Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „Conflict between Ambedkar and Gandhi“

This article analyses B. R. Ambedkar’s works written between 1941 and 1948, and it discerns a central set of concerns and arguments in this otherwise diverse corpus. It argues that since universal franchise as a political principle is uncontroversial, Ambedkar’s primary concern is geared towards the danger of democratic majoritarianism in a society riven by historically, legally and ideologically determined forms of inequality and their logic—a danger that can only be addressed at the dual levels of institutional design and ideological critique. Reading together Pakistan or the Partition of India and What Congress and Gandhi have done to the Untouchables, the initial sections argue that Ambedkar was critical of Congress and Muslim league politics because he saw in them both, albeit in distinct ways, the affirmation of religious identity as central to the formulation of political identity. Such an orientation, in the actual mechanics of mass politics and constitutional negotiation, is therefore read as inevitably leading to conflicts including demands for Partition, but at the same time such politics avoided fundamental questions of internal critique and instituted forms of socialized inequality. It is in this context, and the imminence of Partition, that the article analyses Ambedkar’s argument for the need of both a specific institutional design (constitutional provisions) and an ideology critique (his historical research including Who were the Sudras and The Untouchables). The analysis of the demand for partition and the category of the minority can only be understood through Ambedkar’s acute historical and theoretical understanding of the nation and its history, as well as the normative demands required for institutional justice, as will be shown through a reading of this corpus.

Since colonial times, clothing has had a phenomenal and perhaps complex political implication in Indian politics. The political leaders Mahatma Gandhi, B. R. Ambedkar, Jawaharlal Nehru and others had used their attire to exhibit their politics and ideology. In postcolonial India, the ideological battle between different political parties and the various ideological movements have often used clothing as one of the most effective medium to express their loyalty, identity and differences. However, the politics of clothing, its colours and the style of wearing in the democratic Indian context have received little academic attention. This article attempts to explore some aspects of clothing in postcolonial Indian democracy through an in-depth study. The researcher engages in an ethnographic investigation to understand the ways in which different political ideologies are exhibited through clothing and how it is used to display their political identity in public spaces. The article argues that beyond a system of governance, democracy contributes to shaping people’s imagination of clothing, create meaning for specific colours, style of wearing and pave the way for physical and symbolic forms of violence and conflict.

B.R. Ambedkar (1891–1956) pursued a scathing critique against the dominant nationalist discourse that Gandhi shaped, to a significant extent. Unlike Gandhi who insisted on village swaraj, Babasaheb preferred liberal democracy of the Western variety in which an individual remained the basic unit of governance. What he established in the 1950 Constitution of India had its beginning in Ambedkar’s witness before the 1919 Southborough Committee and the 1930–32 Round Table Conference. This was a political battle that he had waged against the Mahatma to substantiate his arguments in favour of liberalism. There was also another battle that he was engaged in while challenging ‘the archaic social values’ supportive of caste discrimination. On the basis of his thorough research, he reinvented the idea of social justice in tune with his firm commitment to liberalism. True that he did not always succeed in his mission; nonetheless, the debate between the Mahatma and Babasaheb testifies several new dimensions of India’s nationalist thought that did not, so far, receive adequate scholarly attention. By drawing on a rather neglected aspect of the nationalist debate, the article seeks to fill up in our understanding of the ideas of Gandhi and Ambedkar which were definitely context driven. This is also a textual study that also makes the point that Ambedkar’s ideas did not appear to be as significant as they later became in independent India presumably because of the hegemonic influence of Gandhi in the nationalist universe probably due to contextual reasons.

While Gandhi and Ambedkar hold similar standpoints on the relation between religious orderings of the world and shapes of social existence, they sharply diverge, on certain occasions, regarding the question of what the crucial terms ‘caste’ and varņa refer to, so that they often seem to be talking past each other. Gandhi sought to cut through various traditional forms of Hindu socio-religious practices and develop a Hinduism which is grounded in the values of universal peace, love and benevolence. Ambedkar too rejected aspects of familiar historical varieties of Buddhism and configured a new vehicle whose goals were to be more specifically material than spiritual. However, while both Gandhi and Ambedkar thus sought to uncover the revitalizing impulses of religious ideals, they operated with different imaginations of the type of polity that would emerge from this social reconstruction. For Gandhi, the reinvigorated socio-religious whole would be structured by an ideal notion of varņa in which there would be no enmity among the interdependent units. For Ambedkar, in contrast, the vocabulary of varņa was irredeemably corrupted through its enmeshment in millennia-old structures of hierarchy, so that its employment would not generate sufficient momentum to break through entrenched systems of oppression.

Many Indian thinkers and activists like M. K. Gandhi, B. R. Ambedkar and others put their heart and soul to find out the origin of the problem. In this paper I have tried to introspect on the philosophy of these two great activists who ventured in to providing solution to the rift and hatred among the communities in India. The basic material is to refer to their views from various authors’ books and articles.

This study analyses three interpretations of Gītā that were published during the first half of the 20th century: those of Tilak, Gandhi and Ambedkar. The analysis begins with a narrative that explains the process that took place between 1785 and 1882, through which Gītā achieved the reputation of being the most representative book of the Hindus. From then on, Gītā was interpreted by Indian leaders for their own political purposes. Thus, Tilak emphasized the principles of ‘just war’ to rationalize revolutionary violence against British rule of India. Gandhi, who opposed all forms of violence, reinterpreted the Gītā as a text of non-violence. Ambedkar, one of Gandhi’s strongest rivals, warned against the conservative social philosophy present in the Gītā, as he felt that the text justified the social caste system. While Tilak’s and Ambedkar’s interpretations were textually sustainable, Gandhi’s was less so. However, Gandhi insisted on the correctness of his interpretation. Such insistence resulted in his interpretation of the Gītā eclipsing the textual intent.

Abstract In conversation with the work of Qadri Ismail, this essay explores the figure of the minor. It suggests that Ismail and others have given that figure a distinctive torsion by imbuing it with the moral aspiration for a freedom and equality no longer centered on sovereignty and autonomy. That aspiration is not new; in parallax ways, both Babasaheb Ambedkar and Mahatma Gandhi strive for such a freedom and equality. The aspiration is also an implicit stake of the Subaltern Studies tradition, as is manifest in Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak's invocation of “love.” The other freedom arising from the love of the minor, the essay suggests, cannot be thought save by way of “religion.” The essay explores how Ambedkar and Gandhi give a distinctive inflection to the conventional association of religion with the sacred and sacrifice. From their thinking of religion, it suggests, a range of concepts and quasi-concepts cascade out, including a distinction between belief as the sovereign form of religion and faith as its nonsovereign form; a distinction between an idealist impossible and a messianic impossible; authority without sovereignty; and political friendship as the comportment proper to the minor.

A virtual encounter between Buber and Gandhi articulates where they differ and where they touch common ground. They developed a transformative thinking that opened up the individual and collective ego to others. Only recently have scholars paid full attention to Buber’s theo-political thinking. Gandhi’s article “The Jews” made his way of thinking irrelevant for many Zionists over the decades. The relative neglect of Buber’s political thought and of Gandhi’s contribution to conflict resolution in Israel/Palestine explains why studies systematically comparing Buber’s politico-religious thinking with that of Gandhi are rare. The present article wants to fill this gap. Gandhi and Buber’s religiosity impacted upon spiritual, social, and political life. Their transformational perspectives could shed new light on how to deal with violent conflict situations.

Abstract The paper begins from a working definition of caste as a contentious form of social belonging and a consideration of casteism as a form of inferiorization. It takes anti-casteism as an ideological critique aimed at unmasking the unethical operations of caste, drawing upon B. R. Ambedkar’s notion of caste as ‘graded inequality’. The politico-legal context of the unfinished trajectory of instituting protection against caste discrimination in Britain provides the backdrop for thinking through the philosophical foundations of anti-casteism. The peculiar religio-discursive aspect of ‘emergent vulnerability’ is noted, which explains the recent introduction of the trope of ‘institutional casteism’ used as a shield by deniers of caste against accusations of casteism. The language of protest historically introduced by anti-racists is thus usurped and inverted in a simulated language of anti-colonialism. It is suggested that the stymieing of the UK legislation on caste is an effect of collective hypocrisies, the refusal to acknowledge caste privilege, and the continuity of an agonistic intellectual inheritance, exemplified in the deep differences between Ambedkar and Gandhi in the Indian nationalist discourse on caste. The paper argues that for a modern anti-casteism to develop, at stake is the possibility of an ethical social solidarity. Following Ambedkar, this expansive solidarity can only be found through our willingness to subject received opinions and traditions to critical scrutiny. Since opposed groups ‘make sense’ of their worlds in ways that might generate collective hypocrisies of denial of caste effects, anti-casteism must be geared to expose the lie that caste as the system of graded inequality is benign and seamlessly self-perpetuating, when it is everywhere enforced through penalties for transgression of local caste norms with the complicity of the privileged castes. The ideal for modern anti-casteism is Maitri (friendship) formed through praxis, eschewing birth-ascribed caste status and loyalties.

Debates emanate from dualities, situations of conflict, contradictions and paradoxes. Modernity is a paradox of sorts. So too was the colonial experience. Contrary to popular belief, Gandhi looked at the Indian traditions and ways of life from the perspective derived from western modernist epistemology. Our attitude to modernity is bound up, consciously or otherwise, with our perspective on colonialism as the forerunner of modernity. The word ‘modernity’ has varied connotations. In the present context, it is to be understood, chiefly, as western Enlightenment modernity mediated through European colonialism. But the perception of Gandhi and V.D. Savarkar differed regarding western Enlightenment modernity as there were differences of opinion between them on almost every political and social issue and methods of struggle against colonialism. These differences were rooted actually in their understanding of modernity, its epistemologies and variants prevalent in Europe, their relevance for Indian context and national liberation struggle. Gandhi’s may appear to be rooted in indigenous traditions but he also inherited the ‘scientific temper’ and methods and weapons of struggle which ‘modern politics’ has brought to forefront in Europe and America. Savarkar, on the other hand, was influenced by the intellectual trends which forged the weapons for the Right-wing politics in Europe. Gandhi appears to be always open to dialogue even though his position may be very dogmatic on certain issues but Savarkar is free from ambivalences that resurface repeatedly in Gandhi. The reflection is to be found in their political, literary, philosophical and other discourses, providing contexts in which debates unfold concerning customs, laws, religions, languages, generations, regions and ends and means controversy. They underpin controversies over the relationship of the individual to the collective.

Current events are always likely to turn academic and public interest back to the well-worn topic of conflict between members of India's major religions. The manner in which antagonism between Bengali immigrants and local people in Assam has taken on the form of a strife between communities, the revival of Sikh militancy, even the film ‘Gandhi’-all these will keep the issue on the boil. There are more scholarly reasons for awakened interest also. The rapid expansion of work on Indian Islam pioneered by scholars such as S. A. A. Rizvi, Imtiaz Ahmed and Barbara Metcalf has given us a new awareness of the structure and attitudes of Indian Muslim learned classes and sufis which inevitably reopens questions about the ideological component in communal consciousness. Nearer the theme of this paper, the work of Dr Sandria Freitag has provided valuable new insight into the popular mentalities which informed Hindu and Muslim behaviour in cases where violence occurred as a result of clashing religious festivals in Indian cities.

