Journal articles on the topic 'Student strikes, 1968'

Abstract After the repression of the student movement in 1968, it was feminists who collectively took over public spaces for the first time in the 1970s. In recent years, two of the most representative occupations have taken place at the Angel of Independence in Mexico City and the Department of Philosophy and Literature at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). Over the past fifty years, feminist political strategies have proliferated, exerting a significant, direct impact on the visual regime and the disappropriation of cultural patrimony. Drawing on the voices of different generations of feminists, this article explores the political meanings that striking, work stoppage, and occupation have acquired, and some of the visual and narrative political strategies (including strikethroughs, graffiti, and mural-making) that serve them.

The protests that affected the student population in 1968 around the world did not go beyond Yugoslavia. The first Belgrade, and then the students of other Yugoslav universities, launched demonstrations and highlighted the demands for more equitable relations in society. Student demonstrations in Yugoslavia that erupted in June 1968, were a series of public demonstrations and strikes and other protest actions that took place at universities in Yugoslavia, with special emphasis on demonstrations of students from the Belgrade University. The year 1968 is a symbol of revolution and historical change in society, and student revolutionary mood, mini-revolution, demonstrations, riots and dissatisfaction spread from the United States to Europe, and from Paris through Prague to Belgrade, Zagreb, Ljubljana and Sarajevo. Student dissatisfaction was initiated by the inefficiency of the implementation of economic and social reform, and the decline in the standard of living not only of the broader strata of society, which had a negative impact on the student population. During the student mini-revolution, they were trying to gain for their ideals the working class, convincing them in equal interests and the only way to the desired goal, but without success. In this connection, this paper seeks to draw on the basis of the press (Oslobodjenje and Front Freedom) and letters and telegrams addressed to the Union of Students of the Belgrade University to demonstrate that the employees of the company and mine in the Tuzla region reacted to these student demonstrations in Belgrade, then the schools, college students and others. By holding a meeting of working collectives, choirs, then sending letters and telegrams, they condemned the actions of students, but also gave full support to Tito in building a self-managing socialist society.

In June 1968, Yugoslav university students launched strikes and demonstrations condemning police brutality and university conditions and critiquing the apparent failure of self-managing socialism. The "June events" show that the demonstrators were active participants in a global movement but also heavily influenced by local context, practices, and ideas. Whereas Yugoslav youth engaged with, drew from, and ignored the activities of other student movements, authorities reacted to youth rebellion by insisting that the majority of the protesters were showing support for state policies and that the most incorrigible were influenced by, or agents of, foreign entities. Thus, the state reproduced an artificially rigid boundary between east and west as well as between good socialist youth and enemy agents. This article decenters the west as the standard of youth rebellion, considering it in conjunction with but not in comparison to Yugoslavia. It approaches the Cold War world as characterized by the transfer of ideas and practices, not just the clash of civilizations.

Précis Si, aux yeux des rares Français qui la visitèrent durant les années 1960, la Hochschule für Gestaltung d'Ulm s'affirma comme un lieu d'étude exemplaire, le climat régnant au sein de cette prestigieuse école de design allemande allait irréversiblement se dégrader en 1968. La complicité qui semblait établie entre enseignants et étudiants allait être mise à mal au cours du mois de mai 1968. Des Français essayèrent néanmoins de faire infuser l'esprit de cet établissement allemand, descendant du Bauhaus, au sein des écoles d'art françaises. Lors des assemblées générales et des commissions pédagogiques de Mai 1968, ceux-ci contribuèrent à la création d'une unité d'enseignement et de recherche pluridisciplinaire animée par plusieurs membres de l'école d'Ulm et soutenue par André Malraux : l'Institut de l'environnement. Les grèves et révoltes étudiantes qui enflammèrent le Quartier latin eurent réciproquement une forte influence au sein de l'école d'Ulm, la conduisant à sa fermeture définitive. L'auteur analyse ici ces complexes effets de vases communicants. The few French visitors to the Ulm Hochschule für Gestaltung in the 1960s considered it an exemplary place to study. But the prevailing climate in this prestigious German school of design declined irreversibly in 1968. May ’68 challenged its atmosphere of productive collaboration between teachers and students. In France, however, some tried to instill the spirit of this Bauhaus‐affiliated German establishment in French art schools. On the one hand, during the general assemblies and educational commissions of May 1968, these individuals contributed to the creation of a multidisciplinary teaching and research unit led by several members of the Ulm school and supported by André Malraux: the Institut de l'Environnement. On the other hand, the student strikes and protests that raged through the Latin Quarter had a strong influence on the Hochschule für Gestaltung, leading to its final closure. The author analyzes this complex interdependence.

In the fall of 1968, 54,000 of 57,000 New York City teachers went on strike in what has since become known as the Ocean Hill-Brownsville Teachers’ Strike. With schools closed for thirty-six days, from September to November, more than one million students were left without schools to attend. Nearly 300,000 of them were high school students—many of whom utilized their “time off” to become or, in some cases, continue to be socially and politically active. This article outlines high school students’ involvement in the Ocean Hill-Brownsville Crisis. It centers upon the New York High School Student Union, which was established as a citywide student organization in September of 1968. During the tense days of that autumn, members of this organization openly supported the African American community’s call for decentralization of schools and firmly opposed the United Federation of Teachers’s strike action.

University mission: The fight for reform at the Catholic University in ChileThe author asks about the mission of the university understood as an axiologically defined way of life. She follows the history of the university reform in Chile in the 20th century, its two key moments from the point of view of university reflection: the strike in 1949 and in 1967. She notes that the strike phenomenon, although contrary to the idea of the university, is a tool for the disclosure of the university community. Both strikes were organized by architecture students at private Catholic universities in Santiago and Valparaíso, respectively, hence the demands for total reorganization, research autonomy, modernization and democratization can be regarded as radical. The author describes the research and teaching practice of the so-called School of Valparaíso, which can be considered the most important source and largest beneficiary having been granted the Open City area of the university reform in Chile. The ideas of architect Alberto Cruz Covarrubias and poet Godofredo Iommi Marini are also a good case for analyzing the problem of university autonomy the issue of apoliticality and questions about when the university fails in its mission.

The subject of the student movement and its political movement in Najaf, as a conscious and important segment of the national movement, constitutes an important unstudied page in its political history, whether at the level of local histories, or at the level of Iraqi historical and political studies. Our research on (the political activity of Najaf students 1932-1958) comes to fill some of the shortcomings in its subject. The research included a presentation of the details of the events that took place in the city of Najaf, including strikes, demonstrations, and confrontations with the security forces, and the role of students in them.

Turkey has the honor of being the first modern, secular state in a predominantly Muslim Middle East. From 1968–1971, the Turkish armed forces played a critical role in the political formation of modern Turkey, contributing to a watershed moment in Turkish history as the country’s youth began to split between the ideological left and the right. The country was in a state of chaos as of January 1971. Turkish universities closed their doors and students formed groups of urban guerrillas, robbing banks and targeting Americans for kidnappings. “Young Turks” as they were known, grew dramatically in strength, registering the most strikes between January 1 and March 12, 1971. Consequently, a Turkish military intervention came as no surprise to most people in the country at that time. This article analyzes the Republic of Turkey’s leftist youth movement from 1968 to 1971.

The article examines the place of the Yugoslav actor and director Stevo Žigon in the context of the 1960s – the period of the first upheavals in the post-war history of the Federation. It traces the main socio-political processes and the reaction to them by the artistic intelligentsia through the emergence of the cinematic Black Wave and the BITEF. The text outlines S. Žigon’s place in the context of these processes, as it focuses on three important roles of his from the 1960s – the role of the judge in Z. Berkovic’s film “Rondo» (1966), the Robespierre’s monologue during the student strike at the University of Belgrade in 1968, the performance “Hamlet» (1971), which Žigon directed, while also playing the main role. The film “Rondo” is considered one of the prime examples of Yugoslav cinema modernism of the 1960s, in which several theatrical approaches were applied (interior shots, leitmotif, the “theatre curtain” effect, etc.). Robespierre’s monologue of the same name, performed by Stevo Žigon during the student strike in Belgrade, is interpreted as a performance composed of three types of elements – «dramatological», «historical» and «performative». Based on theatre reviews from that time, the reception of S. Žigon’s performance “Hamlet” (1971) is analysed as a particular phenomenon in the Belgrade theatre life and as a testimony to the creative evolution of the director and the actor in the course of assimilating the ground-breaking achievements in European directing (H. Litzau, P. Brook). The article concludes that Žigon’s contribution to the development of SFRY’s theatre can be thought of in two directions: the approach of the stage art to the current socio-political reality through performative practices and active experimentations with the theatrical language; the opposition of the “literary theatre» and the use of the achievements of the world’s avant-garde theatre schools of the 1950s and 1960s.

Background/Context Although the dominant narrative of the civil rights movement marginalizes the role of black educators, revisionist scholars have shown that a significant number of black teachers encouraged student protest and activism. There has, however, been little analysis of the work of black teachers inside segregated schools in the South. Purpose/Objective This study examines the courses that Southern African American teachers taught, the pedagogies they practiced, and the extracurricular programs they organized. Using Charleston's Burke Industrial School as a lens to illuminate pedagogies of protest that were practiced by activist educators in the South, this study explores how leading black educators created spaces within segregated schools where they bred dissatisfaction with white supremacy. Research Design This historical analysis draws upon archival sources, school board minutes, school newspapers and yearbooks, oral testimony, and autobiographies. Conclusions/Recommendations In Charleston, as elsewhere in the South, activist African American teachers made crucial contributions to the civil rights movement. Fusing an activist version of the African American uplift philosophy with John Dewey's democratic conception of progressive education, exemplary teachers created academic and extracurricular programs that encouraged student protest. Beginning in the 1940s and continuing through the 1960s, students acted on lessons taught in classes and extracurricular clubs, organizing and leading strikes, boycotts, and demonstrations. The pedagogies that leading African American educators practiced, the aspirations they nurtured, and the student activism they encouraged helped make the civil rights movement possible.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">This article was <a href="https://digitalpress.ugm.ac.id/article/323" target="_blank">retracted</a> on 16 October 2019.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">May 1968 was one of the most important events in French after the Second World War. The movement began on 3 may by the students and was able to invite other groups until June 1968. It was marked by the action of May 13, 1968, which involves workers to participate in events with students. Success cannot be done without the pamphlets as a means of communication to invite and mobilize the community to carry out the demonstration and general strike. Yet, in the making of pamphlets we should take care of the choice of words and sentences due to space limitations. Using qualitative methods and literature study techniques, this article describes the sentential structure of calls to the corpus of action to pamphlets, based on Querler‘s theory of sentence structure (1994). The freedom of the authors towards space limitations led to structural differences in each pamphlet becoming corpus. However, the use of optional expansion, the compilation of sentences and the use of punctuation significantly facilitated two groups of society in the action of May 13, 1968 to understand the reasons for and the objectives of the action to implement.</p>

One of the most revolutionary movements in the history of US universities—the Third World students’ strike that shut down San Francisco (SF) State College for five months in 1968–69—had a key precursor in the Experimental College (EC), which supported student-organized courses, including the first Black studies courses, at SF State. The EC offers inspiration for creating infrastructures of radical imagination and study. The EC appropriated resources—including spaces, money, teachers, credits, and technologies—for studying within, against, and beyond the normal university. The EC facilitated courses with revolutionary content, and they fostered modes of study in these courses that were radically alternative to the education-based mode of study. Contributing my concept of “modes of study,” I offer guidance for revolutionary movements on the terrain of universities today. Through analysis of archival materials and interviews with organizers of the EC and Black Student Union, I found that the EC organizers’ potentials for supporting revolutionary study were limited by their romanticizing of education, which was coconstituted with subscriptions to modernist imaginaries. Rejecting the education-based mode of study as bound up with liberal-capitalist modernity/coloniality, organizers today can appropriate their universities’ resources for alternative modes of study and world-making.

