seem to spell military disaster. Yet despite these factors, the Soviet Union won its war against Nazi Germany thanks to what Roger Reese calls its "military effectiveness": its ability to put troops in the field even after previous forces had been decimated.
Reese probes the human dimension of the Red Army in World War II through a close analysis of soldiers' experiences and attitudes concerning mobilization, motivation, and morale. In doing so, he illuminates the Soviets' remarkable ability to recruit and retain soldiers, revealing why so many were willing to fight in the service of a repressive regime--and how that service was crucial to the army's military effectiveness. He examines the various forms of voluntarism and motivations to serve--including the influences of patriotism and Soviet ideology--and shows that many fought simply out of loyalty to the idea of historic Russia and hatred for the invading Germans. He also considers the role of political officers within the ranks, the importance of commanders who could inspire their troops, the bonds of allegiance forged within small units, and persistent fears of Stalin's secret police.

Brimming with fresh insights, Reese's study shows how the Red Army's effectiveness in the Great Patriotic War was foreshadowed by its performance in the Winter War against Finland and offers the first direct comparison between the two, delving into specific issues such as casualties, tactics, leadership, morale, and surrender. Reese also presents a new analysis of Soviet troops captured during the early war years and how those captures tapped into Stalin's paranoia over his troops' loyalties. He provides a distinctive look at the motivations and experiences of Soviet women soldiers and their impact on the Red Army's ability to wage war.

Ultimately, Reese puts a human face on the often anonymous Soviet soldiers to show that their patriotism was real, even if not a direct endorsement of the Stalinist system, and had much to do with the Red Army's ability to defeat the most powerful army the world had ever seen.

Strategic Asia 2011-12: Asia Responds to Its Rising Powers—China and India explores how Asian states are responding to the rise of China and India and the strategies these states are pursuing to preserve their national interests. In each chapter, a leading expert investigates how a country or region perceives China’s and India's growth based on geopolitical, economic, cultural, military, and historical interactions and draws implications for U.S. interests and leadership in the Asia-Pacific.

Main Argument:

For Pakistan, the rise of India is a strategic nightmare, while the rise of China is an opportunity to curb India’s advancement and reduce dependence on the United States. Afghanistan sees its ties with India and China, as well as with the U.S., as vehicles for blunting interference by its immediate neighbors, especially Pakistan. Bangladesh, Nepal, and Sri Lanka generally accept India’s primacy in their region. Bangladesh and Nepal see their ties with China as a way of increasing their freedom of action against India; Sri Lanka sees both India and China as means to emphasize its independence from Western donors.

Policy Implications:


India’s South Asian neighbors look on India and China with one eye on relations with the U.S. Most of these countries are seeking either to balance a hostile relationship or to hedge against excessive dependency on the U.S. or India.

India is still the major player in South Asia, and is becoming more active in East Asia.

China’s security profile and economic heft in South Asia have risen dramatically in the past decade. India’s economic growth will determine whether New Delhi maintains its influence in its own neighborhood.

The Indian Ocean is the arena where the India-China rivalry will play out. U.S. strategic goals align well with India’s, and U.S. interests would be well served by treating the Indian Ocean as a single policy space.

The smaller South Asian countries, especially Sri Lanka, will play a greater role in the dynamics of the Indian Ocean region than traditional U.S. policy would indicate.

The Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama set sail from Belém, a village at the mouth of the Tagus River now part of greater Lisbon, on July 8, 1497. An obscure but well-­connected courtier, he had been chosen, much to everyone’s surprise, by King Manuel I to head the ambitious expedition to chart a new route to India. The king was not moved chiefly by a desire for plunder. He possessed a visionary cast of mind bordering on derangement; he saw himself spearheading a holy war to topple Islam, recover Jerusalem from “the infidels” and establish himself as the “King of Jerusalem.”

Da Gama shared these dreams, but like his hard-bitten crew, rogues or criminals to a man, he coveted the fabled riches of the East — not only gold and gems but spices, then the most precious of commodities. On this voyage, as on his two later ones, he proved a brilliant navigator and commander. But where courage could not bring him through violent storms, contrary seas and the machinations of hostile rulers, luck came to his rescue. He sailed blindly, virtually by instinct, without maps, charts or reliable pilots, into unknown oceans.

As Nigel Cliff, a historian and journalist, demonstrates in his lively and ambitious “Holy War,” da Gama was abetted as much by ignorance as by skill and daring. To discover the sea route to India, he deliberately set his course in a different direction from Columbus, his great seafaring rival. Instead of heading west, da Gama went south. His ships inched their way down the African coast, voyaging thousands of miles farther than any previous explorer. After months of sailing, he rounded the Cape of Good Hope. From there, creeping up the east coast of Africa, he embarked on the uncharted vastness of the Indian Ocean. Uncharted, that is, by European navigators. For at the time, the Indian Ocean was crisscrossed by Muslim vessels, and it was Muslim merchants, backed up by powerful local rulers, who controlled the trade routes and had done so for centuries. Da Gama sought to break this maritime dominance; even stronger was his ambition to discover the Christians of India and their “long-lost Christian king,” the legendary Prester John, and by forging an alliance with them, to unite Christianity and destroy Islam.

