Journal articles on the topic 'Enslaved soldiers'

Abstract: This article illuminates a lesser-explored aspect of the United States as a “slaveholding republic.” Between 1816–1861, the U.S. Army relied on thousands of enslaved persons who served as officers' servants. In 1816, Congress authorized allowances, rations, and bonuses for officers' private servants while putting an end to the practice of soldiers serving as servants. This legislative move effectively subsidized and incentivized military slaveholding. The paper delves into the political circumstances and legislative maneuvers that led Congress to institutionalize military slavery, establishing mechanisms to sustain, fund, and expand the number of enslaved servants. Military slavery developed gradually with the foundation, bureaucratization, and professionalization of an American military peace establishment. It evolved from 1797 to 1816 through competing policy objectives, resulting in a long-lasting bureaucratic workaround euphemistically termed "servants not soldiers." Facing public criticism over officers’ abuse of soldiers’ labor, the army “outsourced” officers’ servants through a dual process of privatization and racialization, differentiating between “public” and “private” service, between free, white soldiers and enslaved, black servants. Though serving slaveholders’ interests, the adopted solution was a product of bureaucratic contingencies and ad-hoc decision-making and not a policy orchestrated by a cabal of enslavers. Interestingly, a basic question of reimbursement led somewhere unanticipated, ending in government-sponsored enslaved servitude. Acknowledging this contingency does not excuse the actions but underscores how slavery was often "solved" through institutional accommodation rather than political or moral opposition. Thus, slavery directly impacted the U.S. Army, a central national institution, altering the military system at its pivotal, formative moments.

Revolution and women did not mix well, at least in the eyes of most leaders of the insurrection that swept Mexico in 1910-17. Moreover, common wisdom suggested that armies were no place for the “gentler sex” and hence the two kinds of women that did accompany men to the battleground–female soldiers and soldaderas–were generally regarded as marginal to the fighting and extraordinary, or strange, in character.Female soldiers received much notice in the press and arts during the revolution and in its aftermath. They were portrayed as fearless women dressed in men's garb flaunting cartridge belts across the chest and a Mauser rifle on one shoulder. But they were invariably shown in the guise of curiosities, aberrations brought about by the revolution. Soldaderas received their share of attention too. They were depicted as loyal, self-sacrificing companions to the soldiers or, in less sympathetic renderings, as enslaved camp followers: “the loyalty of the soldier's wife is more akin to that of a dog to its master than to that of an intelligent woman to her mate.” But even laudatory journalistic accounts,corridos, and novels did not concede soldaderas a prominent role in the revolutionary process, much less in the success of the military campaigns.

Christopher Marlowe's two-part Tamburlaine the Great (published 1590) captures all of the spirit and something of the scope of legendary violence the historical Tamerlane levied against his enemies. In the course of ten acts Tamburlaine's armies roll over several nations and cultures, leaving thousands of civilians enslaved or worse. Marlowe's graphic representation of the trail of blood and brutality is itself notorious.In the interest of founding his own legend as the hypermasculine “Generall of the world” (1:5.1.451), Tamburlaine practices virtual genocide against his enemies and ethnocide against their cities, religions, and ways of life. By no means does he work alone. The soldier-males who serve in his armies eagerly follow his lead.

Abstract: The West India Regiments, men of African descent embodied into regular regiments of the British Army, played a hitherto unheralded role in the War of 1812. Knowledge of the military prowess of these regiments was widespread in the US in the early nineteenth century, and the British exploited this, mixed with a large amount of rumour and speculation as a terror tactic during the war. The West India Regiments were used as recruiters in the Chesapeake in 1814, and on active campaigns against New Orleans and Georgia in 1815. They were directly and indirectly responsible for the escape of thousands of enslaved people from slave states to British forces and even forced some US commentators to contemplate the recruitment of their own enslaved soldiers as a counterweight. While their military contribution to the war ended up being small, the psychological importance of regiments of black men within easy reach of the southern states lingered long after peace had been agreed.

On transatlantic slave ships the Africans were predominantly there as cargo, while Europeans worked the deadly job of sailing and securing the vessel. On the plantations the roles changed, and the slaves were transformed into a workforce. European sailors and African slaves in the Atlantic world mostly encountered each other aboard slave ships as captive and captor. Once the enslaved arrived on the plantations new hierarchies and divisions of labour between slave and free suited to the particular working environment were introduced. Hierarchies of status, rank and colour were fundamental to the harsh and isolated working environments of the ship and the plantation. The directors of Surinamese plantations shielded themselves from the wrath of their enslaved by hiring sailors, soldiers or other white ruffians to act as blankofficier (white officer). These men formed a flexible workforce that could be laid off in case tensions on plantations rose. Below the white officers there were non-white slave officers, basjas, managing the daily operations on the plantations. The bomba on board slave ships played a similar role.