The article analyzes the first years of “the cultural revolution” in China (1966—1967), characterized by high revolutionary activity of students and school youth, organized into groups of “red guards”, who were distinguished in their actions by extreme cruelty and fanaticism. From this point of view, the destructive actions of the red guards, which were of a terrorist and mass nature, highlight the main direction of their revolutionary strike, which was inflicted on the party and state apparatus of China. Mao Zedong is presented as the initiator of a mass movement of red guards who used monstrous terrorist methods to fight his opposition and all, from their point of view, not enough politically conscious elements. The hongweibing movement, considered as an instrument of Mao Zedong’s struggle with the opposition, allows to reveal in the course of research the personal qualities of a leader who, in the name of establishing his own cult, was not afraid to deliberately plunge the entire country into mass and deeply disorderly turmoil. The detailed description of Mao Zedong’s personal attitude to what is happening, based on documentary sources, reveals the deeply dictatorial and anti-democratic nature of his power, which was asserted in the first years of “the cultural revolution” with the help of the red guards movement.

AbstractFrom 1959 to 1964, Prince Edward County, Virginia, dodged a court desegregation order by refusing to operate public schools. Though the county played an integral role in the national battle over civil rights, scholars and journalists have largely neglected Prince Edward's role in the national drama of race. In 1951, Black high school students went on strike to protest unequal school facilities. This strike led to an NAACP lawsuit that became one of five decided inBrown v. Board of Education. When faced with a final desegregation deadline in 1959, the county put itself in a unique position by becoming the only school district in the U.S. to close its public schools for an extended period of time rather than accept any desegregation. Most White students attended a private, segregated academy; over three-quarters of Black Prince Edward students lost some or all of those years of education. White county leaders believed they were creating a blueprint for defying desegregation in the rural South and perhaps, they hoped, throughout much of the United States. Using archival materials, interviews and secondary accounts, I explain how White county leaders made a public case for the school closings. These leaders' rhetorical strategy was a crucial early draft in the depiction of segregation as a natural state free of racial rancor. The segregationist rhetoric emanating from Prince Edward County was grounded primarily in arguments for privatization, local self-determination, and taxpayers' rights. Such arguments would come to dominate conservative rhetoric nationwide.

Author, lecturer, and long-time liberal Democrat S.I. Hayakawa joined the faculty of San Francisco State College in 1955. A general semanticist, he became acting president of the school during the student strike of 1968-69, and rode the fame generated then into the U..S Senate as a hard-nosed Republican. He was not an effective senator and served only one term, becoming infamous for sleeping during meetings. He also justified the World War II internment of Japanese Americans and Canadians and favored declaring English America's national language. His later image as an anti-immigrant bumbler seems a parody of the man, but an evaluation of the sum of his accomplishments suggests there was much more to him than his opponents concede.

In this paper, we present authorship attribution methods applied to ¡El Mondrigo! (1968), a controversial text supposedly created by order of the Mexican Government to defame a student strike. Up to now, although the authorship of the book has been attributed to several journalists and writers, it could not be demonstrated and remains an open problem. The work aims at establishing which one of the most commonly attributed writers is the real author. To do that, we implement methods based on stylometric features using textual distance, supervised, and unsupervised learning. The distance-based methods implemented in this work are Kilgarriff and Delta of Burrows, an SVM algorithm is used as the supervised method, and the k-means algorithm as the unsupervised algorithm. The applied methods were consistent by pointing out a single author as the most likely one.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to examine how Harry Messel, Harold Wyndham, L.C. Robson and Robert Menzies were instrumental in bringing about substantial change in science curriculum and infrastructure reform in NSW schools. Design/methodology/approach – The paper relies on substantial archival research including materials never before examined or used by historians of education history. The paper is divided into sections, the first uses teacher surveys and identifies problems with science teaching in 1958, a key year in education history and each section after that looks at the contribution of Wyndham, Messel, Robson and Menzies in driving a new direction for science education. Findings – The research found that Wyndham, Messel, Robson and Menzies each contributed a new dimension to the reform of science education in Australia. Their individual contributions were substantial, inter-related and interlocking but quite different. The paper argues that it is not adequate to look at science education reform purely as a means to introduce State Aid, rather science education reform was advocated as a means to ensure students had a scientific literacy going forward into a technologically driven future. Research limitations/implications – The research strikes a path through a vast primary source record to outline how individuals and science teachers more generally believed in science education reform as a mechanism to ensure students were better placed to enter a post-Sputnik world. As a result, known arguments around State Aid are only part of the story and not the main focus of the research. The aim is to supplement that knowledge by looking more at a broader picture for science reform for its own sake. Originality/value – This paper takes an original approach to the history of curriculum change by providing a broader context for the State Aid debate, that is, by focussing on individual contributions to science education reform for its own sake and because science education was deemed necessary for student literacy in the future. At the same time it uses archival material never before accessed or used to tease out this history. The teachers’ surveys provide a unique insight into conditions for science teachers in the late 1950s. This material has not been accessed before and it provides a context upon which to superimpose the impact of the contributions of Wyndham, Messel, Robson and Menzies.

If ours is a young man's world, it is also a woman's world. Some of us who are fortunate to have women among our graduate students and as young colleagues are extraordinarily impressed by the high level of their work. Indeed, we often wonder if criticism will not make substantial strides forward, blending the cognitive and the affective values, taste and a rational approach, the logic of the intellect and that of the heart, only when women take over a large share of it, as they are now out-numbering men as teachers of English and of languages in many schools. This country witnessed a bold feminist movement several decades ago. The second sex then conquered all the rights and courageously accepted corresponding duties. College presidents in women's colleges were in many cases women. In anthropology, archeology, psychology several American women have been outstanding. So have they been in journalism. Why not to the same extent today in philology, medieval studies, literary history, criticism? Are men to blame, wary of these potential rivals, preferring to utilize women's generosity and their capacity for devoted attachment by keeping them as secretaries and obedient confidents of their profound male cogitations? Have women put so much energy in once winning equality and security that they are now content to enjoy these rights, and to look upon maternity and procreation without tears and without anesthesia as their sole vocation? Men in any case have the duty to make room for them, to incite them to express themselves more boldly, to elect them to more positions of power in this Association and in others, to ask them for the healthy challenge which our duller brains need to receive from their keener perceptiveness in matters of art and literature.

Using data from the Digest of Educational Statistics, this article argues that an intergenerational comparison is a more productive, progressive method to interpret data used to gauge the achievement gap. It applies this method by comparing the academic achievement scores and educational outcomes of African Americans over a nearly 70-year period, 1940-2008, and uses the metrics’ National Assessment of Educational Progress average reading scores in fourth and eighth grade and high school and college completion-most often applied in assessing the achievement gap. It argues that since the inception of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (1965), and the compensatory education programs that have grown out this act, African Americans have made some of the greatest strides in improving their educational performance and outcomes in virtually every measureable category used to assess the achievement gap. The intergenerational comparisons offered serve as a counterassessment to the traditional modes of analysis that compare the achievement scores and educational outcomes of white to minority students.

Civil resistance has had a crucial role in promoting social, political, and economic change throughout the world. During the period of dictatorships in South America, civil resistance through the use of nonviolent methods was implemented by Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo) to address human rights violations, which eventually led to campaigns to demand democracy in Argentina. The military dictatorship of Pinochet in Chile also fell to the nonviolent campaigns and people power movements. Bolivia presents another case on the effectiveness of civil resistance against not only military dictatorships but also to demand the comeback of democracy. This article examines how civil resistance was implemented in Bolivia during the period of military dictatorships from 1964 to 1982. Once in power, the military dictatorships began to target workers and their union leaders, student organizations and leftist politicians driving them underground and into exile. State violence was used to repress opposition groups from all sectors and even the press. Security forces to include paramilitary groups were behind a series of kidnappings, tortures and killing of activists. To curb the state violence, union workers, miners, indigenous/campesino group, political leaders, and university students began a series of coordinated nonviolent methods, such as hunger strikes, road blockades, mass protests and marches. This article describes the benefits and outcomes of civil resistance showing how these nonviolent techniques and strategies were used to fight against military dictatorships and led the country back onto the path of re-democratization.

The economic analysis of law has gone through a remarkable change in the past decade and a half. The founding articles of the discipline – such classic pieces as Ronald Coase's “The problem of social cost” (1960), Richard Posner's “A theory of negligence” (1972) and Guido Calabresi and Douglas Malamed's “Property rules, liability rules, and inalienability: One view of the cathedral” (1972) – offered economic analyses of familiar aspects of the common law, seeking to explain, in particular, fundamental features of the law of tort in terms of such economic ideas as transaction costs (Coase), Kaldor-Hicks efficiency (Posner), or minimizing the sum of the accident costs and avoidance costs (Calabresi and Malamed). In each case, they argued that the law of torts should be understood as a set of liability rules selected for their incentive effects, rather than as a set of substantive rights and remedies for their violation. These authors claimed to be able to explain most of the features of tort law and, where features were found that did not fit with their preferred explanations, recommended modification. Although they disagreed on important questions, each of the pieces seems to work a manageable structure into what strikes first-year law students as an otherwise random morass of common-law judgments. Generations of legal academics were introduced to these works, and drawn into their way of looking at things. As a student studying first-year torts with Calabresi at Yale, I had the sense that I was in the presence of greatness.