“Switzerland of the Middle East” and “the oriental Paris” are some of the names that the beautiful city of Beirut had earned before the disasters of the Lebanese Civil War (1975-1990). This historical event is considered the most important one in the contemporary history of Lebanon, not only because it marks the end of a difficult peaceful coexistence among the various ethnic and religious groups during the period between the Independence (1943) and the beginning of the conflict (1975), but also because it made radical geopolitical changes to the entire region. At the end of the “Swiss epoque”, the city of Beirut begins to undergo a series of transformations in terms of urban planning, landscape, etc. This paper aims to study the literary representation of Beirut during the conflict, taking as examples two authors, one Lebanese, Elias Khuri, who shows, in his novel The Journey of Little Gandhi, the irrationality of war and its effects on the city and on the inhabitants; the other one is the Italian writer, Oriana Fallaci, who describes in his novel Inshallah the experience of the Italian contingent in the peacekeeping mission in Beirut. Despite the considerable differences between the two authors, the papers shows the narratives’ affinity which highlight the transformation of Beirut, the image of its citizens and the problematic of the assimilation process between them and their city.

AbstractThis article explores the ways in which theArthasastra(The Science of WealthorThe Science of Power), an ancient text rediscovered in 1905, was interpreted by Indian politicians and commentators. It seeks to explain why the text's popularity changed so drastically over time, and why, despite the excitement about it in the first 20 years following its reappearance, it was largely ignored in the Gandhian and Nehruvian eras, until a striking revival of interest from the late 1980s onwards. It argues that these changes in the text's fortunes can be explained partly as a result of significant shifts in elite Indian political culture. It also suggests that we need to reassess our analysis of the fundamental fault-lines in Indian politics, questioning Chatterjee's and Nandy's argument on the centrality of tensions between Gandhian ‘indigenous’ thought and Nehruvian ‘Western’ modernity, and arguing for the importance of the conflict between a moral politics, endorsed by both Gandhi and Nehru, and a ‘pragmatic’ politics justified by theArthasastra.

Dramatic differences in the quality of human life are a prominent feature of today’s world. In response, many governments and international development agencies have begun to formulate and implement agendas for social protection. Nevertheless, the outcomes of such initiatives remain vastly varied.What explains such variations? In this article, I direct attention to the role of class politics in shaping the implementation of social protection by local governments that implement India’s Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA). Based on a synthesis of official data, interviews with beneficiaries of social protections and elites, and direct observations in two Indian States, the author illustrates the ways in which variations in class politics influence the supply of employment works.This article departs from existing analysis of factors that favour the implementation of social protections, namely commitment of bureaucrats and politicians, political party linkages and clientelism, and civil society activism. It also nuances extant class-focused analysis which tend to adopt a polarized model of class conflict between dominant classes and the laboring poor. This article, by contrast, appreciates the conflicts within dominant classes, and emphasizes the role of coalitions and competitions between elite fractions.Where elite fractions successfully co-opt or eliminate one another, they successfully sabotage the labour-friendly MGNREGA. On the other hand, where elite fractions conflict with one another, labour-friendly programs such as the MGNREGA have a chance of being implemented. However, the transformative aspect of the program’s intent, in terms of dissolving the relations of power that bolster poverty, appears to be more in evidence in localities where precarious elites align with the laboring poor to challenge the influence of the entrenched elites. As we examine alternative means of addressing the dramatic differences in the quality of life that continue to blight the contemporary world, the imperative to analyze class politics becomes greater than ever before.

Author offers to consider Vinoba as an example of a modern prophet, i.e. as a person who is driven by understanding of divinity of his mission. The thinker played the role of the mediator between God and people, as well as between dif­ferent social forces. Thereby he was in situation of double dialogue: with God and with people. Such mediation was possible due to Vinoba’s refusal of belong­ing to definite caste, political party, religious or philosophical direction. He dedi­cated his life to looking for the ways of conflict resolutions and, as his teacher Gandhi, he dreamed of nonviolent world order. His peacekeeping and social work are presented as practical result of his belief that God and His creation are closely connected. Ability to see God in the Other is the key to understanding of his ethics. Vinoba saw God in the poor and he called others to serve them like God who is embodied in the image of lazar. Also he saw God in the souls of landowners. And therefore he called to their conscience, asking them to share part of their property with the poor. In addition, Vinoba felt God inside himself. Thereby in old age, he thought about psychological “suicide” and about need to refuse from his own human ego in order to realize maximally the inner divine potential. Vinoba’s life looks like an example of living of spiritually minded per­son in this context. And the thinker himself is an example of a person who was involved in dialogue with God – embodied in the other people and hidden inside his own soul.

This paper explored the conflict between Umuaro and Okperi (Fictitious Igbo towns) in Chinua Achebe’s Arrow of God (A novel written by Chinua Achebe in 1965, which is a picture of struggle and dialectics between Igbo culture/religion and imported European culture/religion) in the light of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language. The aim of the paper was to show how the use and understanding made of language can have implications for peace or war, between individuals or communities. The goal is to contribute to the promotion of peace through appropriate use and understanding of language. Philosophical method of analysis was applied in discussing Wittgenstein’s views on language as well as extracts from Arrow of God. The extracts hinged on the utterances among the elders of Umuaro, as well as between Umuaro’s emissaries led by Akukalia and the elders of Okperi, which eventually culminated in a war between Umuaro and Okperi. The findings of the study showed that use of words and languages can lead to peace or war, by their implications, understanding and context. The conclusion was that understanding and applying Wittgenstein’s view of language as a social practice through meaning as use, language-games, rule-following, grammar and form of life can help people, especially those in positions of authority, power and influence, to make good choice of words and languages in their speeches or utterances – words and languages that promote peace instead of war or any kind of violence. Mahatma Gandhi was an example of such leaders, and it was recommended that today’s leaders emulate him, for a peaceful coexistence, especially as the present society is apparently enveloped in political tensions and struggle for supremacy in various dimensions.

AbstractThis article examines the labor politics of race in Durban harbor between 1897 and 1947. It approaches the subject from an analysis of labor in a global, and particularly a British Empire, context. The article aims to move away from a solely “national” focus on the South African state and instead to look “up” toward connections to the British Empire, the world economy, and global social and political movements, and “down” towards Durban itself. These large scale (imperial and global) and small scale (city) levels were very concretely connected by Durban's role as a port. This article contends that in order to understand the place of working class Durban in an imperial world, we need to incorporate the shipping industry into other labor histories, studying how the movement of vessels and the actions of seafarers concretely linked these spatial levels. This article provides a broad overview of the sociological “shape” of the Durban working class and focuses on four “moments” of racialized labor in Durban harbor: the riot against M.K. Gandhi in 1897, the British seamen's strike of 1925, the insurgency of black dockworkers in the late 1920s and early 1930s, and the conflicts over the presence of Indian seamen in the port during the Second World War. These events revolved around what is here called a politics of disembarkation, in which the joining of the ship to the world of the shore created a zone of conflict.

Background: Every 40 seconds a person dies by suicide. Suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people 15-29 years of age, globally. In India, there is an increasing trend of suicide from 10.4 per lakh in 2003 to 10.9 per lakh in 2009.Methods: A (QUAN – QUAL) sequential explanatory design was used. Among 200 patients admitted for attempted suicide in JIPMER and Indira Gandhi Government Hospital and Post Graduate Institute Pondicherry were assessed for the reasons for attempting suicide using a semi-structured questionnaire. For a subsample of 40 (20%) In-depth interview was done to explore and understand the reasons and the undermined situation associated with attempted suicide at their residence.Results: Among the study subjects (n=200), mean (±standard deviation) age of suicide attempt was 26±9.1 years. Commonest reason for attempting suicide was verbal abuse, most often by parents (31.9%). Other precipitating factors were physical abuse, illness, marital conflict, family related problem, etc. On IDI, it was found that there were several factors like, background factors, aggravating, and protective factor. A conceptual diagram was generated depicting the imbalance between the protective and aggravating factors acting on the background factors before the execution of a suicide attempt.Conclusions: There is lot of scope to reduce the suicidal attempts in our country. Opportunistic screening should be done to identify any psycho-social issues among patients attending OPD. Strong social support and enabling environment should be provided for counselling individuals with suicidal ideation and intentions.

Since ancient times India has been a multilingual society and languages in India have thrived though at times many races and religions came into conflict. The states in modern India were reorganised on linguistic basis in 1956 yet in contrast to the European notion of one language one nation, majority of the states have more than one official language. The Linguistic Survey of India (LSI) conducted by Grierson between 1866 and 1927 identified 179 languages and 544 dialects. The first post-independence Indian census after (1951) listed 845 languages including dialects. The 1991 Census identified 216 mother tongues were identified while in 2001 their number was 234. The three-language formula devised to maintain the multilingual character of the nation and paying due attention to the importance of mother tongue is widely accepted in the country in imparting the education at primary and secondary levels. However, higher education system in India impedes multilingualism. 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This article endeavours critically to analyse and evaluate the life experiences of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar in his autobiography, Waiting for a Visa. A literary autobiography is truly a full and actual portrayal of the truthful incidents, pains, pleasures, actions, achievements, successes and failures of a protagonist's life. It is genuinely a life story of a great person authored by himself or herself. Ambedkar's autobiography entitled Waiting for a Visa presents justifiably a true story of the experiences, observations, sufferings and struggles of the character hero’s life and gives authentically a deep insight into the inner-outer personality and public life of Ambedkar and his contemporaries. Apart from introducing a detailed description of his life the autobiographer, Ambedkar, reveals actually an abridged account of his life- experiences and observations that are much more significant and relevant to the modern world than merely introducing dates and events of his life. Ambedkar is popularly known as the father of Indian constitution and is immensely honored as one of the most intellectual personalities ever born in Indian society. This study evaluates objectively that Ambedkar's autobiography, Waiting for a Visa contains continuously historical, cultural and intellectual significance in the moral evolution of several communities of Indian life. It reveals dispassionately the literary relevance of the major issues that the autobiographer raised fearlessly through his bitters experiences of evil practice of untouchability in Indian national life. The narrated conflict in the autobiography is wholly a literary device that stands for a struggle between the two conflicting forces. One represents moral language, conduct and dignity while the other represents immoral language, conduct and evil practice of untouchability. The conflict plays a vital role of struggle that creates crucial hardships in this life story of Ambedkar and is used to move the autobiography forward. In Waiting for a Visa Ambedkar tirelessly struggles for his education, water, food, shelter and safety. It is exceptionally appreciable and inspirational. With the help of moral and humanitarian values like meekness, kindness, courage and patience Ambedkar endeavors powerfully to overcome the immoral thinking, attitude of the Hundus who were responsible for this injustice. He fought bravely against conservative tradition, custom, false belief, superstitions, social discrimination and immoral people who made Dalit people deprived of their basic and existential rights and due dignity on the ground of the hierarchical system in Indian national life. He uses technically the first person pronoun such as I, me, my, we, us, our.