Ask any Civil War historian about the cost of the Civil War and they will recite a host of well-known assessments, from military casualties and government expenditures to various measures of direct and indirect costs. But those numbers are not likely to include an appraisal of the humanitarian crisis and suffering caused by the wartime destruction of slavery. Peace-time emancipation in other regions (the northern U.S., for example) and in other societies (like the British West Indies) certainly presented dangers and difficulties for the formerly enslaved, but wartime emancipation chained the new opportunities and possibilities for freedom to war’s violence, civil chaos, destruction and deprivation. The resulting health crisis, including illness, injury, and trauma, had immediate and lasting consequences for black civilians and soldiers. Although historians are more accustomed to thinking of enslaved people as the beneficiaries of this war, rather than its victims, we cannot assess the cost of this war until we answer two important questions: first, what price did enslaved people have to pay because their freedom was achieved through warfare rather than a peacetime process; and secondly, in this war in which so many Americans paid such a high cost, to what extent did racism inflate the cost paid by people of African descent? In answering these questions, we reconsider this specific war, but we must also tie the U.S. Civil War to a larger scholarship on how wars impact civilians, create refugee populations, and accelerate harsh treatment of people regarded as racial, religious, or ethnic outsiders. We are reminded that war is not an equal-opportunity killer.

Abstract The Black soldiers of the Fourth Regiment of the Native Guard (also known as the Corps d'Afrique) stationed at Fort Jackson, Louisiana, and the laundresses who served them and their white officers were formerly enslaved people who had seized their freedom by joining and aiding the Union cause. Over the course of six weeks, in December 1863 and January 1864, they engaged in open munity to protest racial and sexual violence inflicted by white Union officers. In so doing they made visible the violent terms of interracial interaction that informed the meaning of wartime freedom and Black labor (terms that were still very much rooted in the prisms and discourses of enslavement). More importantly, as free labor Black women began to negotiate a deeply abusive racial and sexual terrain.

The world is full of people who are thirsty for others’ blood. They lack soft corners and ethical morals. Under such circumstances, conflict erupts the societies that cause destruction and wreckage. Conflict resolution and the creation of global harmony is the basic need to resolve the issues. Additionally, freedom is the most precious gift given to people. However, some people do not realize this, they remain suffering from various hardships and spend their lives as slaves. This is the era of development and progress; we can see the escalated building and pillars of knowledge all around the world. However, some people are facing cruelties and life-threatening situations. Contrary to this, some people enslaved by force are bestowed with the courage and determination to be free. They sacrifice their most valuable belongings such as children for freedom. This study is the proximal approach explaining such types of devastations in the spotlight of the novel Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk. Keeping in view the Marxist theory, societal afflictions and economic inequity are analyzed and the results depict that being a soldier in an American force is the most damaging phenomenon. The soldiers are betrayed by being given special privileges, however, in return, they have to give up on their own freedom, and they are forced to shed the blood of others.

AbstractThis essay reflects on the workers in Atlantic and Indian Ocean port cities who made possible the rapidly expanding system of global capitalism between 1650 and 1850. In all of the ports treated in this volume, a mixture of multi-ethnic, male and female, unskilled, often unwaged laborers collectively served as the linchpins that connected local hinterlands (and seas) to bustling waterfronts, tall ships, and finally the world market. Although the precise combination of workers varied from one port to the next, all had an occupational structure in which half or more of the population worked in trade or the defense of trade, for example in shipbuilding/repair, the hauling of commodities to and from ships, and the building of colonial infrastructure, the docks and roads instrumental to commerce. This “motley crew” – a working combination of enslaved Africans, European/Indian/Chinese indentured servants, sailors, soldiers, convicts, domestic workers, and artisans – were essential to the production and worldwide circulation of commodities and profits.

This article answers the question whether there is a Dutch slavery and colonisation DNA. After all, the Netherlands has centuries of experience (approximately three and a half centuries) with colonisation (including occupation, wars and genocide, rearrangement of land and population, plundering and theft), trade in enslaved people (the Atlantic route: Europe, Africa, North and South America) and trade in the products of these enslaved people. The Netherlands has colonised large parts of the world. This was a large part of Asia, including the Indonesian archipelago, Malaysia, Ceylon, Taiwan and New Guinea, large parts of the continent Africa, including Madagascar, Mozambique, Cape of Good Hope, Luanda, Sao Tome, Fort Elmina etc., and North (New York) and South America (including Brazil, Dejima, Surinam and the Netherlands Antilles). It is a fact that human conditions and circumstances influence the human DNA that is passed on to posterity. This goes through the mechanism of methylation. This mechanism is used by cells in the human body to put genes in the "off" position. Human conditions and circumstances are abstractly formulated, poverty, hunger, disasters and wars. These are also horrors that accompanied slavery and colonisation. The Dutch, as slave traders, plantation owners, occupiers of lands, soldiers, merchants, captains and sailors, and administrators and their staff, have had centuries of experience with practising atrocities. Because those experiences are translated into the DNA of posterity, it is understandable that Dutch authorities misbehave towards immigrants and refugees. Those institutions are political leaders, governmental institutions, such as the tax authorities and youth welfare, and also companies that do their utmost to avoid taking on immigrants. This behaviour is called institutional colour and black racism.

The article examines an understudied aspect of religious life in Omsk during the First World War, associated with mass conversion to the Orthodoxy of Rusin prisoners of war – former soldiers and officers of the Austro-Hungarian army. The research is based on the materials from the journal Omskie Eparkhialnye Vedomosti and the registration records of the birth books of Omsk Orthodox churches for 1915–1917. The combination of the anthropological approach with the problem-chronological and historicalcomparative methods allowed a thorough investigation of the phenomenon of mass conversion of Rusin prisoners of war to Orthodoxy, linking it with the specific historical situation and the personalities of church hierarchs who served in Siberia. The authors argue that the “Omsk phenomenon” of Rusins’ joining Orthodoxy was conditioned by the ascetic activity of the missionaries from the Omsk and Pavlodar dioceses, lead by Bishop Sylvester (Olshevsky). However, it should be emphasized that the dynamic development of this process was ensured by the official ideology based on Orthodox values, which dominated in the Russian Empire. The ideological factor of the conversion to Orthodoxy was decisive for the Rusins, who were attracted by the Orthodox empire, the “state of the Russian people”. The fall of the monarchy as a result of the Russian Revolution changed the paradigm of the country’s development and immediately put an end to the massive conversions of Rusins to Orthodoxy in Omsk. The article may be of interest to researchers of the history of Rusins, military and social history, as well as national and religious politics.