The ambition was not entirely fanciful; there were Christian communities in India, founded according to legend by St. Thomas the Apostle. Da Gama couldn’t tell an Indian Christian from a cassowary, but on this occasion, ignorance was truly bliss. When his ships finally moored at Calicut, near the southern tip of the subcontinent, he and his crew rejoiced to learn that there were indeed many Christians long settled there. As Cliff recounts, the “landing party had assumed that Hindu temples were Christian churches, they had misconstrued the Brahmins’ invocation of a local deity as veneration of the Virgin Mary and they had decided the Hindu figures on the temple walls were outlandish Christian saints.” True, “the temples were also crammed with animal gods and sacred phalluses,” but these surely reflected exotic local Christian practices. What mattered to the Portuguese was that these long-lost Indian Christians permitted images in their “churches.” Thus, whatever their idiosyncrasies, they could not be Muslims. The Portuguese joined in the chants and invocations with gusto. When the Hindu priests chanted “Krishna,” the Portuguese heard it as “Christ.”

Such farcical episodes recur throughout Cliff’s account and add unexpected levity to what is otherwise a dismal record of greed, savagery and fanaticism, especially — but not exclusively — on the part of the European explorers. The Portuguese didn’t know that Hinduism, let alone Buddhism or Jainism, existed. For them, the world was starkly divided between Christianity and Islam. They knew about Jews, of course; they’d been steadily persecuting them with renewed vigor in the 1490s by forced conversion, expulsion and massacre, but to them, Judaism was merely a forerunner of Christianity, not a faith in its own right.

Cliff’s narrative covers a huge span of time. For once the term “epic” seems an understatement. Da Gama’s exploits alone demand such terms. His maiden voyage took two years and traversed an extraordinary 24,000 miles, all this in leaky wooden vessels battered by storms and riddled with scurvy, and it was only the first of his three pioneering voyages that together established little Portugal as a world power.

To provide the widest possible context, Cliff begins with the Prophet Muhammad and the rise of Islam in the early seventh century and concludes with the siege of Vienna in 1529 and the subsequent rise of Dutch maritime expansion. His account of early Islamic history is brisk and factual, but it has a somewhat potted feel, as does his chapter on the crusades, for all the horrific detail he provides. This is, after all, well-trodden turf. When he finally comes to Portugal and its succession of zealous, sinister and quite dotty monarchs, he is in his element, and his book really takes off. He has a novelist’s gift for depicting character. From the fabled Henry the Navigator who, despite his appellation, “never set foot on an oceangoing ship,” to Vasco da Gama himself, at once steely and quixotic, to formidable figures like Magellan and the brutal Afonso de Albuquerque, who terrorized his victims by threatening to build a fort out of their bones and nail their ears to the door, he brings 16th-­century Portugal in all its splendor and squalor pungently to life.

Cliff is good too at such mundane but intricate matters as shipbuilding, royal protocols and the hazards of trade, all of which he documents by well-chosen citations from travel accounts, official papers and personal correspondence. Rather surprisingly, however, he fails to bring the great 16th-century Portuguese poet Luís de Camões into his account (though he’s mentioned in the very full bibliography), even though Camões participated in later Portuguese expeditions and wrote his Virgilian-style epic “The Lusiads” in praise of da Gama.

While Cliff spins his tale under the aegis of “holy war” and in his subtitle invokes Samuel P. Huntington's well-worn “clash of civilizations,” on the evidence of his own narrative this framework seems more than a little creaky. Though there was longstanding mutual detestation between Christians and Muslims, the real antagonism seems to have been mercantile. There was no “clash of civilizations” to speak of. The Portuguese gazed in covetous admiration at the trappings of the Muslim courts they visited, and Muslims showed no interest whatsoever in European culture (which they considered pitifully inferior to their own). When they clashed, they did so over lucrative trade routes and territorial hegemony; each was quite proudly ignorant of the other’s creed.

Cliff struggles to find relevance to present-day events, but his attempts are unconvincing. He notes, for example, that in 2006, Ayman al-Zawahri, now the head of Al Qaeda, called for the liberation of Ceuta — a North African city besieged by King John of Portugal in 1415 — from the Spanish Christians who now control it. Nevertheless, the real clash today is not between Christianity and Islam, nor between opposing civilizations, but between our own resolutely secular and consumerist culture and a rigid and absolutist mindset outraged by the prosperity Western “infidels” enjoy. That, however, is another epic, yet to be written.

In recent years, there has been an explosion of interest in and literature on the complex and varied landscape of India’s Northeast. Against the backdrop of increasing militarization, insurgency, and tension, authors have explored various separatist movements, the interrelations and historical tensions within the region, and the complicated relationships between various states and the politics of the Indian center. For all of this literature, the dynamics and complexities of the Northeast’s many and varied religious and political movements, as well as the complexities and divisions within broad ethnic categories, such as “Naga,” remain often understudied. Arkotong Longkumer makes an invaluable contribution to literature on religion in the Northeast by shining a light on the Heraka movement, a reform movement among the Zeme, a Naga tribe living in Assam’s North Cachar Hills. In Reform, Identity and Narratives of Belonging, Longkumer provides an extraordinarily detailed look at this movement, examining both its religious practices and its broader impact on identity and belonging in the North Cachar Hills. The monograph situates Heraka practices and politics within the broader politics of Naga separatism and Indian nationalism. In doing so, Longkumer exposes the Heraka not just as a project of religious reform, but also as a complex site of negotiation of a range of competing claims, anxieties, and tensions.