During her tenure as prime minister of India, Indira Gandhi reaffirmed India’s commitment to three interconnected and overlapping factors that shaped the country’s early regional outreach: Muslims, Arabs and Pakistan. Decisions by the government on the Arab–Israeli conflict, the Palestinian issue and (non-)relationship with Israel were usually ‘path dependent’. Mrs Gandhi, well aware of the significance of the ‘Muslim vote’ to her electoral victories, reaffirmed India’s support for Arabs and the Palestinian cause against Israel, thereby appeasing her domestic Muslim constituency. The establishment of Pakistan as an avowedly Islamic state, combined with the Indo-Pakistani conflict over Kashmir, forced the two countries to compete for the support of Muslim Arab states. Indira Gandhi cultivated Arabs by diplomatically supporting them in their conflict with Israel, first by strongly condemning Israel during episodes of conflict between the two parties and then by unequivocally supporting Palestinian self-determination through diplomatic recognition of the Palestine Liberation Organization. Despite Mrs Gandhi’s pro-Arab statements, India did not receive the same level of diplomatic support from Arab countries, which favoured Pakistan in Indo-Pakistani subcontinental conflicts. In contrast, Israel provided India with both military and diplomatic assistance. Despite this, and despite repeated calls from the opposition, Mrs Gandhi refused to normalise relations with Israel, believing that a pro-Arab stance would be more beneficial to national interests. The attitude portrayed India as completely partisan, preventing it from acting as a mediator in the Arab–Israeli conflict, which was a stated goal of India’s West Asia policy.

Walker, Niki. Why Do We Fight?: Conflict, War, and Peace. Toronto: Owlkids Books, 2013. Print.In this work, Niki Walker explores the general nature of conflict. She relates basic aspects of international politics - the existence of power elites, the formation of alliances, the rise of disputes - to the politics of school life. Along the way, she defines such terms as “negotiation,” “mediation,” “arbitration” and “sanctions.” She mentions examples of 20th century warfare: the post WWII Cold War, the Suez Crisis, and outlines the history of the current crisis in Afghanistan. The role of the United Nations is discussed. Most impressive is her insertion of pertinent quotes; for example, the chapter entitled “Cooperation or Combat?” begins with the words of Indira Gandhi: “You can’t shake hands with a clenched fist.”Walker is an experienced writer of non-fiction for children and this work demonstrates her typical proficiency. The book is well organized with good transitions between successive chapters. The index is rather brief, but the terms therein are consistent with the text. There is an informative list of sources.In a departure from her usual literary style, Walker occasionally attempts to use trendy language. There is a risk here: the vernacular of today’s young reader may be rejected as dated by tomorrow’s. This quibble aside, the book is highly recommended for use with upper elementary students. In particular, it could be a useful resource for Remembrance Day activities. Reviewer: Leslie AitkenHighly recommended: 4 out of 4 starsLeslie Aitken’s long career in librarianship involved selection of children’s literature for school, public, special and university collections. She is the former Curriculum Librarian at the University of Alberta.

The period between colonialism and the twenty-first century gives horrible glimpses of temple entry and the violence attached with that. Keeping temple entry as an important issue in mind, here, the article reveals the social exclusion and the cultural subjugation of the Dalits since the colonial period to the present day. Dalits in the colonial period and also in present day are denied their social and religious rights in Hindu religion. The right to enter the temple is a fundamental right of a citizen in a religion like Hinduism. Among the various issues that Dalits have voiced since the colonial period, the issue of temple entry along with untouchability is one of the most important. It is not only a matter of excuse that Dalits till the present day (after seven decades of India’s independence) are not allowed to enter inside the temple in some rural areas of the country. The temple entry bill and the legislations have also been adopted by the princely states and the Parliament of India in different times, but still, Dalits are not allowed to enter the Hindu temples even in various parts of India, for instance, in the Kendrapara district of Odisha. As temple entry is an important issue for Dalits as well as for upper caste Hindus in social and religious life, it is pertinent to revisit the historiography of temple entry movements including the contemporary movements which remain important in religious, social and academic spheres. With the aforementioned backdrop, the article first provides a synoptic view on the historiography of Dalit movements in India and on ‘the Gandhi–Ambedkar debate on caste, untouchability and the issue of temple entry’ as a background for the study, and the latter sections thoroughly explores the historicity of temple entry movements and the social exclusion and cultural subjugation inherited with it since the colonial period to the present day. The article also provides a particular section on the temple entry movement in Odisha (2005–2006) which is based on the empirical works of the author and examines the issue in a critical lens with observations and findings.

Gandhi's great achievement was to evolve and practice a non-violent method for conflict-resolution at the beginning of the twentieth century, which proved to be the most violent century in the annals of mankind. In the first half of the century, which almost synchronized with Gandhi's entire public life, there were two devastating world wars with a colossal loss of life. In the second half we were spared the catastrophe of a third world war, but the 'cold war' between two rival ideological-cum-military blocs brought the world to the verge of an atomic holocaust: only a 'balance of terror' between them kept the peace. so spoke Mahatma Gandhi, celebrating the need and nature of the principle of non-violence for mankind. All wise men down the ages have preached the doctrine, of love and non-violence. Zoroaster, Buddha, Mahavira, Christ, Nanak primarily emphasized a moral code that gave due status to non-violence. Non-violence is a philosophy of life, a modus operand which has been accepted as an article of faith in the East as well as the West. But what does the word ‘non-violence’ mean in simple terms? To what extent can and should non-violence be exercised in daily life? And is it not true that the world today is in dire need of nonviolence?

Indian society represented a conflicting position of women vacillating between extremes of patriarchy and matriarchy. In this Indian society, the coming of British rule again led to usage of the women question which figured prominently in their colonial discourses. The colonized society was considered to be “effeminate” in character, as opposed to “colonial masculinity” which was held to be a justification for its loss of independence. The journey of confluence and conflict of gender and colonialism in India was multidimensional and multilayered. Indian women congested for their legitimate space in society challenging the overarching patriarchal set up and also participated in the national struggle for independence. Women’s participation in the Indian national movement expended base of women’s movement in India. The freedom struggle saw the participation of women from passive to active to an activist’s role. The involvement of a really large number of women in freedom struggle began with Gandhi who gave special role to women. The participation of women in public domain started during Non-Cooperation Movement (NCM), 1920 when Gandhi mobilized a large number of women. Though the domestic sphere and its fetter proved detrimental for women to participate in public space but this very segregation helped to organize their activities in the domestic sphere. In the absence of the male who would be jailed for his involvement in nationalist activity, women become the emotional support. The female activism in Quit India movement was visible most significantly. Sucheta Kripalini coordinated the non-violent Satyagraha while women also participated in underground revolutionary activities. Aruna Asaf Ali provided leadership for these activities. Mahila Atmaraksha Samiti or Women Self Defense was formed in 1942 in Bengal by leftist women leaders who mobilized the rural women to fright against colonial policies. Subhash Chandra Bose also added a womens regiment to his INA(1943) called the Rani of Jhansi Regiment. Muslim women leaders like Bi Amman, mother of Shaukat and Muhammad Ali, who participated in Khilafat & Non Cooperation Movement at a meeting in Punjab. In 1938, Muslim league started women Sub-Committee to engage Muslim women.

Background: Suicide is a major public health problem and a leading cause of death worldwide. In 2009, the suicide rate in Tamil Nadu and in Pondicherry was 21.5 per lakh and 47.2 per lakh population respectively. This is more than four times the rate as compared to the national level. Suicidal attempts are 20 times higher than the completed suicides. Mixed-method design gives better understanding of the complexity of the path from suicide ideation to suicidal attempt. Materials and methods: A (QUAN – QUAL) Sequential Explanatory design was used. Among 200 patients admitted for attempted suicide in JIPMER and Indira Gandhi Government Hospital and Post Graduate Institute Pondicherry were assessed for the reasons for attempting suicide using a semi-structured questionnaire. For a subsample of 40(20%) In-depth interview was done to explore and understand the reasons and the undermined situation associated with attempted suicide at their residence. Results: Among the study subjects (n = 200), more than half were in the age group of 20-29 years, mean (± standard deviation) age of suicide attempt was 26 ± 9.1 years. Commonest reason (precipitating factor) for attempting suicide was verbal abuse, most often by parents (31.9%). Other precipitating factors were physical abuse, illness, marital conflict, family related problem, etc. On IDI, it was found that there were several, background factors (like chronic ill health; loss of family member, delayed marriage, alcoholism, and heavy debt), aggravating factors (like verbal or physical abuse, neighborhood influence, guilt), and protective factor (like religious affiliation, motherhood feel, caring and loving parents). A conceptual diagram was generated depicting the imbalance between the protective and aggravating factors acting on the background factors before the execution of a suicide attempt. In the presence of background factor, the suicidal ideation progressed to suicidal intention and ended in attempt. Not all suicide attempts were preceded with suicidal intention or ideation. Some attempts occurred as an impulsive thought or to threaten the family member. Conclusion: There is lot of scope to reduce the suicidal attempts in our country. Opportunistic screening should be done to identify any psycho-social issues among patients attending OPD. Strong social support and enabling environment should be provided for counseling individuals with suicidal ideation and intentions.