Professor Dr. Jan Ilhan Kizilhan is a Yezidi transcultural psychologist. He is the Head of the Department of Mental Health and Addiction at the State University Baden-Württemberg, Germany. In that capacity he has made frequent visits to the Kurdistan Region in Iraq, as part of a project aiming to provide psychological aid to Yezidi women who escaped after being captured and enslaved by ISIS. Under ISIS, Yezidis suffered mass killings, forced conversion to Islam, torture, sexual slavery, and the abuse of their children as ISIS soldiers. In an interview with Khanna Omarkhali, Professor Kizilhan discusses his recent experiences.Keywords: Transformation of tradition; traumatized Yezidis; Yezidi women; ISIS; slavery.Abstract in KurmanjiVeguherînên di nerîtên êzdiyatiyê de piştî êrîşên DAIŞêHevpeyvînek ligel Ilhan KizilhanProfesor Dr. Jan Ilhan Kizilhan derûnnasekî transkulturî yê êzdî ye. Li Almanyayê, li Zanîngeha Dewletî ya Baden-Württembergê, serokê beşa Tendurustiya Derûnî û Muptelayiyê ye. Bi vî sifetî wî gelek caran serdana Herêma Kurdistanê ya Iraqê kiriye di çarçoveya projeyekê de ya bi armanca dabînkirina piştgiriya psîkolojîk bo jinên Êzidî yên ji destê DAIŞê xelas bûne piştî ku hatine revandin û bûne kole. Di bin hukmê DAIŞê de, cemaeta êzdî rastî qirkirinên girseyî, koletiya cinsî û îşkenceyê hatin, û bi darê zorê dînê wan hate guhertin bo Îslamê û zarokên wan bi zorê bûne leşkerên DAIŞê. Di hevpeyvînekê de bi Khanna Omarkhali re Profesor Kizilhan behsa tecrubeyên xwe yên vê dawiyê dike.Abstract in Sorani

Abstract Focusing on the United States, Field and Syrett argue that the supposed universality of chronological age masks the processes through which legislators and government officials relied upon age to reinforce inequalities rooted in coverture and chattel slavery. Two case studies reveal how bureaucratic and legislative age requirements functioned in tandem to deny equal citizenship to women and formerly enslaved people. During the Civil War, Congress passed legislation to grant age-based Civil War pensions for minor children that appeared neutral in law but came to be administered in ways that denied equal benefits to the families of black Civil War soldiers on the grounds that they lacked adequate proof of age. State governments, meanwhile, continued to pass laws that differentiated between men and women in the realm of legal majority, using chronological age as a means to shore up gender inequality even as women gained new rights and opportunities. Recent conflicts over voter identification laws and age determination for child migrants reveal that chronological age remains a contested category through which government officials can deny equal treatment under the law by defining the criteria for what counts as adequate proof of age. Cracks in the modern regime of government-issued birth certificates reveal that age remains what it has always been: not a neutral fact, but a vector of power through which government officials and ordinary people construct and contest the boundaries of citizenship.

Research objectives: The aim of this research is to study issues related to the legal status of slaves, as well as the terms and conditions of their release in the Crimean Khanate. Research materials: Individual research works on the topic of slavery in Ottoman Turkey and the texts of the Crimean Kadiasker books (sijils) in which slaves appear in connection with various legal proceedings related to them. Results and novelty of the research: Novelty lies in the fact that certain terms from the history of slavery in the Turkic Muslim states have been introduced into scientific circulation. For the first time in Russian historiography, the so-called guarantees (tedbir) of the liberation of slaves in the Crimean Khanate are described. The practice of announcing such “guarantees” to slaves finds its confirmation in court documents of the 17th century. The question of the existence of a limiting service life of slaves in the Crimean Khanate is considered. Also, for the first time, using historical evidence, the legal status of slaves has been studied, the relationship between slaves and masters has been examined, and other reasons for the release of slaves, not related to the end of their service, have been identified. As a result of this study, it is established that in the Crimea of the 16th-18th centuries, according to Muslim law, only prisoners of war captured in a war or on a campaign could become slaves. According to Sharia, Muslims could not be enslaved. This rule was strictly adhered to in the Crimea. We find confirmation of this fact in individual Crimean sijils where the fate of the Lipka Tatars who, being Muslims, were captured, brought to Crimea, and subsequently released. Such documents are examined here. The study has found that slaves were deprived of legal rights and had the status of mütekavvım mal – property permitted for use. They were part of the common property that could be sold, exchanged, donated, or used at the discretion of the owner. In yafts or lists of inherited property, slaves were listed, as a rule, among animals or other things. Sometimes slaves, at the request of their masters, received additional powers and became semi-free traders. A special category of slaves that stood out among others should be noted among the soldiers of the khan’s guard – kapy-kulu (literally – slave of the door/slave at the gate). This article determines that the normal life of a slave corresponded to a full six years. In addition to release on the grounds of seniority, other conditions for the release of a slave were also possible. Four types of tedbir and the conditions of kitabet, or an agreement on the independent redemption of oneself by a slave, are considered. Cases of the release of slaves on religious grounds are described, and the possibilities for them to go to court for legal assistance are described. All the facts of legal precedents given in the article are supported by information from the Crimean Cadi sijils. In conclusion, concepts are given regarding the system of slavery adopted in the khanate.