The Heraka is a monotheistic, but non-Christian, religious reform movement dating back to the late colonial period, though only coalescing under the name “Heraka” in 1974. The book systematically explores Heraka history, cosmology, and ritual practice, seeking, in Longkumer’s words, to examine “the evolving project of reform and its intersection with narratives of identity” (p. 1). To this end, Longkumer examines the notion of religious reform in its broadest connotations, suggesting that reform projects are not just about abstract notions of progress, but also about longer and more complex dialogues with questions of tradition. For the Heraka, reform is thus an engagement with, on the one hand, questions of modernity and social change and, on the other, the relationship between the self and society. The meanings of Heraka, as Longkumer shows, are various, but, most directly, connote a notion of purity associated with the worship of the God Tingwang and the relinquishing of blood sacrifices to the “small gods” of Paupaise ancestral worship. Longkumer also highlights the ways that Heraka practice is intimately linked with questions of mobility (social and spatial), social organization, and meaning in an often-unstable space.

Longkumer traces the origins of Heraka to a millenarian movement launched by two charismatic leaders, Gaidinliu and Jadonang, in the mid-1930s. Branded as “trouble-makers” by the colonial administration, Jadonang was captured and hanged in 1931 and Gaidinliu was imprisoned until after Independence. Yet, more specifically, Longkumer links the growth of the Heraka movement more directly to social and political-economic shifts. Situated against the backdrop of famine and agricultural shortage, the reform movement offered a monotheistic alternative to the costly blood sacrifices associated with older Paupaise traditions in the North Cachar Hills. The ensuing transformations, as Longkumer shows, resulted not just in shifts in ritual practice but also in the social and spatial organization of Zeme villages, facilitating various forms of mobility within and beyond village life. The adoption of Heraka practice thus offered practical appeal, allowing changes in property regimes and social structures as well as cosmological systems. As Longkumer argues, “This enabled the Heraka to change in a way that was demonstratively beneficial, aiding adaptation to a changing world that the existing ancestral religion, Paupaise, could not” (p. 201).

Ethnographically, the text offers a rich and textured analysis of both the transformations the movement has wrought on identity in the North Cachar Hills and on the fractured and contested meanings of Naga, Zeme, and Heraka. Longkumer examines the Heraka movement in a broader context of tribal identity, focusing on the interplay between Heraka reform and Paupaise practice. Lonkumer argues that the Heraka movement is grounded in a religious rationalism that begins to make distinctions between religious, political, and economic life. The reorganization of cosmology under the Heraka movement is grounded in a direct and reflexive engagement with a changing world. Yet the notion of Heraka is not simply an engagement with shifting social and political-economic realities, it is also an ongoing discussion about what the notion of free community (heguangram) might be. As Longkumer shows, the very idea of community is one that continues to produce divisions within the movement itself, most markedly between urban Heraka, who adopt a more “progressive” brand of Heraka practice, and rural Heraka, who still adhere more closely to the movement’s millenarian roots and promises.

Longkumer’s work is at its strongest in its capturing of the tensions of belonging for members of the Heraka movement. Particularly, a central chapter, “Negotiating Boundaries,” explores the ways that the Heraka, as a monotheistic movement that is neither Christian nor Hindu, are wedged between the broader movement for an independent Christian Nagaland and a Hindu nationalist movement that seeks to negate their claims. As non-Christians, the Heraka are branded as Hindu sympathizers--those whose “feathers have been smudged by Hindu incense”--by many Nagas (p. 157). The Heraka, as Longkumer shows, are indeed claimed as part of Bharat Mata and linked with notions of Hindu civilization by Hindu Right groups, such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, many of whom run education and development programs among the Heraka in the North Cachar Hills. However, this linkage is made through an inscription of the Heraka as vanvasi, or jungle dwellers. As Longkumer argues, the notion of vanvasi eschews a sophisticated notion of adivasi (original inhabitant) identity and politics in favor of a pure and pristine “state of nature” view of the Heraka, a view that at once incorporates them into the Indian nation and relegates them to a state of perpetual backwardness. To be Heraka, as Longkumer argues, is to be in a state of perpetual negotiation between and with these two conflicting positions.

Reform, Identity and Narratives of Belonging is a deep, empirically driven monograph, drawing on a range of historical sources and ethnographic encounters. It is focused on elucidating and enumerating the complexities of belonging in Heraka life, rather than using the Heraka as a case study to explore emergent theoretical concepts in anthropology, religion, or South Asian studies. The book itself is enormously complex, moving through a broad range of historical narratives, analytic categories, and problematics. At times, Longkumer’s comprehensive treatment of the Heraka comes at the expense of narrative coherence and the argument of individual chapters of the book often build not just on what has come before but what will come after. While rigorously argued, Longkumer’s work is also theoretically eclectic, drawing broadly from contemporary and classical anthropological theory to elucidate concepts as various as religious rationality, identity and difference, conversion, and notions of community. Rather than offering new or synthetic theoretical formulations, Reform, Identity and Narratives of Belonging employs these literatures to explain particular empirical problems or concerns.