The author presents the determinants and basic problems of existence of Polish science and culture in the period preceding the turbulent year of 1968, as well as the events directly related to this key date in Poland’s history. The departure, by Mr Gomułka’s team, from the ‘achievements’ of the Polish October of ’56, that is, from certain concessions of a democratic nature, evoked deep disappointment in both institutions and the scientific, cultural and artistic milieus, and this, in time, led to attempts at protest. The PRP authorities and, most of all, the sections therein which were responsible for science, education and culture, systematically intervened in activities of the respective professional groups. The tightening of censorship, restrictions in the allocation of printing paper for books and periodicals, the closing down of newspapers, weeklies and magazines ‘inconvenient’ from the point of view of the authorities, the lack of opportunities for dialogue and constructive criticism, repressions against those who openly expressed their independent opinions, and the systematic surveillance of the scientific and creative milieus, were only a part of operations undertaken by the PRP powers-that-be in the second half of the 1960s. It was in that climate that a conflict between the state and the Roman Catholic Church was played out in the process of the Polish State Millennium celebrations in 1966, which coincided with the escalation of the party’s conflict with the intellectuals and men and women of letters, as well as with intra-party infighting between factions within the PUWP. It was the shortcomings of the centralised, command economy and the growing shortages in the shops which resulted in Poland’s situation becoming unstable and threatening to explode. The role of the fuse was performed by the events of March 1968, which were enacted in the cultural and scientific milieus: the turbulent meetings of Warsaw’s men and women of letters, the removal of Adam Mickiewicz’s Dziady (Forefathers’ Eve) from the National Theatre’s repertoire, the manifestation in protest against the removal which followed the last performance, and finally, the students’ rally in the courtyard of Warsaw University, as well as the strikes on the part of students and the personnel of higher education institutions in Warsaw and other Polish cities as the continuation of that rally. It was after these events, when the party had launched an anti-intelligentsia campaign, supplemented with an anti-Semite witch hunt and smear campaign, unleashed by the ‘partisans’ faction around Mieczysław Moczar and by Mr Władysław Gomułka himself. An ‘ethnic criterion’ was applied to the Polish scientific and cultural milieus, eliminating, in the climate of a media witch hunt, renowned academic teachers, scholars, film-makers, publishers, journalists, men and women of letters of Jewish extraction and, finally, driving them to emigrate from Poland. The Polish Armed Forces’ participation in the aggression against Czechoslovakia in 1968 evoked another wave of protests in Poland. The world of culture and science and its representatives living in the West expressed solidarity with the Czech and Slovak nations. This resulted in new arrests and the further emigration of the intellectual elites. It was the most dogmatic and anti-liberal faction of the party apparatchiks, supported by secret and overtcollaborators with the security structures, who came from different professional groups that were also related to science, culture and education, which became highly vocal and obtained wide access to the mass media. It was in this period that Polish culture and science toughened up and delivered itself of illusions; however, it also suffered losses, the recouping of which would be a painful process and, subsequently, would subsequently take its full toll of years.

American Sign Language (ASL), both as the focus of scholarly study and as an increasingly popular foreign-language option for many secondary and university level students, has made remarkable strides during recent years. With respect to the linguistics of ASL, there has been a veritable revolution in our understanding of the nature, structure, and complexity of the language since the publication of William Stokoe's landmark Sign Language Structure in 1960. Works on both theoretical aspects of the linguistics of ASL and on the sociolinguistics of the Deaf community now abound, and the overall quality of such works is impressively high. Also widely available now are textbooks designed to teach ASL as a second language. Such textbooks vary dramatically in quality, ranging from phrasebook and lexical guides to very thorough and up-to-date works focusing on communicative competence in ASL.

This article traces the pluralist politics at the heart of Clark Kerr's bookThe Uses of the Universityto the present-day politics of diversity. Pluralism was the dominant theory of American politics at midcentury, and Kerr was among its most admired spokespersons. First as a labor economist and strike negotiator, then as chancellor of the University of California, Berkeley, and later as president of the University of California system, Kerr relied on “pluralistic decision-making” to harmonize relations among the multiversity's mix of vested interests. Shortly afterThe Uses of the Universitywas published in 1963, however, student protesters at Berkeley and at other multiversities like it let Kerr know that they had grown tired of the pluralist politics that he championed. Ironically, in their effort to upend the pluralist status quo and to make politics more participatory, campus insurgents sowed the seeds for the growth of a new brand of pluralist politics known as diversity. By uncovering the relationship between pluralism and diversity, this article reveals the enduring—and surprising—political legacy of Kerr's multiversity model 50 years after he unveiled it.

The article strives to assess main groups of sources on the functioning of the Yaroslavl Demidov higher educational institution in the 19th – early 20th century. Drawing on archival material that is being thus introduced into scientific use, the article establishes that, as it changed its organizational form, the Demidov educational institution went through the following stages in its development: the Yaroslavl Demidov School of Higher Sciences (1803–1834); the Yaroslavl Demidov Lyceum (1834–1868); the Demidov Juridical Lyceum (1868–1918). Sources on the topic are divided into five groups. Some are published, other materials from the Russian State Archive of Ancient Acts, the Russian State Historical Archive, and the State Archive of the Yaroslavl Region are being introduced into scientific use for the first time. Legislative sources support a detailed study of the complex of key aspects of the higher education in the 19th – early 21st century. Their systematic analysis allows the author to determine the main development vector of the Demidov higher educational institution in the studied period and the legal frameworks of the Demidov Lyceum. The article shows the importance of paperwork and statistical sources for recreating its daily educational and extracurricular activities. Various reports provide data on the work of the Demidov higher educational institution over decades and summarized information on its student and teaching corps. In socio-economic terms, the analyzed facts indicate some staff turnover among teachers, intensification of the student movement in 1905–1907, all the while the school material base remained stable. The periodical press, memoirs, diaries, and travel notes contain unique information on the evolution of higher education in Yaroslavl and on the arrangements of student life. The corpus of historical sources permits to identify and detail main stages in the history of the Yaroslavl Demidov higher educational institution.

Industrial actions are complex social problems with debilitating socio-economic consequences on an organisation and its host communities. Notwithstanding this, a number of studies have neglected the coping mechanisms employed by host communities to deal with industrial strikes, focusing solely on the effects of labour disputes on workers and production. This study therefore investigates how host communities deal with industrial activities at the Niger Delta University (NDU). The latency theory served as the framework, while a cross-sectional research design was employed. Amassoma and Ogobiri communities were purposively selected for the study due to their proximity to NDU. A total sample of 418 respondents (aged ≥18 years) were selected, using Yamane’s (1965) sample size determination formula. Simple random sampling was used to administer a structured questionnaire to respondents in the selected host communities. Twelve In-Depth Interviews and six Focus Group Discussion sessions were held among business owners, farmers, landlords, commercial motorcyclists, and students to complement: the quantitative data. Quantitative data were analysed using descriptive statistics, while the qualitative data were content-analyzed. Findings from the study indicated that location change, occupation change, involvement in social vices, partying, etc were the main coping strategies adopted by members of host communities to deal with industrial actions at the Niger Delta University. The study, therefore, concluded that industrial actions affected host communities negatively. It is thus recommended that members of the host communities seek alternative vocational skills as livelihood sources to reduce the likely impact of NDU labour actions.

Purpose: This paper presents some empirical insights about the effect of the LMD system (Bologna Process) on practices at an English as a foreign language (EFL) program in a Sub-Saharan African (SSA) country. The study aimed at examining the dominant pedagogical practices and changes caused by the new system. Methodology: Based on a qualitative case study methodology and a theoretical framework that draws from Stenhouse (1967; 1975), classroom observation data, interviews, and documents were collected and analyzed thematically. Results: The analysis has revealed the predominance of lecturing through dictation and practices of summative assessment. These practices are contrary to the principles of the LMD system. This has been interpreted as a resistance from educators to use the new modes of teaching and assessment favored by the socio-constructivist and student-centered approach brought by the LMD system. Practical Implications: Considering the theoretical perspectives underpinning the study, the findings suggest the predominance of practices that are not favorable to English language learning. The study has certain implications for the implementation of LMD, stressing the need to redesign LMD practices based on empirical procedures that strives to understand the foundation of educators’ resistance to change. Originality/Value: The study makes a contribution about the application of Western educational tools to other contexts and raises the need for understanding the contextual teaching cultures prior to reform endeavors.

AbstractThis article uses oral history, archival material, and published primary sources to examine the competing conceptions of “innovation” at work in the creation and operation of the West Philadelphia Community Free School (WPCFS) from 1969 to 1978. One of the longest-running initiatives in the School District of Philadelphia's experimental Office of Innovative Programs, the WPCFS stood at the crossroads of conflicting imperatives for “innovation.” These included: (1) institutional interests in advancing “humanizing” pedagogy; (2) Black activists’ interests in operating a community-controlled school for students of color in West Philadelphia; and (3) teachers’ interests in balancing their commitments to “humanizing” instruction and a surrounding community with different educational priorities. We highlight two instances where the frictions between these uses of “innovation” became pronounced in the WPCFS—debates over “free time” and the 1973 teachers’ strike. These incidents clarify how the burden of reconciling opposing innovations fell unevenly on the teachers and community members—often in ways that pitted the groups against one another—and exacerbated raced and classed inequalities in the school and district. While the account focuses on the 1960–1970s, we suggest that the WPCFS is relevant for us today, offering insights for the present into the longer discursive history of “innovation” as a lever for school reform, and into its impacts on educational equity.

It is my privilege to write this tribute to Dr. Ibarra Crisostomo, a friend, colleague, Otolaryngologist, devoted husband, and a loving father. We honor him by expressing our loss but also by remembering how he has somehow touched our lives I first met Barry, as we all called him by his nickname, when I was a 1st year resident at the Department of Otolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery of East Avenue Medical Center. He was my senior then, among the six 2nd year residents that year. That first encounter marked the beginning of our longstanding friendship. As a senior and a mentor, he was very supportive and patient in imparting his knowledge and experience to his juniors. Never did he strike fear, but gained our respect with his simple and pleasant ways in dealing with us and our work. During our duties, he would make a difficult and toxic situation seem lighter due to his composure, humor, and caring attitude. In addition to his devotion to his work, I learned about his love for his family. They were never far from his thoughts. He was always in contact with them even when he was on duty at the hospital. He made certain to bring them a special little something when he went home He was indeed a selfless person. After his residency, he was committed to teaching and became a staff at the Department of ENT- HNS of the Armed Forces Medical Center. He was the Residency Training Officer for six years from 2002-2006. His humility and dedication to work was exemplary. He will be remembered by his residents and colleagues as an affectionate and beloved teacher who gave his best to his students and as a person of integrity, honesty and sincerity He also started his private practice as an Otolaryngologist in Marikina. He was also a successful entrepreneur and managed various businesses. Barry was an expert in multi-tasking by combining his medical practice with business. I admire him because he was indeed a good father and a good provider, always thinking about the welfare of his family. He felt proud and fulfilled that he was able to send his children to schools abroad Barry, a caring and loving family man, a cherished colleague, and an ENT-HNS specialist, a good friend, will be missed by many, but never will he be forgotten by those who were fortunate enough to have known him

It has become somewhat of a cliché to refer to May 1968 in France as an “interpretation in search of an event.” As many critics have pointed out, this designation fails to account for the real significance of the “events,” for the fact that May ’68 was one of the largest mass movement in French history—numerically, geographically, and sociologically—and one of the most acute political crises in postwar France. Yet, to refer to May ’68 as an interpretation does capture the extent to which the historiography of May ’68 has appeared, almost from the beginning, indistinguishable from its history, or, as Kristin Ross has put it, the extent to which May ’68 cannot be considered separately from its memory. At the risk of reducing some of these rich historiographical debates, we could say that, broadly speaking, two main issues have divided historians, philosophers, political theorists, and sociologists over the past forty years. The first has to do with the scope of the events, the degree to which the student leaders, the workers on strike, or the cultural legacy “mattered” more, or whether any of it mattered at all. The second line of contention has centered on the legacy of May ’68. According to some, May ’68 represented the acceleration of capitalism and modernization and it inaugurated an era of individualism and/or narcissism and political disengagement. In the eyes of these critics, ’68 was thus ultimately a conservative, or at least a libertarian, revolution. According to others, this was instead a truly radical period—socially, culturally, and politically—and this radicalism began to run out of steam towards the late 1970s. Instead of revolution, many intellectuals who had participated in May ’68 began to talk about ethics, morality, human rights, and the rule of law. Not surprisingly, commentators have once again differed on their reading of this “turn,” either condemning it or celebrating it, depending on their political bent. This “condemning” position has been articulated particularly forcefully by Kristin Ross in her excellent May ’68 and Its Afterlives. According to Ross, the “turn to ethics” marked a conscious “retreat from politics . . . that distorted not only May's ideology but much of its memory as well.” Ross's book is thus devoted to the analysis of this political radicalism—a radicalism that she situates in the union of intellectual contestation and workers’ struggle around what she calls “a polemics of equality”—and to the critique of its betrayal after 1976. On the other side of the spectrum, historians such as Tony Judt and Sunil Khilnani have praised this “ethical turn” as the moment in which French intellectuals were finally able to exorcise the (communist) revolutionary ideal that had haunted them throughout the twentieth century and to embrace liberalism.