Sri Ravi Varma Thampuran is a writer who has established a reputation for himself in the field of Malayalam literature through his literary works on social, cultural and political issues. Mudippech is his fifteenth book and fifth novel published by Manorama Books. This novel is a continuation of Ravi Varma Thampuran's novel Bhayankaramudi written in 2014. In a nutshell, the theme of the novel is the history of the Kerala Renaissance. The book contains biographies of about sixty Renaissance heroes. The postmodern Malayalam novelists began to pursue a narrative style that transcends the boundaries between history and fiction in1990s. There are many instances that showcases historical background in which lived characters enter into novels in Malayalam literature. M. Mukundan who entered the Malayalam literature as a powerful advocate of modernity embarked this trend. Mukundan's novels Pulayapattu and Pravasam are perfect examples of this technique. Mukundan himself becomes the narrator in Pravasam. The living novelist (persona) himself becomes the narrator (character). Similarly, Ayyankali and Ambedkar appear in the novel Pulayapattu. Thereafter, many novels have entered the field. Many instances of this style include Thakshankunnu Swaroopam (U.K Kumaran), Paleri Manikyam Oru Pathira Kolabathakathinde katha (The Story of a Midnight Murder), K. T. N. Kottur (T.P. Rajeevan), Janakatha (N. Prabhakaran), Manushyanu Oru Aamukam (A Preface to Man) (Subhash Chandran), Akkaporinde Irupath Nasrani Varshangal (Twenty Christian Years of Conflict), Manthalirile Irupathu Communist Varshangal (Twenty Communist Years in Manthalir) (Benyamin), Andhakaranazhi (E. Santhosh Kumar), Karikottakari (Vinoy Thomas). Writings based on imagination are not happening at present. A tendency to look beyond imagination and alternately look at real facts developed. Famous theorist Linda Hutcheon argues that fiction and history are not two separate entities but they travel in the same direction. Historical writing is similar to fiction. Writing history is the same as writing a novel. On account of this, postmodern novelists bring history into the fiction. Ravi Varma Thampuran's Bhayankaramudi and Mudipechu are scrutinizing the deeply rooted religious and racist consciousness in Kerala society. In both novels there is an inquiry into the transcendental understanding of the Renaissance. Ravi Varma Thampuran is making a conscious attempt to present history by transcending narrative. The novelist adopts an approach that revolves around the history of Kerala and rereads and reconstructs the history of Kerala by deviating from a theme that presented the occurrences in the lives of only a few individuals. Ravi Varma Thampuran's aim is to present the cultural history and the renaissance history of Kerala through this novel. In fact, it can be asserted as a novel that goes beyond history. We can affirm that such a novel has never existed in Malayalam literature before. This is because the novelist introduces the characters and the plot to the novel, abandons them, takes the reader back to time and travels through the centuries-old history of Kerala. Such an approach is contemporary in novels of Malayalam literature. There are myriad historical events and historical figures who come into this novel with very few characters. Ravi Varma Thampuran begins the novel like a depiction of a dilapidated illam (traditional house of a Namboodiri). The dilapidated illam is not just an imagination or description of a house. Beyond that, the novelist presents some of the problems that are entwined somewhere in the psyche of the contemporary Keralites associated with savarnas and caste system with this description. What the novelist really wants to articulate is not a description of the house or the life of the character named Sruthakirti who lives in the illam. Moreover, he brings the history of Kerala in the novel. The novel is a journey through disregarded historical documents. History, anti-casteism, racism and extremism are the themes in the novel. Sruthakirti and Azad Mohan are the victims of the mysterious conspiracies of contemporary media. The novel gives us a picture of the present state of media activity as factories that produce communal detestation. A situation where the land is terrified. There are many other minority racial conflicts behind the anti- Brahmin movement that has been discussed in our land for ages. It is related to the economic power and one of the most discussed issues presently. The Namboodiris and the ancient landlords are impoverished today. This work explicates that those who come to power in favour of progressive politics or progressive activists ... or claim to be progressive activists in society ... all have another side of racism and money domination. The misfortune endured by Sruta Keerthi in the panchayat office as well as in the village office illustrates this situation. This work is one of the rare works on time written in Malayalam. Kalanillatha Kalam (Kunchan Nambiar), Nimisham (Moment) (G. Shankara Kurup), Samaya Pravahavum Sahithya Kalayum (Time Flow and Literary Art) (K.P. Appan), Sthalam, Kaalam, Cherukatha (Place, Time, Short Story) (Soman Nellivila), Akkaporinde Irupath Nasrani Varshangal (Twenty Christian Years of Conflict), Manthalirile Irupathu Communist Varshangal (Twenty Communist Years in Manthalir) (Benyamin) and so on have been rare works in Malayalam that has reference to time. Time and place are seldom mentioned in the novels. It is remarkable how time and pace are addressed in this novel. It is also noteworthy that the novel examines the term renaissance. The work presents local and foreign (colonial) streams of the Renaissance. We often say that Renaissance was brought from Europe and imported here. But internally, there has been a renaissance here as well. It is done through Sanskrit study by Punnassery Nambi. (Pattambi Sanskrit School and Pattambi College) Unlike the past, the topic of Renaissance is much discussed in this novel. In recent times there has been no real renaissance in the so-called renaissance debates. When the subject of renaissance which was discussed a century ago is presented now it shifted to politics. Furthermore, his novel Bhayangkaramudi, written six years ago, was based on the transformations that global religious extremism has brought to Kerala society. But the situation today is even worse than it was before. Many of the issues mentioned in Bhayangkaramudi previously are happening in Kerala currently. However in this novel, Mudippech, he has made an inquiry into its present condition. He states this fact precisely in his novel. It was the colonial regime that gave the renaissance for us, the renaissance was achieved by the protests organized by subordinate class, and the eminent personalities like Mannath Padmanabhan organized a march for the Avarnas and savarnas with the in the Vaikom Satyagraha.. All these are discussed accurately in the novel. The the history of the renaissance unravels through the solitary struggle of a Brahmin girl named Sruthakeerthi. The novel has a captivating journey through the time. The time cycle is presented in the novel as something that can be carried forward and backward. Kalangana accompanied with Sruthakirti’s sleepless night experiences. Our subsequent journey is based on the concept of the time cycle. We also become familiar with multitudinous Renaissance heroes in those journeys into the past. The knowledge they impart gives us a whole new realm of experience. Beginning with Thunchath Ramanujan, Ezhuthachan who is meditating on the rock of wisdom on the banks of the river Shokanashinipuzha in Chittoor and goes back to the time of Asan and Ramacharitham. Similarly, the novelist draws back us to the comprehensive history of the Kerala Renaissance through various renaissance heroes including the Zamorin, the Portuguese invasion, feudalism, Pazhashiraja, Veluthambi Dalava, Gauri Lakshmi Bai, Swathi Thirunal, Thycaudu Ayyavu Swamikal, Arattupuzha Velayudha Paniker, Sree Narayana Guru, Muloor, Kerala Varma, Kandathil Varghese Mappila, Chanthu Menon, Raja Ravi Varma, Chattambi Swamikal, Ayyankali, Punnassery Nambi, K.P. Karuppan, V. T. Bhattathiripad, Dr. Pulpu, Barrister, G. P. Pillai, E. M. S. Namboodiripad. In the novel, Ravi Varma Thampuran portrays great personalities like Punnassery Nambi and Sree Narayana Guru vibrantly in the novel. This novel gives us a direct glimpse at how society is fragmented and functioning towards anarchy. After Shrutakirti gets to know the true history of Bhayankaramudi through time cycle she gets infuriated like Ugrabhadrakali (the Great Goddess) in Mudippechi symbolizing a fire that is going to burn the arrogance of every separatist who is trying to make our country a bayangarmudi. Ravi Varma Thampuran honestly apprised the truths he had discovered in his own style within a restricted framework. The essence of this novel is the five hundred years of renaissance history of Kerala. Here the novelist is bringing history through a fantasy. Ravi Varma Thampuran has adopted a new narrative technique in the postmodern novel. As a matter of fact, the novel interprets the life experience of an individual through the social, political and renaissance history of Kerala. More than a fiction, a historical investigation is taking place here. It is appropriate to describe Ravi Varma Thampuran as a historian rather than a novelist. It can be described as a novel that investigates the Kerala renaissance. In addition, the process of deconstructing the contemporary Kerala renaissance and rewriting it racially and ethnically is critically approached here. This novel meticulously depicts the crucial moments in the history of Kerala.