If the book’s deep, complex, and nuanced exploration of the Heraka is its primary strength, it also might be said to be its weakness. Longkumer focuses on his subject often at the expense of broader context. With the exception of the above-mentioned chapter on boundary negotiation, the book eschews a broader discussion that situates the Heraka in the complicated context of the politics of the Northeast. While such politics are clearly important for Longkumer’s narrative, they appear much more as things occurring in the background than as central issues of the text. Questions of insurgency, Hindu nationalism, and separatist movements haunt much of the text but only are addressed sporadically. This has two unfortunate implications for this otherwise excellent text. First, the book is clearly targeted at specialist audiences and assumes a fair amount of knowledge about the Northeast. Yet more important, it misses an opportunity to use the Heraka case as a means of understanding and illuminating broader concerns. Another way of saying this is that, while Longkumer uses context judiciously to explain the Heraka, the Heraka ultimately do little to explain the context.

This is, perhaps, an unfair criticism to make, as Longkumer’s project is quite explicitly to understand identity within the context of Heraka reform. Reform, Identity and Narratives of Belonging accomplishes this with both sensitivity and analytic rigor. At the same time, Longkumer highlights a critical and, as yet, unanswered problematic in contemporary studies of such movements. If the question of belonging is one that is central in the context of the Heraka movement, it is also one that continues to emerge as essential within a broader literature concerned with movements, populations, and peoples on the margins of state and nation. How might we think about this critical but elusive concept? While the book provides no specific theoretical answer to this question, it does expose the abstract concept of belonging as what it is: a primarily ethnographic concern that is, at once, broadly urgent and deeply contextual. The notion of belonging is both abstract and grounded--one that transcends the boundaries of specific movements and is, necessarily, confined within them. As such, the Heraka case, and Longkumer’s reading of it, aptly demonstrates the need for and advantages of engaging the question of belonging not as a set of ossified concepts, but rather--as the Heraka themselves do--as a set of ongoing, unstable, and often tenuous negotiations with history, identity, and politics.

“Noon” is Aatish Taseer’s third book in three years. Here, as in his memoir, “Stranger to History,” and his first novel, “The Temple-Goers,” he mines his own life to reflect on his preoccupations: patrimony, social stratification, the rise of India, the devolution of Pakistan. Taseer gives his protagonist, Rehan, the contours of his own life — the accomplished Indian Sikh mother and estranged Pakistani Muslim father, the Delhi childhood and American education, the writerly ambitions and frustration with Islam. It’s an austere, straightforward story that sets personal corruption and familial betrayals against a background of political violence, something the author knows intimately. Taseer’s father was Salman Taseer, the governor of Pakistan’s Punjab Province, assassinated in January of this year by his own bodyguard

The book begins in Delhi in the late 1980s. The product of a brief affair, Rehan grows up fatherless, but he’s not unduly bothered by this since he’s cosseted by his grandmother and mother. These early scenes are competent if bloodless. The plot gets juicier once Rehan is older, attending college in Massachusetts but receiving his real education when he periodically returns home to the subcontinent. On one such occasion, Rehan, who has hitherto “not considered it important to think hard about India,” gets a crash course in Delhi’s class war when his house is burgled. It’s clearly an inside job, and Rehan must preside over the police interrogation of his servants. It’s the Milgram experiment meets Orwell’s “Shooting an Elephant,” a fine, morally messy vignette that forces Rehan to acknowledge his power.

Later, he travels to Pakistan to visit his father and half siblings, and it’s in the airy, scary seaside town of Port bin Qasim that the book opens up and breathes. Taseer allows his characters to expatiate on family and faith, sex and politics — and it’s a ripe moment for philosophy. The “fundoos” (fundamentalists) have found their next target, linguistic purity, and are merrily attacking English storefront signs and immolating themselves in the streets if they discover their own names have Sanskrit roots. Things prove equally bizarre on the family front. Rehan’s half brother, the polymorphously perverse Isphandiyar, hopscotches from one scandal to the next: he has just ended an affair with his father’s former girlfriend and is now being blackmailed over a sex tape in what appears to be an­other inside job.

Helen Tilley's deeply researched, well-argued, and thought-provoking book on science in the British colonial empire in Africa should be read and pondered by historians of science and historians of empire. Africa as a Living Laboratory offers an antidote both to a view of science as a straightforward history of progress and to seeing science as the imposition by Europeans of an unwanted modernity on Africans. In a book of considerable nuance and sophistication, she provides a simple but convincing answer to the question of whether there was such a thing as “colonial science”: “no.” Science developed in a world divided unequally but not into separate compartments, and science could be a tool to tear down the premises of colonial rule as well as to build them up.