Mit Mythen Leben, the 2004 study of Roman sarcophagi by Paul Zanker and Björn Ewald, has appeared (with updated references) in English. This is a cause for gladness among all Anglophones engaged in the teaching of ancient art, because for non-German readers there was frankly nothing to match the intellectual scope and illustrative quality of Zanker–Ewald. Our only regret may be that students will find this explanation of the imagery on the sarcophagi so convincing that further debate seems futile. It is well known that Roman sarcophagi, of which thousands survive from the second and third centuries ad, have had a ‘presence’ or ‘afterlife’ in Western art history for many centuries: some were even re-used for Christian burials (the tale of one such case in Viterbo, the so-called ‘Bella Galiana’ sarcophagus, might be one addendum to the bibliography here). But what did they once signify? Many were produced in marble workshops of the eastern Mediterranean, from which the suspicion arises that Roman customers may not have exercised much discrimination when it came to selecting a subject or decorative scheme. (Our authors rather sidestep the question of how much was carved at sites of origin, such as Aphrodisias, then completed – with portrait features added? – in Rome.) Accepting, however, that an elaborate sarcophagus was a considerable investment – the cost calculated as about six months’ or even a year's salary for a captain in the Praetorian Guard – and supposing that the imagery were more than a status symbol, we are left with essentially two options. One is to follow the Belgian scholar Franz Cumont and others in analysing the iconography in terms of its clues to Roman beliefs about the afterlife. For certain images of myth this seems to work very well – the story of Alcestis, for example; for others, rather abstruse allegories must be sought: what eschatology is lodged in Medea's tragedy, or a scene of Achilles on Skyros? The alternative is to follow Zanker and Ewald in supposing that the sarcophagi do not so much represent the belief systems of the deceased as offer a sort of visual counselling to the bereaved. Hence the title – living with myths, not dying with them: for the regular occasions on which Romans were obliged to remember and honour the dead (parentalia, rosaria, etc.), sarcophagi on display in family burial enclosures provided ‘encouragement to free association’ (31) in various therapeutic and consolatory ways. These of course encompass some of Cumont's reconstructions of Stoic comfort and so on – but with its emphasis upon the response of viewers, the Zanker–Ewald approach clearly allows more flexibility of significance. To say that the message often reduces to ‘it could be worse’ is a brutal summary of the sympathetic and subtle readings expounded in this book. Yet occasionally one could wish for more sophistry. For example, in discussing the consolatory potential of images of Niobe and her unfortunate offspring – a ‘massacre of the innocents’ with obvious pertinence to mors immatura – the authors allude (74) to the curious persuasive strategy deployed by Achilles when he, at last in a mood to yield up the mangled body of Hector, invites the grief-stricken Priam to supper (Il. 24.603 ff.). As Malcolm Willcock long ago showed (CQ 14 [1964], 141 ff.), Achilles resorts to a formulaic paradeigma: ‘You must do this, because X, who was in more or less the same situation as you, and a more significant person, did it.’ Only in this the case the a fortiori argument relies upon a rather implausible twist to the usual story, namely that Niobe, having witnessed the deaths of her twelve children – and with their corpses still unburied, since everyone in the vicinity has been turned to stone – adjourns to dinner. No other telling of the myth mentions this detail: indeed, Niobe herself is usually the one turned to stone. Of course this version suits Achilles well enough: if Niobe lost all her children but not her appetite, why should Priam, who has lost merely one of his many sons and daughters, hesitate to share a meal? But did Homer expect his audience to be disconcerted by such mythical manipulation, or was it typical of what happened when myth served as consolation? And if Achilles/Homer may resort to such embroidery, did educated Romans feel inclined to do likewise? Was this part of the presence of myth in ‘everyday life’?

This presentation focuses on a transdisciplinary approach to innovative and collaborative learning practices driven by technology. It highlights two salient elements associated with industry practices and processes in relation to learning and educational contexts: empowerment of individuals and communities of practice through technology, and a broader consideration of industrial approaches to the concept of learning and teaching enhanced within a digital environment. More precisely, this presentation will feature some of the key theoretical frameworks used in three different settings of learning and teaching in France with regards to the life-long learning approach thanks to Social and Emotional Learning (SEL) (WEF, 2016). It will also discuss the positive effect of the Internet and its affordances (Southerton & Taylor, 2020) on reducing the differences between theoretical and applied knowledge via professional-focused communities (Danvers, 2003). Thus, it will briefly explain that spatial and cognitive learning proximities (Lave & Wenger 1991; Fruchter, 2001) can be reduced by virtue of technology (Anders, 2016; Antonczak, 2019; Glazewski & Hmelo-Silver, 2019) and that ‘computer-supported collaborative learning’ methods can facilitate social and shared problem-solving (Sawyer, 2005; Levallet & Chan, 2018; Presicce et al., 2020) without the ‘restriction of time and place’ (Cheng et al., 2019, 489). Additionally, it will point out some aspects of problem-solving through ‘emancipatory learning and social action’ (Merriam, 2001, 9) through the use of ‘actual’ content and ‘actionable feedback’ (Woods & Hennessy, 2019) enhanced by digital tools and tactics. Next, it will focus on three case studies by concisely presenting key specifics for each of the courses, including the various digital tools used and followed by some quick interim reflections. Then it will summarise the challenges and the barriers encountered across the different practices such as virtual delivery, the size of the students' groups and some connectivity considerations. It will be followed by the principal advantages and opportunities, like the professionalisation dimension through interactive and authentic learning enhanced by affordances. And it will conclude with some managerial recommendations as experiential and practical methods (knowledge codification) thanks to industry-based teaching supported by digital technologies. The presentation will close with the overall conclusion in relation to digital technology and some of the key 21st-century career skills. In general, the findings will be of interest to academics, practitioners and policymakers. The added value of this transdisciplinary investigation is that it improves research on collaborative innovation and collective knowledge by creating a bridge between the fields of Education and Business. Bibliography Anders, A. (2016). Team communication platforms and emergent social collaboration practices. International Journal of Business Communication, 53(2), pp. 224-261. Ananiadou, K. & M. Claro (2009). 21st Century Skills and Competences for New Millennium Learners in OECD Countries, OECD Education Working Papers, No. 41, OECD Publishing. Antonczak, L. (2019). Scaling-up collaborative practices through mobile technology. The 25th International Conference on Engineering/International Technology Management Conference (ICE/ITMC), June 17-19, Nice. Askay, D. A. & Spivack, A. J. (2010). The multidimensional role of trust in enabling creativity within virtual communities of practice: A theoretical model integrating swift, knowledge-based, institution-based, and organizational trust. In 43rd Hawaii International Conference on System Sciences, Hawaii, pp. 1-10. Cairns, L. (2000). The process/outcome approach to becoming a capable organization. In Australian Capability Network Conference, Sydney, 1-14. Cheng, E. W., Chu, S. K., & Ma, C. S. (2019). Students’ intentions to use PBWorks: a factor-based PLS-SEM approach. Information and Learning Sciences, 120(7/8), 489-504. Cochrane, T., Antonczak, L., Guinibert, M., Mulrennan, D., Rive, V., & Withell, A. (2017). A framework for designing transformative mobile learning. In Mobile Learning in Higher Education in the Asia-Pacific Region ( 25-43). Springer, Singapore. Danvers, J. (2003). Towards a radical pedagogy: Provisional notes on learning and teaching in art & design. International Journal of Art & Design Education, 22(1), 47-57. Dewey, J. (1991). Logic: The theory of inquiry. In J. A. Boydston (Ed.), John Dewey: The Later Works, 1925–1953, Vol. 12 (1-5). Carbondale, IL: SIU Press. [Originally published in 1938] Dziuban, C., Graham, C. R., Moskal, P. D., Norberg, A., & Sicilia, N. (2018). Blended learning: the new normal and emerging technologies. International Journal of Educational Technology in Higher Education, 15(1), 1-16. Fruchter, R. (2001). Dimensions of teamwork education. International Journal of Engineering Education, 17(4/5), 426-430. Glazewski, K. D., & Hmelo-Silver, C. E. (2019). Scaffolding and supporting the use of information for ambitious learning practices. Information and Learning Sciences, 120(1/2), 39-58. Hase, S. & Kenyon, C. (2007). Heutagogy: A child of complexity theory. Complicity: An International Journal of Complexity and Education, 4(1), 111-119. Lave, J. & Wenger, E. (1991). Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levallet, N., & Chan, Y. E. (2018). Role of Digital Capabilities in Unleashing the Power of Managerial Improvisation. MIS Quarterly Executive, 17(1), 1-21. Lewin, K. (1947). Group decision and social change. Readings in Social Psychology, 3(1), 197-211. McKenney, S., & Reeves, T. C. (2013). Systematic review of design-based research progress: Is a little knowledge a dangerous thing?. Educational Researcher, 42(2), 97-100. Makri, S., Ravem, M., & McKay, D. (2017). After serendipity strikes: Creating value from encountered information. Proceedings of the Association for Information Science and Technology, 54(1), 279-288. Mascheroni, G., & Vincent, J. (2016). Perpetual contact as a communicative affordance: Opportunities, constraints, and emotions. Mobile Media & Communication, 4(3), 310-326. Merriam, S. B. (2001). Andragogy and self-directed learning: Pillars of adult learning theory. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 89, 3-13. Pont, B. (2013). Learning Standards, Teaching Standards and Standards for School Principals: A Comparative Study. Rapport no. EDU/WKP(2013)14. Centre of Study for Policies and Practices in Education (CEPPE). Retrieved from: http://www.oecd.org/officialdocuments/publicdisplaydocumentpdf/?cote=EDU/WKP(2013)14&docLanguage=En (accessed December 31, 2020). Presicce, C., Jain, R., Rodeghiero, C., Gabaree, L. E., & Rusk, N. (2020). WeScratch: an inclusive, playful and collaborative approach to creative learning online. Information and Learning Sciences, 121(7/8), 695-704. Reeves, T. C. (2005). Design-based research in educational technology: Progress made, challenges remain. Educational Technology, 45(1), 48-52. Southerton, C., & Taylor, E. (2020). Habitual disclosure: Routine, affordance, and the ethics of young peoples social media data surveillance. Social Media+ Society, 6(2), https://doi.org/10.1177/2056305120915612

AbstractThis article explores the student strike which won Ethnic Studies and Black college student admissions. The San Francisco State Strike of 1968 which shut down the campus for five months was unique in its vision, its intensity, its class composition, its strategies, and its relationship to both the Black community and non-Black student organizations. The event is significant because the creation of Ethnic Studies as an academic field has vastly expanded humanity’s knowledge of African-American history and the history of other people of color, and the percentage of Black students completing four years of college more than doubled in the period following this strike and subsequent similar college movements. One of the authors was a leader of the Black Student Union Central Committee. The authors use interviews with the leaders, personal reflection, and archival material to draw conclusions about the reasons for the strike’s success and long-lasting impact. Its lessons may have importance for the racial and social justice movements of today.