What we wear signals our membership within groups, be theyorganised by gender, class, ethnicity or religion. Simultaneously our clothing signifies hierarchies and power relations that sustain dominant power structures. How we dress is an expression of our identity. For Veblen, how we dress expresses wealth and social stratification. In imitating the fashion of the wealthy, claims Simmel, we seek social equality. For Barthes, clothing is embedded with systems of meaning. For Hebdige, clothing has modalities of meaning depending on the wearer, as do clothes for gender (Davis) and for the body (Entwistle). For Maynard, “dress is a significant material practice we use to signal our cultural boundaries, social separations, continuities and, for the present purposes, political dissidences” (103). Clothing has played a central role in historical and contemporary forms of political dissent. During the French Revolution dress signified political allegiance. The “mandated costumes, the gold-braided coat, white silk stockings, lace stock, plumed hat and sword of the nobility and the sober black suit and stockings” were rejected as part of the revolutionary struggle (Fairchilds 423). After the storming of the Bastille the government of Paris introduced the wearing of the tricolour cockade, a round emblem made of red, blue and white ribbons, which was a potent icon of the revolution, and a central motif in building France’s “revolutionary community”. But in the aftermath of the revolution divided loyalties sparked power struggles in the new Republic (Heuer 29). In 1793 for example anyone not wearing the cockade was arrested. Specific laws were introduced for women not wearing the cockade or for wearing it in a profane manner, resulting in six years in jail. This triggered a major struggle over women’s abilities to exercise their political rights (Heuer 31).Clothing was also central to women’s political struggles in America. In the mid-nineteenth century, women began wearing the “reform dress”—pants with shortened, lightweight skirts in place of burdensome and restrictive dresses (Mas 35). The wearing of pants, or bloomers, challenged gender norms and demonstrated women’s agency. Women’s clothes of the period were an "identity kit" (Ladd Nelson 22), which reinforced “society's distinctions between men and women by symbolizing their natures, roles, and responsibilities” (Ladd Nelson 22, Roberts 555). Men were positioned in society as “serious, active, strong and aggressive”. They wore dark clothing that “allowed movement, emphasized broad chests and shoulders and presented sharp, definite lines” (Ladd Nelson 22). Conversely, women, regarded as “frivolous, inactive, delicate and submissive, dressed in decorative, light pastel coloured clothing which inhibited movement, accentuated tiny waists and sloping shoulders and presented an indefinite silhouette” (Ladd Nelson 22, Roberts 555). Women who challenged these dress codes by wearing pants were “unnatural, and a perversion of the “true” woman” (Ladd Nelson 22). For Crane, the adoption of men’s clothing by women challenged dominant values and norms, changing how women were seen in public and how they saw themselves. The wearing of pants came to “symbolize the movement for women's rights” (Ladd Nelson 24) and as with women in France, Victorian society was forced to consider “women's rights, including their right to choose their own style of dress” (Ladd Nelson 23). As Yangzom (623) puts it, clothing allows groups to negotiate boundaries. How the “embodiment of dress itself alters political space and civic discourse is imperative to understanding how resistance is performed in creating social change” (Yangzom 623). Fig. 1: 1850s fashion bloomersIn a different turn is presented in Mahatma Gandhi’s Khadi movement. Khadi is a term used for fabrics made on a spinning wheel (or charkha) or hand-spun and handwoven, usually from cotton fibre. Khadi is considered the “fabric of Indian independence” (Jain). Gandhi recognised the potential of the fabric to a self-reliant, independent India. Gandhi made the struggle for independence synonymous with khadi. He promoted the materials “simplicity as a social equalizer and made it the nation’s fabric” (Sinha). As Jain notes, clothing and in this case fabric, is a “potent sign of resistance and change”. The material also reflects consciousness and agency. Khadi was Gandhi’s “own sartorial choices of transformation from that of an Englishman to that of one representing India” (Jain). For Jain the “key to Khadi becoming a successful tool for the freedom struggle” was that it was a “material embodiment of an ideal” that “represented freedom from colonialism on the one hand and a feeling of self-reliance and economic self-sufficiency on the other”. Fig. 2: Gandhi on charkha The reappropriating of Khadi as a fabric of political dissent echoes the wearing of blue denim by the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) at the 1963 National Mall Washington march where 250,000 people gather to hear Martin Luther King speak. The SNCC formed in 1960 and from then until the 1963 March on Washington they developed a “style aesthetic that celebrated the clothing of African American sharecroppers” (Ford 626). A critical aspect civil rights activism by African America women who were members of the SNCC was the “performance of respectability”. With the moral character of African American women under attack (as a way of delegitimising their political activities), the female activists “emphasized the outward display of their respectability in order to withstand attacks against their characters”. Their modest, neat “as if you were going to church” (Chappell 96) clothing choices helped them perform respectability and this “played an important performative role in the black freedom struggle” (Ford 626). By 1963 however African American female civil rights activists “abandoned their respectable clothes and processed hairstyles in order to adopt jeans, denim skirts, bib-and-brace overalls”. The adoption of bib-and-brace overalls reflected the sharecropper's blue denim overalls of America’s slave past.For Komar the blue denim overalls “dramatize[d] how little had been accomplished since Reconstruction” and the overalls were practical to fix from attack dog tears and high-pressure police hoses. The blue denim overalls, according to Komar, were also considered to be ‘Negro clothes’ purchased by “slave owners bought denim for their enslaved workers, partly because the material was sturdy, and partly because it helped contrast them against the linen suits and lace parasols of plantation families”. The clothing choice was both practical and symbolic. While the ‘sharecropper’ narrative is problematic as ‘traditional’ clothing (something not evident in the case of Ghandi’s Khandi Movement, there is an emotion associated with the clothing. As Barthes (6-7) has shown, what makes ‘traditional clothing,’ traditional is that it is part of a normative system where not only does clothing have its historical place, but it is governed by its rules and regimentation. Therefore, there is a dialectical exchange between the normative system and the act of dressing where as a link between the two, clothing becomes the conveyer of its meanings (7). Barthes calls this system, langue and the act of dressing parole (8). As Ford does, a reading of African American women wearing what she calls a “SNCC Skin” “the uniform [acts] consciously to transgress a black middle-class worldview that marginalised certain types of women and particular displays of blackness and black culture”. Hence, the SNCC women’s clothing represented an “ideological metamorphosis articulated through the embrace and projection of real and imagined southern, working-class, and African American cultures. Central to this was the wearing of the blue denim overalls. The clothing did more than protect, cover or adorn the body it was a conscious “cultural and political tool” deployed to maintain a movement and build solidarity with the aim of “inversing the hegemonic norms” via “collective representations of sartorial embodiment” (Yangzom 622).Fig. 3: Mississippi SNCC March Coordinator Joyce Ladner during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom political rally in Washington, DC, on 28 Aug. 1963Clothing in each of these historical examples performs an ideological function that can bridge, that is bring diverse members of society together for a cause, or community cohesion or clothing can act as a fence to keep identities separate (Barnard). This use of clothing is evident in two indigenous examples. For Maynard (110) the clothes worn at the 1988 Aboriginal ‘Long March of Freedom, Justice and Hope’ held in Australia signalled a “visible strength denoted by coherence in dress” (Maynard 112). Most noted was the wearing of colours – black, red and yellow, first thought to be adopted during protest marches organised by the Black Protest Committee during the 1982 Commonwealth Games in Brisbane (Watson 40). Maynard (110) describes the colour and clothing as follows:the daytime protest march was dominated by the colours of the Aboriginal people—red, yellow and black on flags, huge banners and clothing. There were logo-inscribed T-shirts, red, yellow and black hatband around black Akubra’s, as well as red headbands. Some T-shirts were yellow, with images of the Australian continent in red, others had inscriptions like 'White Australia has a Black History' and 'Our Land Our Life'. Still others were inscribed 'Mourn 88'. Participants were also in customary dress with body paint. Older Indigenous people wore head bands inscribed with the words 'Our Land', and tribal elders from the Northern Territory, in loin cloths, carried spears and clapping sticks, their bodies marked with feathers, white clay and red ochres. Without question, at this most significant event for Aboriginal peoples, their dress was a highly visible and cohesive aspect.Similar is the Tibetan Freedom Movement, a nonviolent grassroots movement in Tibet and among Tibet diaspora that emerged in 2008 to protest colonisation of Tibet. It is also known as the ‘White Wednesday Movement’. Every Wednesday, Tibetans wear traditional clothes. They pledge: “I am Tibetan, from today I will wear only Tibetan traditional dress, chuba, every Wednesday”. A chuba is a colourful warm ankle-length robe that is bound around the waist by a long sash. For the Tibetan Freedom Movement clothing “symbolically functions as a nonverbal mechanism of communication” to “materialise consciousness of the movement” and functions to shape its political aims (Yangzom 622). Yet, in both cases – Aboriginal and Tibet protests – the dress may “not speak to single cultural audience”. This is because the clothing is “decoded by those of different political persuasions, and [is] certainly further reinterpreted or reframed by the media” (Maynard 103). Nevertheless, there is “cultural work in creating a coherent narrative” (Yangzom 623). The narratives and discourse embedded in the wearing of a red, blue and white cockade, dark reform dress pants, cotton coloured Khadi fabric or blue denim overalls is likely a key feature of significant periods of political upheaval and dissent with the clothing “indispensable” even if the meaning of the clothing is “implied rather than something to be explicated” (Yangzom 623). On 21 January 2017, 250,000 women marched in Washington and more than two million protesters around the world wearing pink knitted pussy hats in response to the remarks made by President Donald Trump who bragged of grabbing women ‘by the pussy’. The knitted pink hats became the “embodiment of solidarity” (Wrenn 1). For Wrenn (2), protests such as this one in 2017 complete with “protest visuals” which build solidarity while “masking or excluding difference in the process” indicates “a tactical sophistication in the social movement space with its strategic negotiation of politics of difference. In formulating a flexible solidarity, the movement has been able to accommodate a variety of races, classes, genders, sexualities, abilities, and cultural backgrounds” (Wrenn 4). In doing so they presented a “collective bodily presence made publicly visible” to protest racist, sexist, homophobic, Islamophobic, and xenophobic white masculine power (Gokariksel & Smith 631). The 2017 Washington Pussy Hat March was more than an “embodiment tactic” it was an “image event” with its “swarms of women donning adroit posters and pink pussy hats filling the public sphere and impacting visual culture”. It both constructs social issues and forms public opinion hence it is an “argumentative practice” (Wrenn 6). Drawing on wider cultural contexts, as other acts of dissent note here do, in this protest with its social media coverage, the “master frame” of the sea of pink hats and bodies posited to audiences the enormity of the anger felt in the community over attacks on the female body – real or verbal. This reflects Goffman’s theory of framing to describe the ways in which “protestors actively seek to shape meanings such that they spark the public’s support and encourage political openings” (Wrenn 6). The hats served as “visual tropes” (Goodnow 166) to raise social consciousness and demonstrate opposition. Protest “signage” – as the pussy hats can be considered – are a visual representation and validation of shared “invisible thoughts and emotions” (Buck-Coleman 66) affirming Georg Simmel’s ideas about conflict; “it helps individuals define their differences, establish to which group(s) they belong, and determine the degrees to which groups are different from each other” (Buck-Coleman 66). The pink pussy hat helped define and determine membership and solidarity. Further embedding this was the hand-made nature of the hat. The pattern for the hat was available free online at https://www.pussyhatproject.com/knit/. The idea began as one of practicality, as it did for the reform dress movement. This is from the Pussy Hat Project website:Krista was planning to attend the Women’s March in Washington DC that January of 2017 and needed a cap to keep her head warm in the chill winter air. Jayna, due to her injury, would not be able to attend any of the marches, but wanted to find a way to have her voice heard in absentia and somehow physically “be” there. Together, a marcher and a non-marcher, they conceived the idea of creating a sea of pink hats at Women’s Marches everywhere that would make both a bold and powerful visual statement of solidarity, and also allow people who could not participate themselves – whether for medical, financial, or scheduling reasons — a visible way to demonstrate their support for women’s rights. (Pussy Hat Project)In the tradition of “craftivism” – the use of traditional handcrafts such as knitting, assisted by technology (in this case a website with the pattern and how to knit instructions), as a means of community building, skill-sharing and action directed towards “political and social causes” (Buszek & Robertson 197) –, the hand-knitted pink pussy hats avoided the need to purchase clothing to show solidarity resisting the corporatisation of protest clothing as cautioned by Naomi Klein (428). More so by wearing something that could be re-used sustained solidarity. The pink pussy hats provided a counter to the “incoherent montage of mass-produced clothing” often seen at other protests (Maynard 107). Everyday clothing however does have a place in political dissent. In late 2018, French working class and middle-class protestors donned yellow jackets to protest against the government of French President Emmanuel Macron. It began with a Facebook appeal launched by two fed-up truck drivers calling for a “national blockade” of France’s road network in protest against rising fuel prices was followed two weeks later with a post urging motorist to display their hi-vis yellow vests behind their windscreens in solidarity. Four million viewed the post (Henley). Weekly protests continued into 2019. The yellow his-vis vests are compulsorily carried in all motor cars in France. They are “cheap, readily available, easily identifiable and above all representing an obligation imposed by the state”. The yellow high-vis vest has “proved an inspired choice of symbol and has plainly played a big part in the movement’s rapid spread” (Henley). More so, the wearers of the yellow vests in France, with the movement spreading globally, are winning in “the war of cultural representation. Working-class and lower middle-class people are visible again” (Henley). Subcultural clothing has always played a role as heroic resistance (Evans), but the coloured dissent dressing associated with the red, blue and white ribboned cockades, the dark bloomers of early American feminists, the cotton coloured natural fabrics of Ghandi’s embodiment of resistance and independence, the blue denim sharecropper overalls worn by African American women in their struggles for civil rights, the black, red and orange of Aboriginal protestors in Australia and the White Wednesday performances of resistance undertaken by Tibetans against Chinese colonisation, the Washington Pink Pussy Hat marches for gender respect and equality and the donning of every yellow hi-vis vests by French protestors all posit the important role of fabric and colour in protest meaning making and solidarity building. It is in our rage we consciously wear the colours and fabrics of dissent dress. ReferencesBarnard, Malcolm. Fashion as Communication. New York: Routledge, 1996. Barthes, Roland. “History and Sociology of Clothing: Some Methodological Observations.” The Language of Fashion. Eds. Michael Carter and Alan Stafford. UK: Berg, 2006. 3-19. Buck-Coleman, Audra. “Anger, Profanity, and Hatred.” Contexts 17.1 (2018): 66-73.Buszek, Maria Elena, and Kirsty Robertson. “Introduction.” Utopian Studies 22.1 (2011): 197-202. Chappell, Marisa, Jenny Hutchinson, and Brian Ward. “‘Dress Modestly, Neatly ... As If You Were Going to Church’: Respectability, Class and Gender in the Montgomery Bus Boycott and the Early Civil Rights Movement.” Gender and the Civil Rights Movement. Eds. Peter J. Ling and Sharon Monteith. New Brunswick, N.J., 2004. 69-100.Crane, Diana. Fashion and Its Social Agendas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. Davis, Fred. Fashion, Culture, and Identity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.Entwistle, Joanne. The Fashioned Body: Fashion, Dress, and Modern Social Theory. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2000.Evans, Caroline. “Dreams That Only Money Can Buy ... Or the Shy Tribe in Flight from Discourse.” Fashion Theory 1.2 (1997): 169-88.Fairchilds, Cissie. “Fashion and Freedom in the French Revolution.” Continuity and Change 15.3 (2000): 419-33.Ford, Tanisha C. “SNCC Women, Denim, and the Politics of Dress.” The Journal of Southern History 79.3 (2013): 625-58.Gökarıksel, Banu, and Sara Smith. “Intersectional Feminism beyond U.S. Flag, Hijab and Pussy Hats in Trump’s America.” Gender, Place & Culture 24.5 (2017): 628-44.Goodnow, Trischa. “On Black Panthers, Blue Ribbons, & Peace Signs: The Function of Symbols in Social Campaigns.” Visual Communication Quarterly 13 (2006): 166-79.Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Routledge, 2002. Henley, Jon. “How Hi-Vis Yellow Vest Became Symbol of Protest beyond France: From Brussels to Basra, Gilets Jaunes Have Brought Visibility to People and Their Grievances.” The Guardian 21 Dec. 2018. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/dec/21/how-hi-vis-yellow-vest-became-symbol-of-protest-beyond-france-gilets-jaunes>.Heuer, Jennifer. “Hats On for the Nation! Women, Servants, Soldiers and the ‘Sign of the French’.” French History 16.1 (2002): 28-52.Jain, Ektaa. “Khadi: A Cloth and Beyond.” Bombay Sarvodaya Mandal & Gandhi Research Foundation. ND. 19 Dec. 2018 <https://www.mkgandhi.org/articles/khadi-a-cloth-and-beyond.html>. Klein, Naomi. No Logo. London: Flamingo, London, 2000. Komar, Marlen. “What the Civil Rights Movement Has to Do with Denim: The History of Blue Jeans Has Been Whitewashed.” 30 Oct. 2017. 19 Dec. 2018 <https://www.racked.com/2017/10/30/16496866/denim-civil-rights-movement-blue-jeans-history>.Ladd Nelson, Jennifer. “Dress Reform and the Bloomer.” Journal of American and Comparative Cultures 23.1 (2002): 21-25.Maynard, Margaret. “Dress for Dissent: Reading the Almost Unreadable.” Journal of Australian Studies 30.89 (2006): 103-12. Pussy Hat Project. “Design Interventions for Social Change.” 20 Dec. 2018. <https://www.pussyhatproject.com/knit/>.Roberts, Helene E. “The Exquisite Slave: The Role of Clothes in the Making of the Victorian Woman.” Signs (1977): 554-69.Simmel, Georg. “Fashion.” American Journal of Sociology 62 (1957): 541–58.Sinha, Sangita. “The Story of Khadi, India's Signature Fabric.” Culture Trip 2018. 18 Jan. 2019 <https://theculturetrip.com/asia/india/articles/the-story-of-khadi-indias-fabric/>.Yangzom, Dicky. “Clothing and Social Movements: Tibet and the Politics of Dress.” Social Movement Studies 15.6 (2016): 622-33. Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class: An Economic Study of Institutions. New York: Dover Thrift, 1899. Watson, Lilla. “The Commonwealth Games in Brisbane 1982: Analysis of Aboriginal Protests.” Social Alternatives 7.1 (1988): 1-19.Wrenn, Corey. “Pussy Grabs Back: Bestialized Sexual Politics and Intersectional Failure in Protest Posters for the 2017 Women’s March.” Feminist Media Studies (2018): 1-19.