Although covering the period 1870 to 1950, Tilley (a historian at the University of Wisconsin) places at the center of her account the conception and execution of the 1930s African Research Survey, led by a quintessentially imperial figure, Lord Malcolm Hailey. Here, we see a systematic attempt to set out the state of scientific knowledge of Africa, to develop institutions for further research, and to examine the relationship of scientific knowledge to policy. Because the decade-long process involved the Colonial Office, major universities, leading scientists, foundations, and professional associations, Tilley is able to show the degree to which the relationship of science and colonial policy was explicitly addressed. Africa, Tilley argues, was important for the development of science, and science was important for the history of colonization and decolonization in Africa. Because European expeditions to Africa expanded the range of human societies that were knowable, the continent's contributions were irreplaceable—to tropical medicine, biology, and ecology as well as to such social science fields as geography and anthropology. Africa was a laboratory for different sciences, in which both generalizable knowledge and methodologies that stressed complexity and specificity could be tested.


Mapping diseases. A plate from physician Robert Felkin's 1894 paper “On the geographical distribution of tropical diseases in Africa” (1). CREDIT: FROM (1)/COURTESY UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS


Tilley explains that European science did not simply reinforce the power dynamics of colonization but also fostered disagreement. Certainly, scientists provided rationales for treating Africans as backward: conceptions of racial inferiority or evolutionary notions that pointed to Africans' need for tutelage. They also did the opposite—providing evidence against racist theories and for the capacities of African societies to master their environment. Even many scientists who accepted the legitimacy of colonization to the same degree as other British citizens could see little evidence to justify the inherent and immutable domination of Europeans over Africans. Some concluded that in medicine, farming, or ecology, Europeans had more to learn from Africans than Africans from Europeans. They contributed to what Tilley terms a “vernacular” science, respectful of different forms of knowledge. Scientific methodology was a two-edged sword, and the only sure consequence of appealing to “science” was the need to muster theory and evidence in defense of a position.

Debate did not necessarily mean good science triumphing over bad. As Tilley's account demonstrates, the relation of politics and science is indeterminate, shaped both by the efforts of particular actors and by historical conjunctures. That scientists thought of Africa as a laboratory might have made its people seem like subjects of observation and experimentation, but over time the practice of science influenced the ways in which Africa could be imagined—and hence governed. Among the most important ways in which Tilley forces her readers to reconsider conventional wisdom is her chapter on science and race. “Scientific racism” is often considered a concomitant of colonialism. But Tilley shows that precisely in the period when colonial rule over Africa was entrenched, scientists disagreed over what, if anything, race meant. Called upon by the Colonial Office to evaluate a project to measure the relative intelligence of different races, the scientists of the Africa Survey concluded that the very premises of such a study were invalid. Tilley's analysis goes a long way toward showing how difficult it was in Great Britain ever to establish a coherent, stable conception of the colonial situation, even during the height of colonial rule.

Tilley is well aware of the gap between scientific investigation and policy interventions. She shows convincingly that during the 1920s and 1930s, growing knowledge of disease, ecology, and anthropology provided a basis for integrated government programs of what some called “development.” But it took more than scientific advance to turn such ideas into practice. Only after a wave of strikes and riots shook the British empire from the West Indies to Central Africa between 1935 and 1940 did Parliament pass the Colonial Development and Welfare Act, and only after the war was the act put on a solid financial basis, heralding both a new interventionism in colonial policy and new funding for research.

The side of the complex relationship between knowledge and power that Tilley does not fully explore is the connectedness of ignorance and power. Why, for instance, did the colonial government of Kenya—sensitive to the importance of understanding the population it ruled and with access to the technology of census-taking used both at home and in India—not institute a census until 1948? Why did governments in Africa put so little effort into studying labor and urbanism until confronted with waves of conflict that they could not master? Willful ignorance? Financial stringency? Or were some officials so attached to their complacent view of African societies that they were impervious to the new knowledge generated by the practices Tilley so well describes?

To put more emphasis on the politics of ignorance would be to add one more dimension to what is already a complex and subtle reading of the history of science and colonization. Tilley advances, without being polemical, a view of knowledge within a colonial context more interactive and more historical than such influential approaches as Foucauldian concepts of biopower and other scholars' emphasis on states as agents of singular, simplified, forcefully imposed conceptions of society and social change. Science, she shows, was a source of debate and criticism. As much by their disagreements among themselves as by the consensuses they reached, scientists contributed to an important aspect of the politics of empire in the late 1940s and 1950s: uncertainty.

References

↵ R. Felkin, Proc. R. Phys. Soc. Edinburgh 12, 415 (1894).

He was the kind of man who, without political doctrine, only with resentments, had made the Iranian revolution

The new men of the villages, who feel they have already lost so much, find their path blocked at every turn. Money, development, education have awakened them only to the knowledge that the world is not like their village, that the world is not their own. Their rage—the rage of pastoral people with limited skills, limited money, and a limited grasp of the world—is comprehensive. Now they have a weapon: Islam. It is their way of getting even with the world. It serves their grief, their feeling of inadequacy, their social rage and racial hate. This Islam is more than the old religion of their village. The Islam the missionaries bring is a religion of impending change and triumph; it comes as part of a world movement. In Readings in Islam, a local missionary magazine, it can be read that the West, in the eyes even of its philosophers, is eating itself up with its materialism and greed. The true believer, with his thoughts on the afterlife, lives for higher ideals. For a nonbeliever, with no faith in the afterlife, life is a round of pleasure.