À l’instar d’autres institutions post-secondaires de l’époque, le Collège Sainte-Anne du village acadien de Pointe-de-l’Église (Nouvelle-Écosse) vit aussi une grève étudiante en 1968. L’évènement déclencheur est un éventuel déménagement de l’institution à Yarmouth. Le présent article analyse la mentalité des étudiants de ce collège classique au moment de la grève. Il vise ainsi à combler, au moins partiellement, une lacune dans l’historiographie actuelle consacrée aux années soixante, qui est encore largement limitée aux centres urbains. L’article conclut que, sans être coupés des bouleversements qui frappent l’Occident dans la foulée de l’année 1968, les étudiants de Sainte-Anne maintiennent une certaine sensibilité conservatrice, ne cherchant pas à rompre brutalement avec leurs aînés.Like other postsecondary institutions of the era, College Sainte-Anne, situated in the Acadian village of Church Point (Nova Scotia), experienced a student strike in 1968. The catalyst was the College’s possible move to Yarmouth. The article analyses this classical college’s students’ mentality at the time of the strike. It seeks to fill, at least partially, a gap in “sixties” historiography, which is still largely focused on urban centres. The article concludes that, while not cut off from the upheaval that affected the entire Western world in the years following 1968, Sainte-Anne students maintained a conservative sensibility, refusing a brutal break with their elders.

In recent years, school strikes and street protests for climate justice have drawn international attention to young people's mobilisation and activism on global issues. This article addresses the need to map the history of global awareness among young people by exploring the origins of the Operation Dagsverke (Operation Day's Work) campaign in Sweden during the early 1960s. Drawing primarily on material from the student-led school council organisation SECO, the aim is to show how young people mobilised support for addressing global issues. The results show that the campaign format was initially developed by university students in 1960, after which it was adapted by students in secondary education. It is argued that the campaign was successful in transforming time, a resource that young students possessed, into economic contributions. On the organisational level, the structure of the student council organisation SECO was important for the campaign's initial success.