The article considers specifics in the formation of the image of the enemy – Nazi Germany and the Wehrmacht – by Tula newspapers in the first months of the Great Patriotic War. Based on materials published in the newspapers “Kommunar” (Tula), “Stalin’s Banner” (Uzlovaya), “Stalinogorskaya Pravda” (Stalinogorsk), features in the description of the enemy are traced that influenced the creation and transformation of the image enemy in the minds of Soviet citizens. From the first days of the war, journalists in their publications used vivid negative images to characterize Germany and Wehrmacht soldiers, borrowed from the practice of criminal law. The attribution of zoomorphic traits to Nazi leaders and German soldiers was also widely used. It was especially emphasized that enemy soldiers and officers are war criminals who have stained their hands with the blood of innocent citizens, who have violated the norms of international law, the laws and customs of war, and all their military victories were achieved through overwhelming numerical superiority. Thus, among Soviet citizens there created the image of a cruel enemy devoid of moral principles, of human appearance, who strives to enslave the Soviet people and is capable of winning only with the help of primitive, very resource-intensive tactics.

Heralded as one of the most important voices in US theatre, the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Suzan-Lori Parks has made profound contributions to the creation of black art. Since her arrival on the theatre scene in the 1980s, Parks has challenged audiences to consider the importance of representation and unearth silences within history. Her more recent Pulitzer Prize finalist work, Father Comes Home from the Wars Parts 1, 2 & 3 (2014), continues this exploration, privileging the epic tale of an enslaved black man turned Confederate soldier in search of freedom. As an amalgamation of Parks’s personal family history; the broader narrative of the black freedom struggle; and canonical epic tales such as Homer’s Odyssey , Aeschylus’s Oresteia , James Joyce’s Ulysses , and Vyasa’s Mahabharata , Father Comes Home … presents pedagogical challenges for instructors who must engage with ancient and modern texts and contemporary black political thought and performance traditions. Rather than replicate austere teaching practices of the past, I use the pedagogical theories of bell hooks to issue a call to foster curiosity and radical transparency as instructors guide students to a better understanding of how Father Comes Home transculturates (or reclaims) Greek mythology and tragedy within the African diaspora. In so doing, I demonstrate how Father Comes Home serves as a reckoning of the generational trauma caused by chattel slavery, summoning us all to confront racist and sexist practices that systematically disenfranchise black Americans and prevent the wider dissemination of black history and culture.

The purpose of the study is to prove the significance of historic memory as a form of art comprehension of war events in the ballet theater environment. The paper describes the content of the plays showing the Great Patriotic War theme on the ballet stage of the XX-XXI centuries. They are the ballet “Leningrad Symphony” (1961) where the war and peace theme is conceptualized through the lens of human choice – to protect or to enslave; the ballet “Immortality” (1972) which shows a Red Army soldier’s feat the first and only time; the ballet oratorio “Mother Field” (1975) that reflects the war theme with a woman’s eyes; the ballet trilogy “For Life” (1975) about the mother-son farewell; the TV-ballet “House by the road” (1984) devoted to the human soul tested by the war times; the ballet “Life Symphony” (2020) which continues the topic of “Mother Field” and “House by the Road” but in its absolute own way. The scientific novelty of this study is that the main themes and artistic images of the ballet plays about war conflict in the post-war period of the second part of the XX century and in the beginning of the XI century are defined. As a result, it is substantiated that the ballet theatre according to its reflection proceeded from the illustrative aspect just fixing the event towards philosophical understanding of the horror of war and its catastrophic consequences for the mankind.