If the Chinese convert to Islam, the Malays would become Buddhists

Religion, which filled men’s days with rituals and ceremonies of worship, which preached the afterlife, at the same time gave men the sharpest sense of worldly injustice and made that part of religion. This late-twentieth-century Islam appeared to raise political issues. But it had the flaw of its origins—the flaw that ran right through Islamic history: to the political issues it raised it offered no political or practical solution. It offered only the faith. It offered only the Prophet, who would settle everything—but who had ceased to exist. This political Islam was rage, anarchy.

The Islamic fundamentalist wish is to work back to such a whole, for them a God-given whole, but with the tool of faith alone—belief, religious practices and rituals. It is like a wish—with intellect suppressed or limited, the historical sense falsified—to work back from the abstract to the concrete, and to set up the tribal walls again. It is to seek to re-create something like a tribal or a city-state that—except in theological fantasy—never was. The Koran is not the statute book of a settled golden age; it is the mystical or oracular record of an extended upheaval, widening out from the Prophet to his tribe to Arabia.

JE Menon wrote:Naipaul's Among the Believers must be read back to back with Tarek Fatah's Chasing a Mirage: Tragic Illusion of an Islamic State

Now that will give all true jingos a hard on.

This extensively researched book argues that the development of a libertarian culture was an indispensable component of the rise of the West. The roots of the West's superior intellectual and artistic creativity should be traced back to the aristocratic warlike culture of Indo-European speakers. Among the many fascinating topics discussed are: the ascendancy of multicultural historians and the degradation of European history; China's ecological endowments and imperial windfalls; military revolutions in Europe 1300-1800; the science and chivalry of Henry the Navigator; Judaism and its contribution to Western rationalism; the cultural richness of Max Weber versus the intellectual poverty of Pomeranz, Wong, Goldstone, Goody, and A.G. Frank; change without progress in the East; Hegel's Phenomenology of the [Western] Spirit; Nietzsche and the education of the Homeric Greeks; Kojeve's master-slave dialectic and the Western state of nature; Christian virtues and German aristocratic expansionism.

For more than sixty years, John Lukacs has been writing, teaching, and reading about the past. In this inspired volume, he turns his attention to the future. Throughout The Future of History, Lukacs reflects on his discipline, eloquently arguing that the writing and teaching of history are literary rather than scientific, comprising knowledge that is neither wholly objective nor subjective. History at its best, he contends, is personal and participatory.

Despite a recently unprecedented appetite for history among the general public, as evidenced by history television program ratings, sales of popular history books, and increased participation in local historical societies, Lukacs believes that the historical profession is in a state of disarray. He traces a decline in history teaching throughout higher education, matched by a corresponding reduction in the number of history students. He reviews a series of short-lived fads within the profession that have weakened the fundamentals of the field. In looking for a way forward, Lukacs explores the critical relationships between history and literature, including ways in which novelists have contributed to historical understanding. Through this startling and enlightening work, readers will understand Lukacs's assertion that "everything has its history, including history" and that history itself has a future, since everything we know comes from the past.

This book offers a significant and original contribution to critical race theory. Georgie Wemyss offers an anthropological account of the cultural hegemony of the West through investigations of the central and pivotal constituent of the dominant white discourse of Britishness - the Invisible Empire. She demonstrates how the repetitive burying of British Empire histories of violence in the retelling of Britain's past works to disguise how power operates in the present, showing how other related elements have been substantially reproduced through time to accommodate the challenges of history. The book combines ethnographic and discourse analysis with the study of connected histories to reveal how the dominant discourse maintains its dominance through its flexibility and its strategic alliances with subordinate groups

THE TANNING OF AMERICA
BY STEVE STOUTE

WITH MIM EICHLER RIVAS

The business marketing genius at the forefront of today's entertainment marketing revolution helps corporate America get hip to today's new consumer-the tan generation - by learning from hip-hop and youth culture.

"He is the conduit between corporate America and rap and the streets-he speaks both languages." -Jay-Z

"It's amazing to see the direct impact that black music, videos and the internet have had on culture. I've seen so many people race to the top of pop stardom using the everyday mannerisms of the hood in a pop setting. It's time to embrace this phenomenon because it ain't going nowhere!" -Kanye West

When Fortune 500 companies need to reenergize or reinvent a lagging brand, they call Steve Stoute. In addition to marrying cultural icons with blue-chip marketers (Beyoncé for Tommy Hilfiger's True Star fragrance, and Justin Timberlake for "lovin' it" at McDonald's), Stoute has helped identify and activate a new generation of consumers. He traces how the "tanning" phenomenon raised a generation of black, Hispanic, white, and Asian consumers who have the same "mental complexion" based on shared experiences and values. This consumer is a mindset-not a race or age-that responds to shared values and experiences, rather than the increasingly irrelevant demographic boxes that have been used to a fault by corporate America. And Stoute believes there is a language gap that must be bridged in order to engage the most powerful market force in the history of commerce.