Photo by Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash ABSTRACT A strike to highlight the plight facing contract doctors which has been proposed has received mixed reactions from those within the profession and the public. This unprecedented nationwide proposal has the potential to cause real-world effects, posing an ethical dilemma. Although strikes are common, especially in high-income countries, these industrial actions by doctors in Malaysia are almost unheard of. Reviewing available evidence from various perspectives is therefore imperative to update the profession and the complexity of invoking this important human right. INTRODUCTION Contract doctors in Malaysia held a strike on July 26, 2021. COVID-19 cases are increasing in Malaysia. In June, daily cases ranged between 4,000 to 8,000 despite various public health measures. The R naught, which indicates the infectiousness of COVID-19, remains unchanged. During the pandemic, health care workers (HCWs) have been widely celebrated, resulting in a renewed appreciation of the risks that they face.[1] The pandemic has exposed flawed governance in the public healthcare system, particularly surrounding the employment of contract doctors. Contract doctors in Malaysia are doctors who have completed their medical training, as well as two years of internship, and have subsequently been appointed as medical officers for another two years. Contract doctors are not permanently appointed, and the system did not allow extensions after the two years nor does it offer any opportunity to specialize.[2] Last week, Parliament did decide to offer a two-year extension but that did not hold off the impending strike.[3] In 2016, the Ministry of Health introduced a contract system to place medical graduates in internship positions at government healthcare facilities across the country rather than placing them in permanent posts in the Public Service Department. Social media chronicles the issues that doctors in Malaysia faced. However, tensions culminated when and contract doctors called for a strike which ended up taking place in late July 2021. BACKGROUND Over the past decade, HCW strikes have arisen mostly over wages, work hours, and administrative and financial factors.[4] In 2012, the British Medical Association organized a single “day of action” by boycotting non-urgent care as a response to government pension reforms.[5] In Ireland, doctors went on strike for a day in 2013 to protest the austerity measures implemented by the EU in response to the global economic crisis. It involved a dispute over long working hours (100 hours per week) which violated EU employment laws and more importantly put patients’ lives at risk.[6] The strike resulted in the cancellation of 15,000 hospital appointments, but emergencies services were continued. Other major strikes have been organized in the UK to negotiate better pay for HCWs in general and junior doctors’ contracts specifically.[7] During the COVID-19 pandemic, various strikes have also been organized in Hong Kong, the US, and Bolivia due to various pitfalls in managing the pandemic.[8] A recent strike in August 2020 by South Korean junior doctors and medical students was organized to protest a proposed medical reform plan which did not address wage stagnation and unfair labor practices.[9] These demands are somewhat similar to the proposed strike by contract doctors in Malaysia. As each national health system operates within a different setting, these strikes should be examined in detail to understand the degree of self-interest involved versus concerns for patient’s welfare. l. The Malaysia Strike An anonymous group planned the current strike in Malaysia. The group used social media, garnering the attention of various key stakeholders including doctors, patients, government, and medical councils.[10] The organizers of the strike referred to their planned actions as a hartal. (Although historically a hartal involved a total shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, and other establishments as a form of civil disobedience, the Malaysian contract doctors pledged no disturbance to healthcare working hours or services and intend a walk-out that is symbolic and reflective of a strike.)[11] The call to action mainly involved showing support for the contract doctors with pictures and placards. The doctors also planned the walk-out.[12] Despite earlier employment, contract medical doctors face many inequalities as opposed to their permanent colleagues. These include differences in basic salary, provisions of leave, and government loans despite doing the same job. The system disadvantages contract doctors offering little to no job security and limited career progression. Furthermore, reports in 2020 showed that close to 4,000 doctors’ contracts were expected to expire by May 2022, leaving their futures uncertain.[13] Some will likely be offered an additional two years as the government faces pressure from the workers. Between December 2016 and May 2021, a total of 23,077 contract doctors were reportedly appointed as medical officers, with only 789 receiving permanent positions.[14] It has been suggested that they are appointed into permanent positions based on merit but the criteria for the appointments remain unclear. Those who fail to acquire a permanent position inevitably seek employment elsewhere. During the COVID-19 pandemic, there have been numerous calls for the government to absorb contract doctors into the public service as permanent staff with normal benefits. This is important considering a Malaysian study that revealed that during the pandemic over 50 percent of medical personnel feel burned out while on duty.[15] This effort might be side-lined as the government prioritizes curbing the pandemic. As these issues remain neglected, the call for a strike should be viewed as a cry for help to reignite the discussions about these issues. ll. Right to strike The right to strike is recognized as a fundamental human right by the UN and the EU.[16] Most European countries also protect the right to strike in their national constitutions.[17] In the US, the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947 prohibited healthcare workers of non-profit hospitals to form unions and engage in collective bargaining. But this exclusion was repealed in 1947 and replaced with the requirement of a 10-day advanced written notice prior to any strike action.[18] Similarly, Malaysia also recognizes the right to dispute over labor matters, either on an individual or collective basis. The Industrial Relations Act (IRA) of 1967[19] describes a strike as: “the cessation of work by a body of workers acting in combination, or a concerted refusal or a refusal under a common understanding of a number of workers to continue to work or to accept employment, and includes any act or omission by a body of workers acting in combination or under a common understanding, which is intended to or does result in any limitation, restriction, reduction or cessation of or dilatoriness in the performance or execution of the whole or any part of the duties connected with their employment” According to the same act, only members of a registered trade union may legally participate in a strike with prior registration from the Director-General of Trade Unions.[20] Under Section 43 of the IRA, any strike by essential services (including healthcare) requires prior notice of 42 days to their employer.[21] Upon receiving the notice, the employer is responsible for reporting the particulars to the Director-General of Industrial Relations to allow a “cooling-off” period and appropriate action. Employees are also protected from termination if permitted by the Director-General and strike is legalized. The Malaysian contract healthcare workers’ strike was announced and transparent. Unfortunately, even after legalization, there is fear that the government may charge those participating in the legalized strike.[22] The police have announced they will pursue participants in the strike.[23] Even the Ministry of Health has issued a warning stating that those participating in the strike may face disciplinary actions from the ministry. However, applying these laws while ignoring the underlying issues may not bode well for the COVID-19 healthcare crisis. lll. Effects of a Strike on Health Care There is often an assumption that doctors’ strikes would unavoidably cause significant harm to patients. However, a systematic review examining several strikes involving physicians reported that patient mortality remained the same or fell during the industrial action.[24] A study after the 2012 British Medical Association strike has even shown that there were fewer in-hospital deaths on the day, both among elective and emergency populations, although neither difference was significant.[25] Similarly, a recent study in Kenya showed declines in facility-based mortality during strike months.[26] Other studies have shown no obvious changes in overall mortality during strikes by HCWs.[27] There is only one report of increased mortality associated with a strike in South Africa[28] in which all the doctors in the Limpopo province stopped providing any treatment to their patients for 20 consecutive days. During this time, only one hospital continued providing services to a population of 5.5 million people. Even though their data is incomplete, authors from this study found that the number of emergency room visits decreased during the strike, but the risks of mortality in the hospital for these patients increased by 67 percent.[29] However, the study compared the strike period to a randomly selected 20-day period in May rather than comparing an average of data taken from similar dates over previous years. This could greatly influence variations between expected annual hospital mortality possibly due to extremes in weather that may exacerbate pre-existing conditions such as heart failure during warmer months or selecting months with a higher incidence of viral illness such as influenza. Importantly, all strikes ensured that emergency services were continued, at least to the degree that is generally offered on weekends. Furthermore, many doctors still provide usual services to patients despite a proclaimed strike. For example, during the 2012 BMA strike, less than one-tenth of doctors were estimated to be participating in the strike.[30] Emergency care may even improve during strikes, especially those involving junior doctors who are replaced by more senior doctors.[31] The cancellation of elective surgeries may also increase the number of doctors available to treat emergency patients. Furthermore, the cancellation of elective surgery is likely to be responsible for transient decreases in mortality. Doctors also may get more rest during strike periods. Although doctor strikes do not seem to increase patient mortality, they can disrupt delivery of healthcare.[32] Disruptions in delivery of service from prolonged strikes can result in decline of in-patient admissions and outpatient service utilization, as suggested during strikes in the UK in 2016.[33] When emergency services were affected during the last strike in April, regular service was also significantly affected. Additionally, people might need to seek alternative sources of care from the private sector and face increased costs of care. HCWs themselves may feel guilty and demotivated because of the strikes. The public health system may also lose trust as a result of service disruption caused by high recurrence of strikes. During the COVID-19 pandemic, as the healthcare system remains stretched, the potential adverse effects resulting from doctor strikes remain uncertain and potentially disruptive. In the UK, it is an offence to “willfully and maliciously…endanger human life or cause serious bodily injury.”[34] Likewise, the General Medical Council (GMC) also requires doctors to ensure that patients are not harmed or put at risk by industrial action. In the US, the American Medical Association code of ethics prohibits strikes by physicians as a bargaining tactic, while allowing some other forms of collective bargaining.[35] However, the American College of Physicians prohibits all forms of work stoppages, even when undertaken for necessary changes to the healthcare system. Similarly, the Delhi Medical Council in India issued a statement that “under no circumstances doctors should resort to strike as the same puts patient care in serious jeopardy.”[36] On the other hand, the positions taken by the Malaysian Medical Council (MMC) and Malaysian Medical Association (MMA) on doctors’ strikes are less clear when compared to their Western counterparts. The MMC, in their recently updated Code of Professional Conduct 2019, states that “the public reputation of the medical profession requires that every member should observe proper standards of personal behavior, not only in his professional activities but at all times.” Strikes may lead to imprisonment and disciplinary actions by MMC for those involved. Similarly, the MMA Code of Medical Ethics published in 2002 states that doctors must “make sure that your personal beliefs do not prejudice your patients' care.”[37] The MMA which is traditionally meant to represent the voices of doctors in Malaysia, may hold a more moderate position on strikes. Although HCW strikes are not explicitly mentioned in either professional body’s code of conduct and ethics, the consensus is that doctors should not do anything that will harm patients and they must maintain the proper standard of behaviors. These statements seem too general and do not represent the complexity of why and how a strike could take place. Therefore, it has been suggested that doctors and medical organizations should develop a new consensus on issues pertaining to medical professional’s social contract with society while considering the need to uphold the integrity of the profession. Experts in law, ethics, and medicine have long debated whether and when HCW strikes can be justified. If a strike is not expected to result in patient harm it is perhaps acceptable.[38] Although these debates have centered on the potential risks that strikes carry for patients, these actions also pose risks for HCWs as they may damage morale and reputation.[39] Most fundamentally, strikes raise questions about what healthcare workers owe society and what society owes them. For strikes to be morally permissible and ethical, it is suggested that they must fulfil these three criteria:[40] a. Strikes should be proportionate, e., they ‘should not inflict disproportionate harm on patients’, and hospitals should as a minimum ‘continue to provide at least such critical services as emergency care.’ b. Strikes should have a reasonable hope of success, at least not totally futile however tough the political rhetoric is. c. Strikes should be treated as a last resort: ‘all less disruptive alternatives to a strike action must have been tried and failed’, including where appropriate ‘advocacy, dissent and even disobedience’. The current strike does not fulfil the criteria mentioned. As Malaysia is still burdened with a high number of COVID-19 cases, a considerable absence of doctors from work will disrupt health services across the country. Second, since the strike organizer is not unionized, it would be difficult to negotiate better terms of contract and career paths. Third, there are ongoing talks with MMA representing the fraternity and the current government, but the time is running out for the government to establish a proper long-term solution for these contract doctors. One may argue that since the doctors’ contracts will end in a few months with no proper pathways for specialization, now is the time to strike. However, the HCW right to strike should be invoked only legally and appropriately after all other options have failed. CONCLUSION The strike in Malaysia has begun since the drafting of this paper. Doctors involved assure that there will not be any risk to patients, arguing that the strike is “symbolic”.[41] Although an organized strike remains a legal form of industrial action, a strike by HCWs in Malaysia poses various unprecedented challenges and ethical dilemmas, especially during the pandemic. The anonymous and uncoordinated strike without support from the appropriate labor unions may only spark futile discussions without affirmative actions. It should not have taken a pandemic or a strike to force the government to confront the issues at hand. It is imperative that active measures be taken to urgently address the underlying issues relating to contract physicians. As COVID-19 continues to affect thousands of people, a prompt reassessment is warranted regarding the treatment of HCWs, and the value placed on health care. [1] Ministry of Health (MOH) Malaysia, “Current situation of COVID-19 in Malaysia.” http://covid-19.moh.gov.my/terkini (accessed Jul. 01, 2021). [2] “Future of 4,000 young doctors who are contract medical officers uncertain,” New Straits Times - November 26, 2020. https://www.nst.com.my/news/nation/2020/11/644563/future-4000-young-doctors-who-are-contract-medical-officers-uncertain [3] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow [4] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327; G. Russo et al., “Health workers’ strikes in low-income countries: the available evidence,” Bull. World Health Organ., vol. 97, no. 7, pp. 460-467H, Jul. 2019, doi: 10.2471/BLT.18.225755. [5] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [6] E. Quinn, “Irish Doctors Strike to Protest Work Hours Amid Austerity,” The Wall Street Journal, 2013. https://www.wsj.com/articles/no-headline-available-1381217911?tesla=y (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [7] “NHS workers back strike action in pay row by 2-to-1 margin,” The Guardian, 2014. https://www.theguardian.com/society/2014/sep/18/nhs-workers-strike-pay-unison-england (accessed Jun. 29, 2021); M. Limb, “Thousands of junior doctors march against new contract,” BMJ, p. h5572, Oct. 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h5572. [8] J. Parry, “China coronavirus: Hong Kong health staff strike to demand border closure as city records first death,” BMJ, vol. 368, no. February, p. m454, Feb. 2020, doi: 10.1136/bmj.m454; “MultiCare healthcare workers strike, urging need for more PPEs, staff support,” Q13 FOX, 2020. https://www.q13fox.com/news/health-care-workers-strike-urging-need-for-ppes-risks-on-patient-safety (accessed Jun. 29, 2021); “Bolivia healthcare workers launch strike in COVID-hit region,” Al Jazeera, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/2/9/bolivia-healthcare-workers-strike-covid-hit-region (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [9] K. Arin, “Why are Korean doctors striking?” The Korea Herald, 2020. http://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20200811000941 (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [10] “Hartal Doktor Kontrak,” Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/hartaldoktorkontrak. [11] “Hartal,” Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/english/hartal (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [12] “Hartal Doktor Kontrak,” Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/hartaldoktorkontrak. [13] R. Anand, “Underpaid and overworked, Malaysia’s contract doctors’ revolt amid Covid-19 surge,” The Straits Times, 2021. [14] Anand. [15] N. S. Roslan, M. S. B. Yusoff, A. R. Asrenee, and K. Morgan, “Burnout prevalence and its associated factors among Malaysian healthcare workers during covid-19 pandemic: An embedded mixed-method study,” Healthc., vol. 9, no. 1, 2021, doi: 10.3390/healthcare9010090. [16] Maina Kiai, “Report by the Special Rapporteur on the Right to Freedom of Peaceful Assembly and Association,” 2016. [Online]. Available: http://freeassembly.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/A.71.385_E.pdf. [17] ETUI contributors, Strike rules in the EU27 and beyond. The European Trade Union Institute. ETUI, 2007. [18] National Labor Relations Board, National Labor Relations Act. 1935, pp. 151–169. [19] Ministry of Human Resources, Industrial Relations Act 1967 (Act 177), no. October. 2015, pp. 1–76. [20] Article 10 of the Federal Constitution states that all citizens have the right to form associations including registered trade or labor unions. A secret ballot with two-third majority will suffice to call for a strike required for submission to the DGTU within 7 days as stated in Section 25(A) of the Trade Union Act 1959. [21] Ministry of Human Resources Malaysia, Guidelines on Strikes, Pickets and Lockouts in Malaysia. Putrajaya, 2011. [22] Ordinance Emergency which was declared in Malaysia since 12 January 2021. Under the Ordinance Emergency, the king or authorized personnel may, as deemed necessary, demand any resources. [23] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow [24] S. A. Cunningham, K. Mitchell, K. M. Venkat Narayan, and S. Yusuf, “Doctors’ strikes and mortality: A review,” Soc. Sci. Med., vol. 67, no. 11, pp. 1784–1788, Dec. 2008, doi: 10.1016/j.socscimed.2008.09.044. [25] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [26] G. K. Kaguthi, V. Nduba, and M. B. Adam, “The impact of the nurses’, doctors’ and clinical officer strikes on mortality in four health facilities in Kenya,” BMC Health Serv. Res., vol. 20, no. 1, p. 469, Dec. 2020, doi: 10.1186/s12913-020-05337-9. [27] G. Ong’ayo et al., “Effect of strikes by health workers on mortality between 2010 and 2016 in Kilifi, Kenya: a population-based cohort analysis,” Lancet Glob. Heal., vol. 7, no. 7, pp. e961–e967, Jul. 2019, doi: 10.1016/S2214-109X (19)30188-3. [28] M. M. Z. U. Bhuiyan and A. Machowski, “Impact of 20-day strike in Polokwane Hospital (18 August - 6 September 2010),” South African Med. J., vol. 102, no. 9, p. 755, Aug. 2012, doi: 10.7196/SAMJ.6045. [29] M. M. Z. U. Bhuiyan and A. Machowski, “Impact of 20-day strike in Polokwane Hospital (18 August - 6 September 2010),” South African Med. J., vol. 102, no. 9, p. 755, Aug. 2012, doi: 10.7196/SAMJ.6045. [30] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [31] D. Metcalfe, R. Chowdhury, and A. Salim, “What are the consequences when doctors strike?” BMJ, vol. 351, no. November, pp. 1–4, 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h6231. [32] D. Waithaka et al., “Prolonged health worker strikes in Kenya- perspectives and experiences of frontline health managers and local communities in Kilifi County,” Int. J. Equity Health, vol. 19, no. 1, pp. 1–15, 2020, doi: 10.1186/s12939-020-1131-y. [33] The study has shown that there were 9.1% reduction in admissions and around 6% fewer emergency cases and outpatient appointments than expected. An additional 52% increase in expected outpatient appointments cancelations were made by hospitals during that period. D. Furnivall, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “Retrospective analysis of the national impact of industrial action by English junior doctors in 2016,” BMJ Open, vol. 8, no. 1, p. e019319, Jan. 2018, doi: 10.1136/bmjopen-2017-019319. [34] D. Metcalfe, R. Chowdhury, and A. Salim, “What are the consequences when doctors strike?” BMJ, vol. 351, no. November, pp. 1–4, 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h6231. [35] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327. [36] M. Selemogo, “Criteria for a just strike action by medical doctors,” Indian J. Med. Ethics, vol. 346, no. 21, pp. 1609–1615, Jan. 2014, doi: 10.20529/IJME.2014.010. [37] Malaysian Medical Association, “Malaysian Medical Association Official Website.” https://mma.org.my (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [38] M. Toynbee, A. A. J. Al-Diwani, J. Clacey, and M. R. Broome, “Should junior doctors strike?” J. Med. Ethics, vol. 42, no. 3, pp. 167–170, Mar. 2016, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2015-103310. [39] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327. [40] M. Selemogo, “Criteria for a just strike action by medical doctors,” Indian J. Med. Ethics, vol. 346, no. 21, pp. 1609–1615, Jan. 2014, doi: 10.20529/IJME.2014.010; A. J. Roberts, “A framework for assessing the ethics of doctors’ strikes,” J. Med. Ethics, vol. 42, no. 11, pp. 698–700, Nov. 2016, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2016-103395. [41] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow

For engineering students in Colombia, law students in Mexico, and philosophy students in Brazil, scholarship took a backseat to political activism in the 1960s. This presentation examines why students were such a force within Latin American history during the period from 1958-1970. In 15 minutes, it provides an accessible, educational, and entertaining deconstruction of the origins of the Latin American student movement. I argue that this period represents the ‘tipping point’ of activism within Latin American Universities; one in which the sport of politics long practiced within institutions breached the walls of the ivory tower. In a quarter of an hour, the origins of this radicalism are presented:o Demographics (higher enrolment figures, diversifying student experiences, broadening academic curriculum into the humanities and social sciences)o Long-standing socio-cultural student respect (the position of students as ‘agents of change’, student co-governance of academic institutions)o Idealism (rejection of typical political process, ‘fetishization’ of counter-cultural’)all set against the backdrop of Cold War tensions. Organized against perceptions of government corruption, neo-liberalization and American interventionism, students protested, joined guerrilla groups, forced strikes, and – in the case of Mexico – were eventually massacred by the state. Latin American students broadened the definition of a university from a house of scholarship to a training ground for citizenry, with a directive to “provide leaders for nation-building.” The audience will be encouraged to ask questions and will leave with broader understandings of the role of students and universities in Latin America and beyond.

In April 1968, two Berkeley campus unions—the American Federation of State, County, and Municipal Employees (AFSCME) Local 1695 representing clerical, technical, and professional workers, and the American Federation of Teachers (AFT) Local 1570 representing graduate students—held a work-stoppage and a teach-in on “campus racism” to honor the memory of the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. who had been tragically assassinated in Memphis. Inspired by King's work and the AFSCME sanitation workers strike that he supported, the teach-in became a series of workshops that ultimately led to the development of a “white paper” with statistical data highlighting the ways the university harbored racism in its employment practices and in its admission of undergraduate and graduate students. Among its many demands, it called for the University: “to hire black, brown and red workers until the ratio of employees from these groups equals the ratio in the population; bring minority student enrollment and employment up to population ratios . . . publish the University census report showing the percentage of black, brown, and red employees by department; and make an additional report showing the classifications and promotions of black, brown, and red people in each department.”

When American Federation of Teachers-Local 527 launched their collective bargaining campaign in 1965, they were one of five mostly segregated teachers’ locals in New Orleans and represented a minority of the system’s educators. Spurred on by the National, who saw them as the lynchpin to organizing the South, they held a three-day job action, the first teachers’ strike in the South, in 1966 and then a longer nine-day strike in 1969. Through these mobilizations, they connected their demand for collective bargaining to racial and economic equity in the schools, aligning themselves with Black students, parents, and lower paid support workers. In the early 1970s, New Orleans underwent an ambitious faculty desegregation program that transformed the schools and led to the merger between Local 527 and the majority-white National Education Association (NEA) local to form the United Teachers of New Orleans (UTNO). Although faculty desegregation was a top-down reform, the union capitalized on teacher integration to form intentional alliances across race and mobilize new members. Following the merger, UTNO renewed their call for collective bargaining, eventually pressuring the board to approve an election in 1974. I argue that by positioning racial justice as central to their union organizing, prioritizing participatory democracy among membership, and engaging in civil rights unionism, UTNO succeeded in achieving collective bargaining when so many other Southern cities failed.

Conceived 51 years after the global workers’ and student revolt of May 1968, this Focus will break down the theoretical and literary legacy of May into three intervals of 17 years. In 1985, 17 years after 1968, Luc Ferry and Alain Renaut published a book, La pensée 68, in which they canonized the view that the theoretical underpinning of May ’68 was provided by French structuralist thinkers, notably Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Pierre Bourdieu and Jacques Lacan (see Ferry and Renaut 1985; for the English translation, see Ferry and Renaut 1990). Seventeen years later, in 2002, Kristin Ross’s book May ’68 and its Afterlives effectively replaced this canonical image with the notion that French structuralists were all either completely absent or showed at least great reserve during the events of May and that, moreover, the closest theoretical allies of the protesters and strikers were in fact the main philosophical targets of structuralist anti-humanists, namely Jean-Paul Sartre and Herbert Marcuse with their schools of humanist Marxism (see Ross 2002). Seventeen years after Ross’s seminal book, it may be time to negate both the thesis from 1985 and Ross’s antithesis from 2002, and ask the following simple question: why, despite the massive presence of Sartre and Marcuse, and the equally massive absence of Foucault, Derrida, Bourdieu and Lacan, but also Gilles Deleuze and Louis Althusser, has the memory politics of May ’68 during the past half-century included the canonization of structuralism and post-structuralism at the expense of none other than humanism, be it Marxist or non-Marxist?

The establishment of cardiac surgery in Debrecen is closely interlinked with thoracic surgery. This activity started and continued for many decades at the Auguszta Sanatorium, later the University of Debrecen's Department of Surgery II, which housed thoracic surgery at the time. In the Auguszta Sanatorium, which was nationalised after World War II, a thoracic surgery department was established in 1948, under the direction of Dr. József Schnitzler, whose professional interests in the 1960s turned towards cardiac surgery. He found a suitable partner for his groundbreaking goal in the pioneering work of Hungarian cardiac surgery, Dr. Árpád Eisert, a leading surgeon of the Jósa András County Hospital in Nyíregyháza. As a result of their exemplary professional cooperation, the first closed heart surgery was performed in Debrecen in 1963. The heart-lung machine required for cardiopulmonary bypass necessary to start open heart operations was provided by a donation from Béla Köteles, the son of Hungarian emigrants born in America, who founded his own instrument manufacturing company there. The first open heart surgery was performed by visiting professor Gábor Kovács from Szeged with Professor Schnitzler in 1968. In 1972, András Gömöry was entrusted with the management of cardiac surgery, and he succeeded in creating a team of highly qualified doctors and specialists even under the prevailing difficult circumstances. This, provided a solid basis for further development within the field. In 1983, after the retirement of Professor Schnitzler, Árpád Péterffy, Associate Professor of Cardiothoracic Surgery at Karolinska Hospital in Stockholm, was appointed as Head of the Department of Surgery II. Due to the knowledge, professional and work organisation experience he had gained abroad, cardiac surgery in Debrecen developed with great strides. The number of operations increased significantly, while the mortality rate was reduced by a third. He managed to acquire a new building for cardiac surgery in 1993, which created the opportunity for further development. The new building significantly improved the quantity and quality of cardiac surgery and made Debrecen an internationally recognised flagship of Hungarian cardiac surgery. Due to his work in international exchanges his students were able to improve their knowledge in Western European countries and elsewhere overseas. After his retirement in 2008, he continued to work as Professor Emeritus in our clinic, remaining fully committed to supporting our work, the development of cardiac surgery in Debrecen, and the preservation and enhancement of its reputation. As his professional successor, Associate Professor Tamás Szerafin was entrusted with the leadership of the cardiac surgery department. Together with his colleagues, their aim has been to preserve and further develop the patient-centred spirit and professional dedication of their predecessors, and to preserve the built heritage.

The debates that involve banning critical race theory and implementing ethnic studies programs have recently surged. But this is not the first time that controversy about ethnic studies programs and other efforts to promote equity has led to dissension. In the 1960s, similar discord led to violence. Today, right-wing activists are making efforts to prevent ethnic studies programs from being implemented. Many educators and historians, however, are expressing the need to teach the accurate histories of racial and ethnic minority groups at educational institutions. In this article, I argue that today’s resistance to implementing ethnic studies programs is a continuation of the opposition that occurred in the 1960s against this trend and the other efforts that were designed to promote equity. In contrast to the idea that ethnic studies programs contribute to divisiveness, I argue that they offer a better way of teaching students in a country that has become more racially diverse. I retell what happened during the Freedom Summer of 1964 and the strikes at Columbia University and San Francisco State College to offer a perspective that is often neglected when authors describe the movement to ban critical race theory.

There can be little doubt that the history profession is experiencing a turn to the present. The post-2016 “crisis of democracy” has only dramatized it. Long-standing anxieties over presentism have crumbled under the weight of recent events. They have proven little match for Brexit, Trump, the rise of strongmen in the world writ large, racial injustice, and the pandemic. The turn to the present, however, is at times marked by undeniable provincialism—one that consistently offers a narrow perspective for understanding new and emerging global realities. Some historians, for instance, have taken on the role of liberal watchmen ready to strike the tocsin against suspected fascism, but they regularly do so by focusing on Europe's fascist past of the 1930s to explain the contemporary order. Or consider the economic crisis brought on by the coronavirus pandemic. In the search for solutions, scholars proved quick to make historical comparisons to the great war economies of World Wars I and II, but appeared little bothered by the possibility that taking inspiration from Europe's age of extremes might “lead us to look for enemies and scapegoats.” So with the George Floyd protests: certain scholars and pundits likened them to the 1968 student protests in France and the United States, even as other scholars pointed out the historical shortcoming of the comparison.