While the first two chapters of Doucas's historical work present a meagre outline of world history - a sketch which becomes a little more detailed from 1261 on, when the narration reaches the history of the Turks and their conquests in Asia Minor - the third chapter deals with the well-known battle of Kosovo, which took place in 1389. From that point on, the Byzantine historian gives much important information on Serbia, as well as on the Ottoman advances in the Balkans, and thus embarks upon his central theme - the rise of the Turks and the decline of Byzantium. Doucas considers the battle of Kosovo a key event in the subjugation of the Balkan peoples by the Turks, and he shows that after the battle of Kosovo the Serbs were the first to suffer that fate. At the beginning, Doucas says that after the death of Orhan, the ruler (o archgos) of the Turks, his son and successor Murad conquered the Thracian towns, Adrianople and the whole Thessaly, so that he mastered almost all the lands of the Byzantines, and finally reached the Triballi (Triballous). He devastated many of their towns and villages sending the enslaved population beyond Chersonesus, until Lazar, son of King Stefan of Serbia (Serbias), who ruled (kraley?n) in Serbia at that time decided to oppose him with all the might he could muster. The Serbs were often called Triballi by Byzantine authors. For the fourteenth century writers Pachymeres, Gregoras, Metochites and Kantakouzenos the Serbs were Triballi. However, Pachymeres and Gregoras refer to the rulers of the Triballi as the rulers of Serbia. Fifteenth century writers, primarily Chalcondyles and Critobulos, use only that name. It seems, nevertheless, that Doucas makes a distinction between the Triballi and the Serbs. As it is known, the conquest of the Serbian lands by the Turks began after the battle on the river Marica in 1371. By 1387. the Turks had mastered Serres(1388) Bitola and Stip (1385), Sofia (1385), Nis (1386) and several other towns. Thus parts of Macedonia, Bulgaria and even of Serbia proper were reduced by the Turks by 1387. For Doucas, however, this is the territory inhabited by the Triballi. After the exposition of the events on Kosovo, Doucas inserts an account of the dispute of John Kantakouzenos and the regency on behalf of John V, which had taken place, as it is known, long before 1389. At the beginning of his description of the civil war, Doucas says that by dividing the empire Kantakouzenos made it possible for the Turks to devastate not only all the lands under Roman rule, but also the territories of the Triballi Moesians and Albanians and other western peoples. The author goes on to narrate that Kantakouzenos established friendly relations with the king Stefan Du{an, and reached an agreement with him concerning the fortresses towns and provinces of the unlucky Empire of the Romaioi, so that, instead of giving them over to the Roman lords, he surrendered them to barbarians, the Triballi and the Serbs (Triballoys te kai Serbous). When he speaks later how the Tatars treated the captives after the battle of Angora in 1402, Doucas points out that the Divine Law, honored from times immemorial not only among the Romaioi, but also among the Persians, the Triballi and the Scythians (as he calls Timur's Tatars), permitted only plunder, not the taking of captives or any executions outside the battlefield when the enemy belonged to the same faith. Finally, when he speaks of the conflict between Murad II and Juneid in Asia Minor, Doucas mentions a certain Kelpaxis, a man belonging to the people of the Triballi, who took over from Juneid the rule over Ephesus and Ionia. It seems, therefore, that Doucas, when he speaks of the land of the Triballi he has in mind a broad ethnical territory in the Balkans, which was obviously not settled by the Serbs only or even by the Slavs only. According to him Kelpaxis (Kelpaz?sis) also belonged to the Triballi, although the name can hardly be of Slavonic, i.e. Serbian origin. On the other hand, he is definitely aware of Serbia, a state which had left substantial traces in the works of Byzantine authors, particularly from the time when it usurped (according to the Byzantine view) the Empire. Writing a whole century after Dusan's coronation as emperor, Doucas is not willing, as we shall see later to recognize this usurpation. Although he ascribes to Serbia, in conformity with the Byzantine conception of tazis, a different rank, he considers Serbia and the Serbs, as they are generally called in his work (particularly when he describes the events after the Battle of Kosovo) an important factor in the struggle against the Turks. Therefore he makes a fairly accurate distinction between the Serbs and the other Triballi. In his case, the term may in fact serve as a geographical designation for the territory settled by many peoples, including the Serbs. When he uses specific titles and when he speaks of the degrees of authority conveyed by them in individual territories Doucas is anxious to prove himself a worthy scion of the Romaioi, who considered that they had the exclusive right to the primacy in the Christian hierarchy with the Roman emperor at its top. He makes distinctions of rank between individual rulers. The Emperor in Constantinople is for him the only emperor of the Romans (basileys t?n R?mai?n). King Sigismund of Hungary is also styled emperor, but as basileys t?n R?man?n, meaning Latin Christians. The last Byzantine emperor Constantine XI Dragas Palaleologus is not recognized as an emperor, and the author calls his rule a despotic rule (despoteia). He has a similar view of the Serbs. Thus he says, erroneously that Lazar was the son of King Stefan of Serbia (yios Stefanoy toy kral? Serbias) and that he ruled Serbia at that time (o tote t?n Serbian kraley?n). Elsewhere, Doucas explains his attitude and says that o t?n Serb?n archgos etolm?sen anadusasthai kratos kai kral?s onomazesthai. Toyto gar to barbaron onoma exell?nizomenon basileys erm?neyetai. Lazar exercises royal power (kraley?n) in Serbia, which is appropriate, for the author thinks erroneously that Lazar was the son and successor of King Stefan Du{an. It is significant that he derives the werb kraley? from the Serbian title 'kralj', i.e. from the title which never existed in the Byzantine Empire. Moreover, there is no mention of this werb in any other Byzantine text. When he narrates how Serbia fell under the Turkish rule in 1439, Doucas says that Despot Djuradj Brankovic seeing his ravaged despotate (despoteian), went to the King of Hungary hoping to get aid from him. There can be no doubt that the term despoteia here refers to the territory ruled by Despot Djuradj Brankovic. Doucas correctly styles the Serbian rulers after 1402 as despots. The space he devotes to Serbia in his work, as well as the manner in which he speaks of it, seems to indicate, however, that he regarded it, together with Hungary as a obstacle of the further Turkish conquests in the Balkans. Doucas's text indicates that Serbia, though incomparably weaker than in the time of Dusan's mighty empire, was in fact the only remaining more or less integral state in the Peninsula. The riches of Serbia and, consequently, of its despots, is stressed in a number of passages. Almost at the very beginning Doucas says that Bayezid seized 'a sufficient quantity of silver talents from the mines of Serbia' after the Battle of Kosovo. When Murad II conducted negotiations with Despot Djuradj for his marriage with the Despot's daughter Mara, Doucas writes, no one could guess how many 'gold and silver talents' he took. Doucas also says that the Despot began to build the Smederevo fortress with Murad's permission. The building of a fortress has never been an easy undertaking and if we bear in mind that Despot Djuradj built the part of the Smederevo fortress called 'Mali Grad' (Small fortress) in two years only, we realize that his economic power was really considerable. When Fadulah, the counselor of Murad II, sought to persuade his lord to occupy Serbia, he stressed the good position of the country, particularly of Smederevo, and the country's abundant sources of silver and gold, which would enable Murad not only to conquer Hungary, but also to advance as far as Italy. After Mehmed II captured Constantinople, the Serbs undertook to pay an annual tribute of 12.000 gold coins, more than the despots of Mistra, the lords of Chios Mitylene or the Emperor of Trebizond. Already in 1454 the Despot's men brought the tribute to Mehmed II and also ransomed their captives. Critobulos's superb description of Serbia is the best testimony that this was not only Doucas's impression: 'Its greatest advantage, in which it surpasses the other countries, is that it produces gold and silver? They are mined everywhere in that region, which has rich veins of both gold and silver, more abundant than those of India. The country of the Triballi was indeed fortunate in this respect from the very beginning and it was proud of its riches and its might. It was a kingdom with numerous flourishing towns and strong and impregnable fortresses. It was also rich in soldiers and armies as well as in good equipment. It had citizens of the noblest rank and it brought up many youths who had the strength of adult men. It was admired and famous, but it was also envied, so that is was not only loved of many, but also disliked by many people who sought to harm It'. It is no wonder that George Sphrantzes once complains that Christians failed to send aid to Constantinople and that he singles out for particular blame that 'miserable despot, who did not realize that once the head is removed, the limbs, too disappear'. It may be said, therefore, that Doucas regarded Serbia as one of the few remaining allies of at least some ability to stem the Turkish advances, and that this opinion was primarily based on its economic resources. Serbia was clearly distinguished as a state structure, as opposed to most of the remaining parts of the Peninsula, inhabited by peoples which Doucas does not seem to differentiate precisely. According to him, the authority over a particular territory issued from the ruler's title, the title of despot, which was first in importance after the imperial title, also determined the rank of Serbia in the Byzantine theory of hierarchy of states. Doucas's testimony also shows that this theory not only endured until the collapse of the Empire, but that it also persisted even in the consciousness of the people who survived its fall.