The Tanning of America provides that very translation guide. Drawing from his company's case studies, as well as from extensive interviews with leading figures of multiple fields, Stoute presents an insider's view of how the transcendent power of popular culture is helping reinvigorate and revitalize the American dream. He shows how he bridges the worlds of pop culture, brand consulting, and marketing in his turnkey campaigns offers keen insight into other successful campaigns-including the election of Barack Obama-to illustrate the power of the tan generation, and how to connect with it while staying true to your core brand.

One of the most influential voices in pop culture examines how hip-hop transformed a new generation, conquered the global marketplace, and rewrote the rules of the new economy.
“Tanning is the catalytic force majeure that went beyond musical boundaries and into the psyche of young America-blurring cultural and demographic lines so permanently that it laid the foundation for a transformation,” says Steve Stoute, entertainment marketing icon whom Shawn ‘Jay-Z’ Carter refers to as, “the conduit between corporate America and rap and the streets.” Steve Stoute has made a career out of identifying with and activating a new generation of consumers to create extremely successful marketing campaigns.

By marrying urban cultural icons with the mainstream – whether it be Jay-Z’s successful “S. Carter” sneaker launch with Reebok, Justin Timberlake and the “I’m lovin’ it” campaign for McDonald’s, Beyonce’s partnership with Samsung, Mary J. Blige’s “My Life” fragrance with Carol’s Daughter and HSN that broke industry sales records or Lady Gaga’s partnership with MAC Cosmetics - Steve Stoute has revolutionized the way blue chip marketers and superstar artists connect with consumers.

In THE TANNING OF AMERICA: How the Culture of Hip-Hop Rewrote the Rules of the New Economy (Gotham Books; On-Sale 9-8-11), Stoute draws from his diverse background in the music industry and brand marketing to chronicle how an upstart art form – street poetry set to beats – came to define urban culture as the embodiment of cool. Steve Stoute’s understanding of how hip-hop morphed into mainstream culture enabled him to relate to a new generation of thinking, which catapulted him to the forefront of pop culture – where he still remains today.

While those in the business world will need to consult THE TANNING OF AMERICA, many others will want to read it for its rich history of the hip-hop movement and its subsequent influence on the world as we know it. Tracing the story of hip-hop from its beginnings in the 1970′s and going through each decade, THE TANNING OF AMERICA beautifully captures the spirit of every musical and cultural breakthrough over the past thirty years and details the direct link between the birth of hip-hop in the Bronx to President Barack Obama’s campaign and election. Reading about pioneers such as Run DMC, Blondie and NWA, and how they paved the way for megastars like Jay-Z, 50 Cent, Eminem, and Gwen Stefani will have readers remembering moments from their past and learning behind-the-scenes information about their favorite artists.


To Stoute, survival of the fittest means you have to be ever evolving and always paying attention to cues. In order to end up on the right side of ‘cool,’ it’s important to understand the cultural forces at work, the mindset of the millennial consumer and their code. In THE TANNING OF AMERICA Steve Stoute shows how a company can connect with the youth market without seeming inauthentic and staying true to their core brands. This ‘tanning’ phenomenon – the positive, powerful potential of urban youth culture that, when harnessed properly, can bring disparate groups of people together – raised the generation of black, Hispanic, white and Asian consumers who have the same ‘mental complexion’ based on shared experiences and values. Today’s consumer is a mindset, not a race – and when businesses get it right, and have a proper understanding of tanning, success is imminent.

Steve Stoute’s knowledge and observations will allow readers to find success in a new generation’s bold reinterpretation of the American Dream.

America is disintegrating.

The “one Nation under God, indivisible” of the Pledge of Allegiance is passing away. In a few decades, that America will be gone forever. In its place will arise a country unrecognizable to our parents.

This is the thrust of Pat Buchanan’s Suicide of a Superpower.

The author of six New York Times bestsellers traces the disintegration to three historic changes: America’s loss of her cradle faith, Christianity; the moral, social, and cultural collapse that have followed from that loss; and the slow death of the people who created and ruled the nation.

America was born a Western Christian republic, writes Buchanan, but is being transformed into a multiracial, multicultural, multilingual, multiethnic stew of a nation that has no successful precedent in the history of the world.

Where once we celebrated the unity, the melting pot and shared experience, that the Depression and World War gave us, our elites today proclaim, “Our diversity is our greatest strength!”—even as racial, religious, and ethnic diversity are tearing nations to pieces.

Rejecting the commitment to a God-given equality of rights for all as inadequate, our government is engaged in the manic pursuit of equality of rewards, as it seeks to erect an egalitarian utopia that has never before existed. Less and less do we Americans have in common. More and more do we fight over religion, morality, politics, history, and heroes. And as our nation disintegrates, our government is failing in its fundamental duties, unable to defend our borders, balance our budgets, or win our wars.

How Americans are killing the country they profess to love, and the fate that awaits us if we do not turn around, is what Suicide of a Superpower is all about.

Even if you disagree with Pat's assessment of the trends he chronicles in "Suicide of a Superpower," his passionate portrayal of these trends should be provocative and enlightening for both his critics and his allies.