This article analyses the public persona of Jeremy Gilley, a documentary filmmaker, peace campaigner, and the founder of the organisation Peace One Day (POD). It begins by outlining how Gilley’s persona is presented in a manner which resonates with established archetypes of social campaigners, and how this creates POD’s legitimacy among grassroots organisations. I then describe a distinct, but not inconsistent, facet of Gilley’s persona which speaks specifically to entrepreneurs. The article outlines how Gilley’s individuality works to simultaneously address these overlapping audiences and argues that his persona can be read as an articulation of social entrepreneurship. Gilley represents an example of a public personality working to “crystallise issues and to normativise debates” (Marshall “Personifying” 370) concerning corporate involvement with non-profit organisations and the marketisation of the non-profit sector. Peace One Day (POD) is a UK-based non-profit organisation established in 1999 by actor-turned-documentary-filmmaker Jeremy Gilley. In the 1990s, while filming a documentary about global conflict, Gilley realised there was no internationally recognised day of ceasefire and non-violence. He created POD to found such a day and began lobbying the United Nations. In 2001, the 111th plenary meeting of the General Assembly passed a resolution which marked 21 September as the annual International Day of Peace (United Nations). Since 2001, POD has worked to create global awareness of Peace Day. By 2006, other NGOs began using the day to negotiate 24-hour ceasefires in various conflict zones, allowing them to carry out work in areas normally too dangerous to enter. For example, in 2007, the inoculation of 1.3 million Afghan children against polio was possible due to an agreement from the Taliban to allow safe passage to agencies working in the country during the day. This was repeated in subsequent years and, by 2009, 4.5 million children had been immunised (POD Part Three). While neither POD nor Gilley played a direct part in the polio vaccination programmes or specific ceasefires, his organisation acted as a catalyst for such endeavours and these initiatives would not have occurred without POD’s efforts.Gilley is not only the founder of POD, he is also the majority shareholder, key decision-maker, and predominant public spokesperson in this private, non-charitable, non-profit organisation (Frances 73). While POD’s celebrity supporters participate in press conferences, it is Gilley who does most to raise awareness. His public persona is inextricably linked with POD and is created through a range of presentational media with which he is engaged. These include social media content, regular blogposts on POD’s website, as well as appearances at a series of speaking events. Most significantly, Gilley establishes his public persona through a number of documentary films (Peace One Day; Day After; POD Part Three), which are shot largely from his perspective and narrated by his voiceover, and which depict POD’s key struggles and successes.The Peace Campaigner as an Activist and Entrepreneur In common with other non-profit organisations, POD relies on celebrities from the entertainment industries. It works with them in two key ways: raising the public profile of the organisation, and shaping the public persona of its founder by inviting comparisons of their perceived exceptionalness with his ostensible ordinariness. For example, Gilley’s documentaries depict various press conferences held by POD over a number of years. Those organised prior to POD recruiting celebrity spokespeople were “completely ignored by the media” whereas those held after celebrity backing from Jude Law and Angelina Jolie had been secured attracted considerable interest (Day After). Gilley explains his early difficulties in publicising his message by suggesting that he “was a nobody” (POD Part Three). This representation as a “nobody” or, more diplomatically, as “ordinary,” is a central component of Gilley’s persona. “Ordinariness” here means situating Gilley outside the political and entertainment elites and aligning him with more everyday suburban settings. This is done through a combination of the aesthetic qualities of his public presentation and his publically narrated back-story.Aesthetically speaking, Gilley presents his ordinariness through his casual attire and long hair. His appearance is similar to the campaigners, youth groups and school children he addresses, suggesting he is a representative of that demographic but also distancing him from political elites. The diplomats Gilley meets, such as those at the UN, wear the appropriate attire for their elite political setting: suits. In one key scene in the documentary Peace One Day, Gilley makes his first trip to the UN to meet Kofi Annan, UN General Secretary at the time, and appears at their doors clean cut and suitably dressed. He declares that his new appearance was designed to aid his credibility with the UN. Yet, at the same time, he makes explicit that he borrowed the suit from a friend and the tie from his grandfather and, prior to the meeting, it was decided, “the pony tail had to go.” Thus Gilley seeks the approval of both political elites and the ordinary public, and constructs a persona that speaks to both, though he aligns himself with the latter.Gilley’s back-story permeates his films and works to present his ordinariness. For example, POD has humble beginnings as an almost grassroots, family-run organisation, and Gilley depicts a campaign run on a shoestring from his mother’s spare bedroom in an ordinary suburban home. Although British Airways provided free flights from the organisation’s outset, Gilley shows his friends volunteering their time by organising fundraising events. POD’s modest beginnings are reflected in its founder, who confides about both his lack of formal education and lack of success as an actor (Day After). This “ordinariness” is constructed in opposition to the exceptional qualities of POD’s A-list celebrity backers—such as Angelina Jolie, who does enjoy success as an actor. This contrast is emphasised by inviting Jolie into Gilley’s everyday domestic setting and highlighting the icons of success she brings with her. For example, at his first meeting with Jolie, Gilley waits patiently for her and remarks about the expensive car which eventually arrives outside his house, denoting Jolie’s arrival. He notes in the voiceover to his The Day after Peace documentary, “this was unbelievable, Angelina Jolie sat on my sofa asking me what she could do, I couldn’t stop talking. I was so nervous.”Gilley promotes his ordinariness by using aesthetics and personal narrative. Evidence of how he struggled to realise his goals and the financial burdens he carried (Peace One Day) suggest that there is something authentic about Gilley’s vision for Peace Day. This also helps Gilley to align his public persona with common understandings of the political activist as a prophetic social visionary. POD is able to tap into the idea of the power of the individual as a force for change with references to Martin Luther King and Gandhi. Although Gilley makes no direct comparison between himself and these figures, blog entries such as “ten years ago, I had an idea; I dared to dream that I could galvanise the countries of the world to recognise an official day of ceasefire and nonviolence. Mad? Ambitious? Idealistic? All of the above” (Gilley “Dream”), invite comparisons with King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. This is further augmented by references to Gilley as an outsider to political establishments, such as the UN, which he is sure have “become cynical about the opportunity” they have to unite the world (BBC Interview).Interestingly, Gilley’s presentation as a pragmatic “change-maker” whose “passion is contagious” (Ahmad Fawzi, in POD Concert) also aligns him with a second figure: the entrepreneur. Where Gilley’s performances at school and community groups present his persona as an activist, his entrepreneur persona is presented through his performances at a series of business seminars. These seminars, entitled “Unleash Your Power of Influence,” are targeted towards young entrepreneurs and business-people very much consistent with the “creative class” demographic (Florida). The speakers, including Gilley, have all been successful in business (POD is a private company) and they offer to their audiences motivational presentations, and business advice. Although a semi-regular occurrence, it is the first two events held in July 2010 (Unleash 1) and November 2010 (Unleash 2) that are discussed here. Held in a luxury five-star London hotel, the events demonstrate a starkly different aspect of POD than that presented to community groups and schools, and the amateur grassroots ethic presented in Gilley’s documentary films—for example, tickets for Unleash 2 started at £69 and offered ‘goody bags’ for £95 (author’s observation of the event)—yet consistencies remain.Aesthetically speaking, Gilley’s appearance signifies a connection with these innovative, stereotypically young, founders of start-up companies and where Gilley is an outsider to political organisations; they are outsiders to business establishments. Further, many of these companies typically started, like POD, in a spare bedroom. The speakers at the Unleash events provide insights into their background which frequently demonstrate a rise from humble beginnings to business success, in the face of adversity, and as a result of innovation and perseverance. Gilley is not out of place in this environment and the modest beginnings of POD are relayed to his audience in a manner which bears a striking similarity to his for-profit counterparts.An analysis of Gilley’s presentations at these events demonstrates clear links between the dual aspects of Gilley’s public persona, the political economy of POD, and the underlying philosophy of the organisation—social entrepreneurship. The next section sets out some of the principals of social entrepreneurship and how the aspects of Gilley’s persona, outlined above, reinforce these.Personifying Social EnterpriseGenerally speaking, the business literature greatly emphasises entrepreneurs as “resourceful, value-creating change agents” who are “never satisfied with the status quo [... and are] a forceful engine of growth in our economy” (Dees and Economy 3-4). More recently, the focus of discussion has included social entrepreneurs. These individuals work within “an organisation that attacks [social and environmental] problems through a business format, even if it is not legally structured as a profit-seeking entity” (Bornstein and Davis xv) and advocate commercially oriented non-profit organisations that establish “win-win” relationships between non-profits and business.This coming together of the for- and non-profit sectors has range of precedents, most notably in “philanthrocapitalism” (Bishop and Green) and the types of partnerships established between corporations and environmentalists, such as Greenpeace Australia (Beder). However, philanthrocapitalism often encompasses the application of business methods to social problems by those who have amassed fortunes in purely commercial ventures (such as Bill Gates), and Beder’s work describes established for- and non-profit institutions working together. While social