A wide variety of eighteenth-century authors made comparisons to soldiering and slavery in newspapers, pamphlets and books. The analogy tended to be applied to highlight the lack of personal autonomy and inadequate wages of army service, as well as its harsh punishment and lifetime enlistment periods. While some commentators championed soldiers’ rights to better treatment, many had other agendas in mind. It was particularly prominent in anti-abolitionist propaganda, for example. Regardless of their intentions, civilians’ soldier-as-slave rhetoric took a toll on the actual men in uniform. The few rank-and-file writers to acknowledge it suggest that the metaphor shamed and humiliated them.

Abstract While there are large literatures on both Islamic slave soldiers and the phenomenon of “arming slaves” in the Atlantic world, military slavery in early modern Asia is still poorly understood. Using a variety of Chinese, Latin, Spanish, and Portuguese sources, this article will argue that enslaved labour was frequently directed towards violence across early modern Asia, colonial or otherwise. At the same time, the phenomenon was far from uniform in the vast expanse of land and sea between East Africa and Japan. Rather, it is better to speak of a series of analogous regimes of bondage that interacted with each other across large distances, with the line between enslaved soldiers, mercenaries, and run-of-the-mill trader-raiders being vanishingly thin at times. Finally, all this existed within the context of military infrastructure in the broadest sense of the word that included fortresses, factories, and even war elephants.

After the partitions of Poland between Russia, Prussia and Austria, Poland disappeared from the maps of Europe. The failure of the November Uprising of 1830 against the Russian occupiers led to harsh repressions imposed by the tzarist rule on the Polish people. Many insurgents were imprisoned, or sentenced to death, or forcibly deported to Siberia, their manors and estates were confiscated, and family members were persecuted. As a result, the revival of patriotic attitudes among the subsequent generation in the Kingdom of Poland led to outburst of opposition to the imposed Russian authorities. On the 30th anniversary of the Battle of Grochów, the citizens of Warsaw organized a demonstration in the Castle Square. The Russian soldiers attacked the protesters and killed five. Around that time, a national mourning was secretly announced, and women decided to wear black dresses and silver or bone jewellery in the form of a cross or a crown of thorns, thus sending a hidden message to compatriots and to the Russians. As a result, the decree was issued against the black garments, stating that only personal mourning was allowed based on an official certificate of a family member’s death, otherwise the mourners could be imprisoned. Therefore, other colours, white and violet were introduced as a sign of resistance as well. Black dresses and the konfederatka caps meant not just fashion during the years of the January Uprising; they gained recognition as a hidden patriotic code among Poles living both in the occupied country and in emigration. Poet-emigrant Cyprian Norwid explained the importance of wearing the special type of men’s headgear, referring to the great history of his enslaved country and arguing that symbols and power of thought are powerful weapons in the modern world.