What Pat presents are undeniable trends that are in the process of radically transforming America. It's up to us to debate whether these radical changes are good or bad, but we should thank Pat Buchanan for bringing so many of them together all in one place, and for helping to connect the dots to see how they all relate. We all know that these dramatic changes are provoking a series of crises: we'll all be better prepared to deal with these crises if we know what we're up against. What we'll all have to decide is if we want a Christian nation with the moral, economic, and social fruit of such a culture, or whether we want a more relativistic, socialistic, and atheistic nation.

Pat begins in his Introduction with a warning from Soviet Russia: that America is no longer truly a nation, which he defines as "a people of a common ancestry, culture, and language who worship the same God, revere the same heroes, cherish the same history, celebrate the same holidays, [and] share the same music, poetry, art, literature." Pat's thesis is clear throughout the book: America is disintegrating before our eyes. "What happened to the country we grew up in?" It's a question that I, as someone born in 1960 and someone who shares Pat's Christian beliefs, can identify with.

Pat begins his argument in Chapter 1 with an economic argument. I heartily agree with his assessment that our debt is a huge problem and that we have, unfortunately, become a "food stamp nation." I also share his misgivings about the role of The Fed in leading to a weakening of the American economy. However, while I agree that China is an economic threat, I don't completely buy Pat's negative assessment of globalization. In "Suicide of a Superpower," because Pat covers so many topics, he doesn't have to make an extended argument, for example, for his view of globalization. The most important statement Pat makes in Chapter 1 is that "the failure of our system is rooted in a societal failure."

Pat turns to "The Death of Christian America" in Chapter 2. Like it or not, this is the root of all of the momentous changes in America in the past several decades. Whether you hate or love the loss of the Christian identity of America, this transformation is the cause of all the others: to a large degree religion creates culture. It's clear from what Pat writes here and what others have written elsewhere that America saw herself as a distinctly Christian nation until recent decades. In Chapter 2, Pat gives but some of the many measures of how we are now much less a Christian nation, from the prayers at Obama's inauguration to the relative collapse of evangelical Christianity to the disintegration of The Episcopal Church. Pat then gives some measure of how the "death of God has blown up our decent and civil society." The loss of a Christian American identity has not only created many social ills but has also precipitated what have been called the "culture wars." I teach a class on Worldviews, in which I try to help my students see precisely the kinds of connections Pat makes for us. Most Americans only deal with individual issues about which they have feelings and are unable to articulate the theology and philosophy that are the foundations of their beliefs. Once again, Pat leaves us with a powerful and succinct summary of the point he's making: "the cycle is inescapable: when the faith dies, the culture dies, the civilization dies, and the people die."

Chapter 3 gives us a close up of the Crisis in Catholicism, as one particular measure of the increasing impotence of Christianity in America. This includes not only the disbelief of American Catholics and the decline in the numbers of priests, nuns, etc. but also the cultural bias so many have against Catholics. My sense is that this is because Roman Catholics are the biggest, most prominent church - and because abortion is such a high-order issue for many atheists and nominal Christians.

In Chapter 4, Pat deals with The End of White America. He presents some attention-getting statistics from the New York Times: "whites would become a minority in 2042 and would fall to 46 percent of the population by 2050, comprising only 38 percent of U.S. population under 18." I can see the growth of the Hispanic population in the U.S. as a potentially positive thing. After all, as Philip Jenkins points out in "The Next Christendom," Hispanics are often devout Roman Catholics. But some of the facts that Pat presents has made me have to reconsider what the growth of illegitimacy, the allegiance of many Hispanics to Mexico, and other factors means for America's future.

Read Chapters 5-10 for yourself: they are necessary ingredients for understanding why Pat Buchanan and others fear the ultimate disintegration of America as we've known it. The push for equality of outcome, the cult of diversity, a nation that doesn't replenish its population and other disintegrating forces all lend strong support to Pat's overall thesis.

I'm fast running out of room in my review, so let skip to a discussion of Chapter 11, in which Pat discusses our "Last Chance." While I think Pat wastes too much time at the beginning rehashing some of the problems we face, he finally gets down to a potential solution. He starts with putting the nation's finances back in order, and I agree. This is an issue that has broad-based support, and if we don't solve this problem soon we may not survive long enough to deal with some of the cultural issues. Next, Pat recommends dismantling the American empire. For most of my adult life, I've been in favor of most of America's wars, but more recently I've had to re-think my position. While it's scary to contemplate a world without American intervention, it may, in the end, make us stronger and not weaker. I heartily agree with his proposal to downsize the state, and I think others are starting to agree. But, unfortunately, I think we're all so addicted to government handouts that we'll never have representatives who will vote for smaller government. Instead, I'm afraid that an economic catastrophe will force our hand.

Pat's final note is a weak one. I agree with him that we should reclaim a Christian culture and traditional religion and morality. However, Pat offers no real advice on how we can do this! If he's right (and I think he is) that culture follows religion, then he should have offered more advice on precisely this point.

In spite of a number of limitations I've mentioned, "Suicide of a Superpower" is a provocative, important, and well-written prophesy of where America seems to be headed.

Buchanan presents his argument in the following 11 chapters:

1. The Passing of a Superpower
2. The Death of Christian America
3. The Crisis of Catholicism
4. The End of White America
5. Demographic Winter
6. Equality or Freedom?
7. The Diversity Cult
8. The Triumph of Tribalism
9. "The White Party"