entrepreneurship overlaps with these, social entrepreneurs seek to do well by doing good by making a profit while simultaneously realising social goals (Bornstein and Davis 25).Read as an articulation of the coming together of the activist and the entrepreneur, Gilley’s individuality encapsulates the social enterprise movement. His persona draws from the commonalities between the archetypes of the traditional grassroots activist and start-up entrepreneur, as pioneering visionary and outsider to the establishment. While his films establish his authenticity among politically attuned members of the public, his appearances at the Unleash events work to signify the legitimacy of his organisation to those who identify with social entrepreneurialism and take the position that business should play a positive role in social causes. As an activist, Gilley’s creates his persona through his aesthetic qualities and a performance that draws on historical precedents of social prophets. As an entrepreneur, Gilley draws on the same aesthetic qualities and, through his performance, mitigates the types of disjuncture evident in the 1980s between environmental activists, politicians and business leaders, when environmentalist’s narratives “were perceived as flaky and failed to transform” (Robèrt 7). To do this, Gilley reconstitutes social and environmental problems (such as conflict) within a market metric, and presents the market as a viable and efficient solution. Consequently, Gilley asserts that “we live in a culture of war because war makes money, we need to live in a culture of peace,” and this depends on “if we can make it economical, if we can make the numbers add up” (Unleash).Social enterprises often eschew formal charity and Gilley is consistent with this when he states that “for me, I think it has to be about business. [...] I think if it’s about charity it’s not going to work for me.” Gilley asserts that partnerships with corporations are essential as “our world is going to change, when the corporate sector becomes engaged.” He, therefore, “want[s] to work with large corporations” in order to “empower individuals to be involved in the process of [creating] a more peaceful and sustainable world” (Unleash). One example of POD’s success in this regard is a co-venture with Coca-Cola.To coincide with Peace Day in 2007, POD and Coca-Cola entered into a co-branding exercise which culminated in a sponsorship deal with the POD logo printed on Coca-Cola packaging. Prior to this, Gilley faced a desperate financial situation and conceded that the only alternative to a co-venture with Coca-Cola was shutting down POD (Day After). While Coca-Cola offered financial support and the potential to spread Gilley’s message through the medium of the Coke can, POD presumably offered good publicity to a corporation persistently the target of allegations of unethical practice (for example, Levenson-Estrada; Gill; Thomas). Gilley was aware of the potential image problems caused by a venture with Coke but accepted the partnership on pragmatic grounds, and with the proviso that Coke’s sponsorship not accompany any attempt to influence POD. Gilley, in effect, was using Coca-Cola, displaying the political independence of the social visionary and the pragmatism of the entrepreneur. By the same token, Coca-Cola was using POD to garner positive publicity, demonstrating the nature of this “win-win” relationship.In his film, Gilley consults Ray C. Anderson, social enterprise proponent, about his ethical concerns. Anderson explains the merits of working with Coke. In his Unleash addresses, such ethical considerations do not feature. Instead, it is relayed that Coca-Cola executives were looking to become involved with a social campaign, consistent with the famous 1970s hilltop advertisement of “teaching the world to sing in harmony.” From a meeting at Coca-Cola’s headquarters in Atlanta, Gilley reveals, a correlation emerged between Gilley’s emphasis on Peace Day as a moment of global unity—encapsulated by his belief that “the thing about corporations [...] the wonderful thing about everybody […] is that everybody’s just like us” (Unleash)—and the image of worldwide harmony that Coca-Cola wanted to portray. It is my contention that Gilley’s public persona underpinned the manner in which this co-branding campaign emerged. This is because his persona neatly tied the profit motive of the corporation to the socially spirited nature of the campaign, and spoke to Coca-Cola in a manner relatable to the market. At the same time, it promoted a social campaign premised on an inclusiveness that recast the corporation as a concerned global citizen, and the social campaigner as a free-market agent.Persona in the Competitive Non-Profit SectorThrough a series of works P. David Marshall charts the increasing centrality of individuality as “one of the ideological mainstays of consumer capitalism [...and] equally one of the ideological mainstays of how democracy is conceived” (Marshall “New Media-New Self” 635). Celebrity, accordingly, can be thought of as a powerful discourse that works “to make the cultural centrality of individuality concretely real” (Marshall “New Media-New Self” 635). Beyond celebrity, Marshall offers a wider framework that maps how “personalisation, individuality, and the move from the private to the public are now part of the wider populace rather than just at play in the representational field of celebrity” (Marshall, “Persona” 158). This framework includes fundamental changes to the global, specifically Western, labour market that, while not a fait accompli, point to a more competitive environment in which “greater portions of the culture are engaged in regular—probably frequent—selling of themselves” and where self-promotion becomes a key tool (Marshall, “Persona” 158). Therefore, while consumerism comprises a backdrop to the proliferation of celebrity culture, competition within market capitalism contributes to the wider expansion of personalisation and individualism.The non-profit sector is also a competitive environment. UK studies have found an increase in the number of International NGOs of 46.6% from 1995/6-2005/6 (Anheier, Kaldor, and Glasius. 310). At the same time, the number of large charities (with an income greater than £10 million) rose, between 1999-2013, from 307 to 1,005 and their annual income rose from approximately £10bn to £36bn (Charity Commission). These quantitative changes in the sector have occurred alongside qualitative changes in terms of the orientation of individual organisations. For example, Epstein and Gang describe a non-profit sector in which NGOs compete against each other for funds from aid donors (state and private). It is unclear whether “aid will be allocated properly, say to the poorest or to maximize the social welfare” or to the “efficient aid-seekers” (294)—that is, NGOs with the greatest competitive capabilities. A market for public awareness has also emerged and, in an increasingly crowded non-profit sector, it is clearly important for organisations to establish a public profile that can gain attention.It is in this competitive environment that the public personae of activists become assets for NGOs, and Gilley constitutes a successful example of this. His persona demonstrates an organisation’s response to the competitive nature of the non-profit sector, by appealing to both traditional activist circles and the business sector, and articulating the social enterprise movement. Gilley effectively embodies social entrepreneurship—in his appearance, his performance and his back-story—bridging a gap between the for- and non-profit sectors. His persona helps legitimate efforts to recast the activist as an entrepreneur (and conversely, entrepreneurs as activists) by incorporating activist ideals (in this instance, peace) within a market framework. This, to return to Marshall’s argument, crystallises the issue of peace within market metrics such and normativises debates about the role of corporate actors as global citizens, presenting it as pragmatism and therefore “common sense.” This is not to undermine Gilley’s achievements but, instead, to point out how reading his public persona enables an understanding of efforts to marketise the non-profit sector and align peace activism with corporate power.References Anheier, Helmut K., Mary Kaldor, and Marlies Glasius. Global Civil Society 2006/7. London: Sage, 2007.BBC Storyville. Director Interview: Jeremy Gilley. BBC. 2004. 7 Feb. 2010.Beder, Sharon. Global Spin: The Corporate Assault on Environmentalism. Totnes, UK: Green Books, 2002.Bishop, Matthew, and Michael Green. Philanthrocapitalism. London: A&C Black, 2008.Bornstein, David, and Susan Davis. Social Entrepreneurship: What Everyone Needs to Know. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.Charity Commission for England and Wales. “Sector Facts and Figures.” N.d. 5 Apr 2014.Day after Peace, The. Dir. Jeremy Gilley. Peace One Day, 2008.Dees, J. Gregory, and Peter Economy. "Social Entrepreneurship." Enterprising Nonprofits: A Toolkit for Social Entrepreneurs. Eds. J. Gregory Dees, Jed Emerson, and Peter Economy. New York: Wiley, 2001. 1-18.Epstein, Gil S., and Ira N. Gang. “Contests, NGOs, and Decentralizing Aid.” Review of Development Economics 10. 2 (2006): 285-296.Florida, Richard. The Flight of the Creative Class: The New Global Competition for Talent. New York: Harper Business, 2006.Frances, Nic. The End of Charity: Time for Social Enterprise. New South Wales: Allen & Unwin, 2008.Fraser, Nick. “Can One Man Persuade the World, via the UN, to Sanction a Global Ceasefire Day?” BBC. 2005. 7 Feb. 2010.Gill, Leslie. “Labor and Human Rights: The ‘Real Thing’ in Colombia.” Transforming Anthropology 13.2 (2005): 110-115.Gilley, Jeremy. “Dream One Day.” Peace One Day. 2009. 23 Jun 2010.Levenson-Estrada, Deborah. Trade Unionists against Terror: Guatemala City, 1954-1985. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 1994.Marshall, P. David. Celebrity and Power. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001.Marshall, P. David. “Intimately Intertwined in the Most Public Way: Celebrity and Journalism.” The Celebrity Culture Reader. Ed. P. David Marshall. Oxon: Routledge, 2006. 316-323.Marshall, P. David. “New Media – New Self: The Changing Power of Celebrity.” The Celebrity Culture Reader. Ed. P. David. Marshall. Oxon: Routledge, 2006. 634-644.Marshall, P. David. “Personifying Agency: The Public–Persona–Place–Issue Continuum.” Celebrity Studies 4.3 (2013): 369-371.Marshall, P. David. “Persona Studies: Mapping the Proliferation of the Public Self.” Journalism 15.2 (2014): 153-170.Newsnight. BBC 2. 20 Sep. 2010. 22.30-23.00.Peace One Day. Dir. Jeremy Gilley. Peace One Day, 2004.Peace One Day Concert: Live at the Royal Albert Hall Gilley. Dir. Jeremy Gilley. Peace One Day, 2008.Peace One Day Part Three. Dir. Jeremy Gilley. Peace One Day, 2010.Robèrt, Karl-Henrik. The Natural Step: Seeding a Quiet Revolution. Gabriola Island, British Columbia: New Society Publishers, 2002.Thomas, Mark. Belching Out the Devil: Global Adventure with Coca-Cola. London: Ebury Press, 2008.United Nations General Assembly. “International Day of Peace. A/RES/55/282" 111th Plenary Meeting. 2001. 10 June 2014 ‹http://www.un.org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A/RES/55/282&Lang=E›.Unleash Your Power of Influence. Triumphant Events and Peace One Day. 2010.