Tens of thousands of White Russians were forced to leave their country after 1920. Many of them were career officers and soldiers imbued with anti-communism, who were then hired by diverse armies. They acted as transnational soldiers of the counter-revolution during the interwar period. This article analyses the trajectory of some dozens of them, who volunteered for the Francoist army in 1936–8 during the Spanish Civil War. Afterwards, many of them joined the ranks of the Spanish ‘Blue Division’ as interpreters to take part in the invasion of their home country by the Germans. Their experience as occupiers was highly ambiguous and oscillated between disappointment and nostalgia once they perceived that the objective of the invasion was not to liberate Russia from communism, but to enslave the country and its inhabitants. However, once they returned to Spain, they cultivated a hero myth of their past experience and regarded themselves as winners.

It is no longer news that people of African descent were enslaved to the new world via: Caribbean, America and Europe for more than four hundred years. Rastafari movement has always engaged in the history of memory especially to reminiscence about slave experiences. Bob Marley songs are replete with such freedom chants. For example, Marley’s Redemption song and Buffalo Soldier are strong lyrics about the horrors of slavery. The cultural linkage between the Igbo of Southeastern Nigeria and Haiti in the Caribbean is examined, especially the nexus between Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade and the Haitian support to the Biafran struggle during the Nigerian Civil War 1967-1970 re-echoes the African slave narratives as Kimono recorded in his song.

RESUMEN: Al crecer entre cubanos de generaciones anteriores, muchos de nosotros no pudimos evitar la proverbial frase " más se perdió en la guerra ". Ya sea en respuesta a la caída accidental de la porcelana más preciada en el suelo de la cocina o al desempeño mediocre de un niño en un examen en la escuela, nuestras abuelas y tía-abuelas especialmente parecían encontrar consuelo en la comparación de decepciones relativamente menores con las profundas cicatrices sufridas cuando Cuba había estado en guerra. Sin duda, cuatro siglos de esclavitud, tres luchas independentistas contra España, intervenciones militares de Estados Unidos e innumerables protestas armadas para derrocar o transformar gobiernos no representativos, dejaron recuerdos imborrables de dolor y una sed de justicia política cuyo legado perdura. Después de más de dos años de aislamiento impuesto por la pandemia y de una innumerable serie de crisis que han ido engullendo a la isla de Cuba, compartimos esta pequeña colección de diez documentos inéditos y prácticamente desconocidos procedentes de dos de las colecciones de archivos y manuscritos más importantes de Cuba. Leídas en conjunto, estas voces olvidadas y poco escuchadas abarcan las múltiples formas en que la guerra, el militarismo y la violencia sumergieron las esperanzas e identidades individuales de los cubanos en la búsqueda colectiva de la salvación y en lo que podría llamarse "la tarea generacional de salvar al mundo salvando a la nación". A continuación se presentan ejemplos sorprendentes de cartas que ciudadanos anónimos escribieron al legendario general cubano Máximo Gómez, así como los escritos y la correspondencia personal que recibieron varias grandes patriotas femeninas como "la Cubanita" Ritica Suárez del Villar y Suárez del Villar (1862–1961), María Cabrales Viuda de Maceo (1842–1905) y "La Delegada" Magdalena Peñarredonda (1846–1937), capitana del Ejército Libertador de Cuba a la que José Martí designó para representar al Partido Revolucionario Cubano en la crucial provincia de Pinar del Río, así como operativa estratégica y amiga personal del general Antonio Maceo. En conjunto, estos documentos revelan no solo una politización integral que a algunos les puede resultar sorprendente, sino un sentido explícito de orgullo e igualdad de género ya alcanzado en la camaradería de la crisis, el activismo y la guerra. Aunque predominantemente extraídos del ciclo de luchas y traumas producidos durante la última Guerra de Independencia de Cuba en 1895 y la posterior ocupación militar de los Estados Unidos (1898–1902), también hemos incluido tres impactantes documentos de la colección personal de Ofelia Domínguez Navarro, militante del Partido Comunista y abogada de Cienfuegos conocida por su trabajo en favor de los derechos de la mujer y su elección para la Convención Constitucional de Cuba de 1940. Aunque se hizo famosa por su temprano activismo y persecución en la lucha para derrocar al presidente convertido en dictador de Cuba, Gerardo Machado, el período de tres años de Domínguez Navarro como Ministra de Propaganda de Fulgencio Batista durante la única presidencia elegida de Batista (1940–1944) ha sido borrado casi por completo de la historia. A partir de 1941, cuando Cuba se unió a las potencias aliadas para luchar contra los nazis y los japoneses, ningún soldado sirvió en ningún frente. Sin embargo, Domínguez Navarro no solo supervisó la organización y el entrenamiento de un cuerpo de Defensa Civil, sino que emitió programas de radio semanales en los que detallaba la naturaleza de las políticas genocidas del Tercer Reich y la amenaza radical que representaba el fascismo en este hemisferio. Uno de los aspectos más destacados de esta selección de documentos es un cartel diseñado bajo la supervisión de Domínguez Navarro que atribuye vínculos históricos directos entre la visión antirracista, antiimperialista y democrática de la nación que los cubanos abrazaron durante sus guerras de independencia del siglo XIX y el tipo de apoyo, incondicional a la causa aliada, necesario para derrotar al totalitarismo moderno. Hoy en día, pocos historiadores de Cuba discutirían los pronunciados cambios en las narrativas antes aceptadas que han marcado las últimas décadas en nuestro campo. Sorprendentes descubrimientos de nuevos conocimientos y audaces interpretaciones de archivos ocultos han abierto y, en ocasiones, derribado antiguos tabúes. Tal vez no se hayan producido mayores avances en la historiografía de Cuba que los relacionados con la centralidad, la agencia, el liderazgo, las contribuciones intelectuales, la resistencia y la represión de los cubanos negros, los esclavizados y otros afrodescendientes. Sorprendentemente, la experiencia de las mujeres cubanas, sea cual sea su clase, identidad racial o herencia, sigue siendo menos examinada, subsumida —algunos podrían argumentar— en la a menudo gargantuesca tarea de simplemente obtener acceso en Cuba a cualquier archivo o colección de fuentes primarias de la biblioteca. Esto es especialmente cierto cuando se trata de ciertos períodos de la historia, como de los años 30 a los 50, por no hablar de temas clave, como la historia poscomunista de Cuba de la reforma agraria, las relaciones industriales, el uso punitivo de los campos de trabajo, las confiscaciones de propiedades y similares. Por esta razón, a menudo es tan desafiante como tentador encontrar voces inesperadas del pasado que hablan de forma tan familiar como exótica y desconocida. Esperamos que este dossier de Voces Olvidadas inspire a los lectores a examinar más a fondo la fe incesante en la capacidad de Cuba para corregir los fallos del pasado y el optimismo permanente, incluso implacable, en el futuro que evocan sus palabras. ABSTRACT: Growing up among Cubans of older generations, many of us could not escape the proverbial phrase más se perdió en la Guerra (far more was lost in the war). Whether responding to the accidental crash of cherished porcelain on the kitchen floor or a child's lackluster performance on an exam at school, our abuelas and tía-abuelas especially seemed to find solace in comparing relatively minor disappointments with the profound scars suffered when Cuba had been at war. No doubt four centuries of slavery, three independence struggles against Spain, US military interventions, and countless armed protests intended to topple or transform nonrepresentative governments left indelible memories of pain and a thirst for political justice, the legacies of which live on. In the wake of more than two years of pandemic-imposed isolation and an innumerable array of crises that have steadily come to engulf the island of Cuba, we share this small collection of ten previously unpublished and virtually unknown documents from two of Cuba's most important archival and manuscript collections. Read together, these forgotten, seldom-heard voices encompass the many ways war, militarism, and violence immersed Cubans' individual hopes and identities in the collective search for salvation and what one might call "the generational task of saving the world by saving the nation." Below follow startling examples of letters that anonymous citizens wrote to Cuba's legendary general Máximo Gómez as well as the writings and personal correspondence received by several great female patriots like "la Cubanita," Ritica Suárez del Villar y Suárez del Villar (1862–1961), María Cabrales Viuda de Maceo (1842–1905) and "La Delegada" Magdalena Peñarredonda (1846–1937), captain of the Liberating Army of Cuba whom José Martí appointed to represent the Partido Revolucionario Cubano in the pivotal province of Pinar del Río as well as the strategic operative and personal friend of General Antonio Maceo. Together these documents reveal not only an all-encompassing politicization that some may find surprising but an explicit sense of pride and gender equality already achieved in the camaraderie of crisis, activism, and war. Although predominantly drawn from the cycle of struggle and trauma produced during Cuba's last War for Independence in 1895 and the subsequent US military occupation (1898–1902), we have also included three striking documents from the personal collection of Ofelia Domínguez Navarro, a Communist Party militant and lawyer from Cienfuegos known for her work on behalf of women's rights and her election to Cuba's 1940 Constitutional Convention. Although made famous by her early activism and persecution in the fight to oust Cuba's president-turned-dictator Gerardo Machado, Domínguez Navarro's three-year-stint as Fulgencio Batista's minister of propaganda during Batista's only elected presidency (1940–1944) is almost entirely erased from history. From 1941, when Cuba joined the Allied powers to fight the Nazis and Japanese, no soldiers ever served in any front. However, Domínguez Navarro not only oversaw the organization and training of a Civil Defense corps; she also broadcast weekly radio shows detailing the nature of the Third Reich's genocidal policies and the radical threat that fascism represented in this hemisphere. One of the highlights of this selection of documents is a poster designed under Domínguez Navarro's watch that ascribes direct historical links between the anti-racist, anti-imperialist, and democratic vision of nation Cubans espoused during their nineteenth-century independence wars and the kind of unconditional support for the Allied cause needed to defeat modern-day totalitarianism. Today, few historians of Cuba would dispute the pronounced shifts in once-accepted narratives that have marked the past few decades in our field. Astonishing discoveries of new knowledge and bold interpretations of hidden archives have cracked open and sometimes demolished long-standing taboos. Perhaps no greater strides have been made in the historiography of Cuba than those related to the centrality, agency, leadership, intellectual contributions, resistance, and repression of Black Cubans, the enslaved and others of African descent. Remarkably, female Cubans' experience, whatever their class, racial identity, or heritage, remains less examined, subsumed—some might argue—into the often gargantuan task of simply gaining access in Cuba to any archives or library's primary source collections. This is especially true when it comes to certain periods of history, such as the 1930s to the 1950s, let alone key topics, such as Cuba's postcommunist history of agrarian reform, industrial relations, punitive use of labor camps, property confiscations, and the like. For this reason, it is often as challenging as it is tantalizing to encounter unexpected voices from the past that speak in ways that are familiar while also exotic and unknown. We hope that this dossier of Forgotten Voices inspires readers to examine further the unceasing faith in Cuba's ability to correct the failings of the past and abiding— even relentless—optimism in the future that their words evoke.

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. 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