I spent more than two years in Bangladesh and lived through several incarnations—as a volunteer for aid organisations, an expatriate socialite, a bidesi (foreigner) trying to live sodesi (locally)—before becoming an ethnographer and, simultaneously, a lover and fighter of my adopted country. During the winter of my second lifetime I was sexually assaulted and at the beginning of my third lifetime, I recounted the experience at an academic conference in Dhaka. Smitten by the possibility that personal revelation could overcome cross-cultural barriers, I read A Night Out to compel others to sympathise and share, perhaps even loosen the somewhat restricted discussion of sexual intimidation in Bangladesh. Yet the response to A Night Out was quiet, absorbed by the static of courtesy, and taught me that disclosure alone cannot transcend differences to reach a space of mutual understanding. Later, when I posted A Night Out online, I observed the continued and changing capacity of revelation to evoke responses from people across genders and cultures. This article argues that the impact of revelation, although difficult to quantify, is never static and depends significantly on context: first, by describing autoethnography, a way of writing about other cultures that connects the "autobiographical and personal to the cultural, social and political" (Ellis xix), in the "Before" section to give background to A Night Out; secondly, the "After" section considers the various responses to the story and discusses it as "both a process and a product" of cultural research (xix). Before A Night Out Switching lives between Australia and Bangladesh has shown me the value of cultural research that deconstructs traditional conceptions of the "Western" and "Eastern" worlds. In terms of the representations of women, those in the East are too often prescribed the characteristics of ignorance, poverty, illiteracy, domesticity, maternity, and victimization, while the Western woman is depicted as modern, educated, in control of her body and sexuality (Gandhi 86). As a researcher, ultimately, of the life stories of Bangladeshi women, I sought to decrease the misconceptions surrounding those who were, like me, never only "West" or "East", influenced but never solely defined by their culture. Autoethnography is a method of cultural research that makes connections between "individual experience and social processes" in ways that emphasise the essential falsity of cultural categories (Sparkes 217). To transcend these boundaries of people, place and time, autoethnographers make use of narrative, believing it to be "the best way to understand the human experience" because it is "the way humans understand their own lives" (Richardson 218). As a writer, I likewise believe that narrative provides a way to make sense of or negotiate one's place in relation to any space or group of people. In particular, telling personal stories "bears fruit" of "reaching out to others," provoking their own stories and emotional responses, thereby becoming an effective cultural research method (Four Arrows 106). I remember my admiration for the Bangladeshi writer Shabnam Nadiya, who in Woman Alone describes her isolating experiences of sexual molestation as a girl and, later, the realisation via the writing of Taslima Nasrin that "it happened everywhere, everyday ... to anyone" (2008). For Nadiya, self-reflexivity created a "bridge" between the interior practise of reading and the exterior "everyday lived life" of communal experience and identity (2008). While connections on such an intimate scale may be difficult or unwelcome, making them is significant as "the process of revolution itself" (Ware 239). Inspired by Nadiya to write a piece with enough emotional power to reach over the public space of the conference room, my revelation concerned one of my own experiences as a woman in Bangladesh. A Night Out I was never afraid of my city at night. The time I liked Dhaka best was when the day wore down to dusk and the sky looked like it had been brushed clean. When I lived near Dhanmondi Lake I would walk through the drab hues of the surrounding park with its concrete paths and dusty trees that stretched their reflections across the pond-green water. The park was always crowded with raucous wallahs (vendors) and power walking women in bright dresses, yet even so I was the focus of attention, haunted by exclamations of "Koto lomba!" (How tall!) until my shadows became longer than myself in the quartzy light, and I was not so noticeable. When I moved to the Newmarket area I would spend the twilight hours sitting barefoot on my balcony in a voluminous housedress, watching Dhaka's night stage. Children played games on the rooftop of the lower apartment block opposite, women unhooked lines of fresh laundry and groups of friends would chat or play guitar. Even when the evening azan growled from the megaphones of nearby mosques there was activity on the street below, figures moving under the marigold glare of the sodium streetlights or, in winter, stretching nets across the street for badminton matches. Rickshawallahs rang their bells to the call of the crows and there was always an obnoxious motorist laying into his car horn. I felt more a part of my neighbourhood at this distance than when I became, eight floors down, the all-too-visible spectacle of the only foreigner in the district. The flat, my only source of solitude in Dhaka, was in a peaceful building set at the end of a road that turned three corners before coming to a blind halt. Walking its length day and night to reach the main thoroughfare, I got to know the road well. A few old bungalows remained, with comfortably decaying verandas behind wrought-ironwork and the shade of banana trees. Past the first corner the road became an entry for Dhaka College and the high school opposite; houses gave way to walls papered with adverts, a cluster of municipal bins surrounded by litter and wooden shacks that served cha (tea) and fried snacks. I was on friendly terms with the grey-haired wallah who stalked the area daily with his vegetable cart and one betel-chewing woman who sorted the neighbourhood rubbish. Once I neared the college attention from the chawallahs and students became more harassing than friendly, but I continued to walk to and from my house and most of the time, I walked alone. When solitude turns oppressive, the solution is to open all windows and doors and let air and friends in. One evening I invited Mia and Farad, both journalists and wine-drinkers, who arrived before sunset and stayed almost til midnight. We all knew the later it became the harder it would be for Mia to reach her home across the city. A call to one of the less dodgy cab companies proved us right—there were no taxis available in the area. It would be better, said Farad, to walk to the main road and hail a cab from there. Reluctant to end the evening at the elevator, I locked my door and joined my friends on the walk out to Mipur Road, which even at midnight stirred with the occasional activity of tradesmen and drivers. After a few attempts, Farad flagged down a cab, negotiated a fare and recorded the driver's number. It was part of the safety training Mia and I had imbibed as foreigners over the years. Other examples included "Never buy spices from the sacks at the market" and "Never wear gold necklaces while riding rickshaws." "I should catch my bus," Farad announced after Mia's departure. "But you've left your books in my house," I replied. "I thought you were coming back to get them." Farad was incredibly sexy with his brooding face and shaggy black beard and I had hoped more time would reveal reciprocal interest. From one writer to another it was not a suggestive line, but I was too shy to be more explicit with my male friends in Bangladesh, who treated me as one of the boys and silenced me sometimes with their unexpectedly conservative views of women. Farad considered my comment. "I'll collect them later, or we can meet at the university in a few days. Do you need to catch a rickshaw to your door?" "I don't have any taka on me," I said, "and it's not far." I was, after all, in my own street, not being chauffeured home by a bleary-eyed driver. "Thanks for coming! Abar dekha hobe (see you again)." "Goodnight," Farad replied and as he turned to leave I saw him grin into his beard, amused by my tipsy pronunciation. Fatigue dropped heavily on my shoulders as I strolled back down the road. My flat, with its small clean bed and softly purring ceiling fans, seemed far away at the end of the alley. It was very quiet, as quiet as home when I used to walk through the city to the train station after late night shifts on the suicide hotline. The dim light in the street exposed its emptiness. The stalls along the road had shut hours earlier and the only movement came from a middle-aged man taking his exercise, swinging his arms widely from side to side as he strode home. As I turned the first corner of the alley, another man approached me from behind. I glanced at him, probably because he had glanced at me. "Are you OK?" he asked. "Fine." "What is your country?" "Look," I said, unaccountably feeling my heart rate increase, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk now." "No problem, no problem," he assured me, spreading his hands and smiling, displaying two charming rows of teeth. "Relax. You're very nice." My instinct was to smile back. We walked past the waste piles that had been emptied from the bins, ready for sorting. The woman I exchanged greetings with worked here on most days and instructed me on how to wear my orna (scarf) when it wasn't placed correctly over my chest. I wondered now where she slept at night. Calculating the closeness of my friend seemed less like idle speculation when the man who was walking beside me stepped directly into my path. He was tall and lean and wore a dark blue shirt. His face gleamed, as if he had been sweating during the day and had not washed off the residue. It occurred to me to twist past him and walk faster, maybe even run. I considered how fast and how far I could go in my thongs and wondered if I should kick them off, and then start to run. "No problem," the man repeated, holding out his hands again, placing them tightly behind my neck. He pulled me towards the wall as he forced me back by moving closer. Instant wetness struck me as I felt the concrete—my pelvic floor had made the first start of surprise. The strong hands moved quickly from my neck to my breasts. "I just want to…" said the man, squeezing both breasts like he was selecting fruit. He added, "You're very nice." I was wearing the only remotely attractive bra I owned, purchased from the supermarket on Dhanmondi 27. The cups, moulded from black synthetic lace, made my chest stick out in jaunty cones like a 1950s sex-bomb and the underwire dug into my chest. Clothes can be armour, yet in this case had depleted my self-preservation. I stood quite still, thinking only of what might happen next. I was against a wall in an alleyway at midnight, with no-one around except the man who was groping me. Finally I reacted, though it was not the reaction I would have guessed at my most objective self. Cowgirls get the blues, rough beasts slouch to be born and six foot one kick-boxing world travelling feminists scream like frightened cats with the shock of even minor violation. And certain men, I learned on my night out, chuckle at the distress they cause and then run away. After A Night Out The personal and public impacts of A Night Out proved to be cumulative over time and throughout retellings. When I read the piece at the Dhaka conference I was set to unleash the "transformative and efficacious potential" that autoethnography legendarily contains (Spry 712), though if my revelation achieved anything close to such a transformation, it was unclear. A female academic who had been chatting with me before my presentation, left the room directly after it. The students, mainly female undergraduates, had no questions to ask about any aspect of my paper. Whatever reactions my audience felt, if any, were not discussed. After my presentation, the male convenor privately expressed his regret over my experience and related more horrific examples. Sexual harassment of women is prevalent in Bangladesh yet so too is the culture of blaming the victim and denying the crime (cf. Lodhi; Mudditt; Nadiya), an attitude reflected through the use of the term "Eve Teasing," which assigns the provocative role to the woman and normalises the aggressive or sexual actions of the perpetrator (Kabeer 149). The response of this liberal and thoughtful man to my revelation was the only one that was articulated. By this measurement, A Night Out had failed to make the desired impact. One of the greatest reasons for this was the tension between the personal motivation behind my revelation and the public impact I had optimistically expected. A Night Out omits the reactions of my community immediately after my assault, when I was chastised for walking alone at such at late hour and for failing to defend myself, particularly given my size. In my street, gossip spread that I had not been groped but mugged, a less lecherous so perhaps more acceptable offense. I read A Night Out partly to gain some retrospective acknowledgement of my experience and in my determination I defied the complexities of a conservative country…[in which] women do not live alone, do not have male friends, do not travel by themselves or smoke cigarettes publicly and most definitely [...] do not talk or write about sexual topics. In Dhaka these things matter and 'decent women' are supposed to play by the rules. (Deen 35) Although I observed this conservatism to varying degrees in Bangladesh, I know that when women play outside the rules, negotiating cultural norms becomes a process of "alliance and conflict" that requires sensitivity to practise (Akhter 22)—a sensitivity that is difficult to grasp. The career of Bangladeshi writer Taslima Nasrin illustrates this: credited with opening doors of feminist discussion "that had been shuttered by genteel conservatism, by niceness, by ignorance and denial" (Nadiya), Nasrin diminished this effect and alienated her audience through subsequent "shock tactics and sensationalism" (Deen 56). Although my revelation had also alienated my audience, it was not the impact I had hoped for. While Linda Park-Fuller celebrates autoethnographic performance as a "transgressive act—a revealing of what has been kept hidden, a speaking of what has been silenced" (26), the conference experience made me realise the significance of cultural context to the impact of revelation. I considered recasting A Night Out in a setting that was more intimate than academic, to an audience prepared for the content and united by achieving a specific outcome, where responses could be given privately if desired. I would also have to shift my role from defiant storyteller to one who welcomed all types of feedback. By posting A Night Out online as a Facebook note, I not only fulfilled the requirements above but made the story accessible to a large audience of men and women of diverse cultural backgrounds, including Bangladeshi. The written replies I received were easier to decipher than the faces after the conference presentation. Among the responses, some from people I did not know at all, many conveyed their appreciation for the description of Bangladesh. Others commented on the risk I took in walking down the road at night and suggested ways I could defend myself in future. I was told I was tough to write the account and was invited to share more of my experiences. One friend in Bangladesh shared my note with others and wrote to describe the reaction of a female friend of his who was "terribly shocked" by what I had written about my breasts, more than my attraction to Farad or the sexual assault itself. This anonymous respondent's "pure cultural shock", which my conference audience may also have felt, was better communicated through the Facebook retelling of A Night Out, although I am unable to interpret the silence of the other Bangladeshi women I sent the note to. While the responses I received indicated my revelation had made some impact in its online context, I could not help being especially touched when a male friend wrote, "And as a Bangladeshi I feel sorry for [your trouble]." It is one matter to write up a personal experience and another to have it make a public impact. As my first reading of A Night Out shows, autoethnographic revelation contains the potential to alienate as well as to create sympathy with an audience. Combined with the second, more private and accessible, distribution of A Night Out, this "Before" and "After" analysis shows the evolution of the revelation's impact on my audience as well as myself, over time and within different cultural contexts, in the academic, social and online arenas. Although my experience confirms the impact autoethnography can make as a form of cultural research, it can only be strengthened by continued attempts to seek a balance between the projections and inflections of culture, self and audience. It is not only in the telling but in the re-telling that personal revelations will gather and continue to give impact, which is why I now present A Night Out to a new audience in a new context and await your new responses. References Akhter, Farida. Seeds of Movements: On Women's Issues In Bangladesh. Dhaka: Narigrantha Prabartana, 2007. Deen, Hanifa. Broken Bangles. New Delhi: Penguin, 1998. Ellis, Carolyn. The Ethnographic I: A Methodological Novel about Autoethnography. Walnut Creek: AltaMira P, 2004. Four Arrows. The Authentic Dissertation: Alternate Ways of Knowing, Research, and Representation. London: Routledge, 2008. Gandhi, Leela. Postcolonial Theory: A Critical Introduction. St Leonards: Allen and Unwin, 1998. Kabeer, Naila. 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