Religionskunskap är ett av svensk skolas äldsta ämnen och sedan 1960-talet icke-konfessionellt. Undervisningen ska både leda till ökad förståelse för religioner och livsåskådningar och träna den kritiska förmågan hos eleverna enligt styrdokumenten. Med religionsdidaktikern Peta Goldburgs ord ska undervisningen bidra till ökad kritisk religionslitteracitet. Kritiska diskussioner om religion är vardagsmat i den samhälleliga debatten, men hur ser det ut i skolan och religionsundervisningen? Får religioner och livsåskådningar kritiseras eller läggs locket på? Syftet med artikeln är att diskutera hur konstruktiv religionskritik behandlas i religionskunskapsklassrum på högstadiet och gymnasiet. Detta görs utifrån intervjuer med religionslärare och observationer i religionskunskapsklassrum. Resultaten visar att religionslärare står mitt i ett professionellt dilemma då de måste hantera religionskritik på flera nivåer, kritik som delvis står i konflikt med varandra. För det första en allmän samhällelig kritik mot religion som också märks i klassrummen. Denna kritik är ofta nedsättande och innehåller fördomar, och kallas här sekularistisk kritik. För det andra problematiska sidor av religioner och livsåskådningar, det vill säga tolkningar och bruk som strider mot demokratiska värderingar och skolans värdegrund. Sammanfattningsvis visar resultaten att många lärare ägnar mycket tid till att nyansera fördomar och stereotypa föreställningar om religion, medan problematiska tolkningar och bruk i relation till religion får betydligt mindre utrymme. För att elever ska utveckla sin självständiga, kritiska förmåga behöver religionsundervisningen i större utsträck­ning lyfta kritiska perspektiv på religion. Eftersom klassrummet är en av få arenor där elever möts över religions- och livsåskådningsgränser, erbjuder det en unik möjlighet till reflektion och dialog kring utmanande frågor. Nyckelord: religionsundervisning, religionslitteracitet, konstruktiv religionskritik, sekularistisk kritik, problematiska sidor av religioner, didaktiska strategier Constructive critique in RE classrooms Abstract Religious education (RE) is one of the Swedish school's oldest subjects, and has been non-denominational since the 1960s. According to the steering documents, important goals in RE are to increase pupils’ understanding of religions and worldviews, and to strengthen their critical ability. In other words, teaching should contribute to an increased critical religious literacy. In the public debate critical discussions about religion are common, but what does it look like in school? May religion be criticized? The purpose of the article is to discuss how constructive critique of religion is treated in RE in secondary and upper secondary school. This is done through qualitative interviews with religion teachers and observations in classrooms. The results show that RE teachers are in the middle of a professional dilemma as they have to deal with critique of religion on several levels. First, a secularist critique, often derogatory and prejudicial. Second, problematic aspects of religions and worldviews, that is, interpretations and practices contrary to democratic values and the school's values. In summary, the results show that many teachers spend a lot of time nuancing prejudices and stereotypical notions of religion, while problematic aspects in relation to religion are given much less space. In order for students to develop their critical religious literacy, religious education needs to raise problematic aspects of religion to a greater extent. As the classroom is one of the few arenas where students meet across religious and philosophical boundaries, it offers a unique opportunity for reflection and dialogue about challenging topics. Keywords: religious education, religious literacy, constructive critique of religions, secularist critique, problematic aspects of religions, didactical strategies

Fig 1: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Introduction NOTE: Rangoon, Burma has been known as Yangon, Myanmar, since 2006. I use Rangoon and Burma for the period prior to 2006 and Yangon and Myanmar for the period thereafter. In addition, I have removed the name of any activist currently in Myanmar due to the recent policy of executing political prisoners. On 1 February 2021, Myanmar was again plunged into political turmoil when the military illegally overthrew the country’s democratically elected government. This is the third time Myanmar, formally known as Burma, has been subject to a coup d’état; violent seizures of power took place in 1962 and in 1988-90. While those two earlier military governments met with opposition spearheaded by students and student organisations, in 2021 the military faced organised resistance through a mass Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM) initiated by government healthcare workers who refused to come to work. They were joined by private sector “strikes” and, perhaps most visible of all to western viewers, mass street demonstrations “led” by “Gen Z” activists—young people who had come of age during Myanmar’s brief decade of democracy. There is little doubt that the success of the CDM and associated protests is due to the widespread coverage and reach of social media as well as the creative communications skills of the country’s first “generation of digital natives”, who are sufficiently familiar and comfortable with social platforms to “participate and shape their identities in communication and dialogue with global digital media content” (Jordt et al. 12 ). The leveraging of global culture, including the use of English in protest signs, was notable in garnering international media coverage and so keeping Myanmar’s political plight front-of-mind with governments around the world. Yet this is not the whole story behind the effectiveness of these campaigns. As Lisa Brooten argues, contemporary networks are built on “decades of behind-the-scenes activism to build a multi-ethnic civil society” (East Asia Forum). The leading democracy activist, Min Ko Naing, aligned “veteran activists from previous generations with novice Gen Z activists”, declaring “this revolution represents a combination of Generations X, Y and Z in fighting against the military dictatorship’” (Jordt et al. 18). Similarly, the creative strategies used by 2021’s digital campaigners also build on protests by earlier generations of young, creative people. This paper looks at two creative protest across the generations. The first is “secret” fashion photography of the late 1970s collected in Lukas Birk’s Yangon Fashion 1979 – Fashion=Resistance. The second is the contemporary #100projectors campaign, a “projection project for Myanmar democracy movement against the military dictatorship” (in the interest of full disclosure, I took part in the #100projectors project). Drawing from the contemporary advertising principle of “segmentation”, the communications practice where potential consumers are divided into “subgroups … based on specific characteristics and needs” (WARC 1), as well as contemporary thinking on the “aesthetics” of “cosmopolitanism”, (Papastergiadis, Featherstone, and Christensen), I argue that contemporary creative strategies can be traced back to the creative tactics of resistance employed by earlier generations of protesters and their re-imagining of “national space and its politics” (Christensen 556) in the interstices of cosmopolitan Rangoon, Burma, and Yangon, Myanmar. #100projectors Myanmar experienced two distinct periods of military rule, the Socialist era between 1962 and 1988 under General Ne Win and the era under the State Law and Order Restoration Council – State Peace and Development Council between 1988 and 2011. These were followed by a semi-civilian era from 2011 to 2021 (Carlson 117). The coup in 2021 marks a return to extreme forms of control, censorship, and surveillance. Ne Win’s era of military rule saw a push for Burmanisation enforced through “significant cultural restrictions”, ostensibly to protect national culture and unity, but more likely to “limit opportunities for internal dissent” (Carlson 117). Cultural restrictions applied to art, literature, film, television, as well as dress. Despite these prohibitions, in the 1970s Rangoon's young people smuggled in illegal western fashion magazines, such as Cosmopolitan and Vogue, and commissioned local tailors to make up the clothes they saw there. Bell-bottoms, mini-skirts, western-style suits were worn in “secret” fashion shoots, with the models posing for portraits at Rangoon photographic studios such as the Sino-Burmese owned Har Si Yone in Chinatown. Some of the wealthier fashionistas even came for weekly shoots. Demand was so high, a second branch devoted to these photographic sessions was opened with its own stock of costumes and accessories. Copies of these head to toe fashion portraits, printed on 12 x 4 cm paper, were shared with friends and family; keeping portrait albums was a popular practice in Burma and had been since the 1920s and 30s (Birk, Burmese Photographers 113). The photos that survive this era are collected in Lukas Birk’s Yangon Fashion 1979 – Fashion=Resistance. #100projectors was launched in February 2021 by a group of young visual and video artists with the aim of resisting the coup and demanding the return of democracy. Initially a small group of projectionists or “projector fighters”, as the title suggests they plan to amplify their voices by growing their national and international network to 100. #100projectors is one of many campaigns, movements, and fundraisers devised by artists and creatives to protest the coup and advocate for revolution in Myanmar. Other notable examples, all run by Gen Z activists, include the Easter Egg, Watermelon, Flash, and Marching Shoes strikes. The Marching Shoe Strike, which featured images of flowers in shoes, representing those who had died in protests, achieved a reach of 65.2 million in country with 1.4 million interactions across digital channels (VERO, 64) and all of these campaigns were covered by the international press, including The Guardian, Reuters, The Straits Times, and VOA East Asia Pacific Session, as well as arts magazines around the world (for example Hyperallergic, published in Brooklyn). #100projectors material has been projected in Finland, Scotland, and Australia. The campaign was written about in various art magazines and their Video #7 was screened at the Bangkok Art and Culture Centre in February 2022 as part of Defiant Art: A Year of Resistance to the Myanmar Coup. At first glance, these two examples seem distant in both their aims and achievements. Fashion photos, taken in secret and shared privately, could be more accurately described as a grassroots social practice rather than a political movement. While Birk describes the act of taking these images as “a rebellion” and “an escape” in a political climate when “a pair of flowers and a pair of sunglasses might just start a revolution”, the fashionistas’ photographs seem “ephemeral” at best, or what Mina Roces describes as the subtlest form of resistance or ‘weapons of the weak’ (Scott in Roces 7). By contrast, #100projectors has all the hallmarks of a polished communications campaign. They have a logo and slogans: “We fight for light” and “The revolution must win”. There is a media plan, which includes the use of digital channels, encrypted messaging, live broadcasts, as well as in-situ projections. Finally, there is a carefully “targeted” audience of potential projectionists. It is this process of defining a target audience, based on segmentation, that is particularly astute and sophisticated. Traditionally, segmentation defined audiences based on demographics, geodemographics, and self-identification. However, in the online era segments are more likely to be based on behaviour and activities revealed in search data as well as shares, depending on preferences for privacy and permission. Put another way, as a digital subject, “you are what you choose to share” (WARC 1). The audience for #100projectors includes artists and creative people around the world who choose to share political video art. They are connected through digital platforms including Facebook as well as encrypted messaging. Yet this contemporary description of digital subjectivity, “you are what you choose to share”, also neatly describes the Yangon fashionistas and the ways in which they resist the political status quo. Photographic portraits have always been popular in Burma and so this collection does not look especially radical. Initially, the portraits seem to speak only about status, taste, and modernity. Several subjects within the collection are shown in national or ethnic dress, in keeping with the governments edict that Burma consisted of 135 ethnicities and 8 official races. In addition, there is a portrait of a soldier in full uniform. But the majority of the images are of men and women in “modern” western gear typical of the 1970s. With their wide smiles and careful poses, these men and women look like they’re performing sophisticated worldliness as well as showing off their wealth. They are cosmopolitan adepts taking part in international culture. Status is implicit in the accessories, from sunglasses to jewellery. One portrait is shot at mid-range so that it clearly features a landline phone. In 1970s Burma, this was an object out of reach for most. Landlines were both prohibitively expensive and reserved for the true elites. To make a phone call, most people had to line up at special market stalls. To be photographed with a phone, in western clothes (to be photographed at all), seems more about aspiration than anarchy. In the context of Ne Win’s Burma, however, the portraits clearly capture a form of political agency. Burma had strict edicts for dress and comportment: kissing in public was banned and Burmese citizens were obliged to wear Burmese dress, with western styles considered degenerate. Long hair, despite being what Burmese men traditionally wore prior to colonisation, was also deemed too western and consequently “outlawed” (Edwards 133). Dress was not only proscribed but hierarchised and heavily gendered; only military men had “the right to wear trousers” (Edwards 133). Public disrespect of the all-powerful, paranoid, and vindictive military (known as “sit tat” for military or army versus “Tatmadaw” for the good Myanmar army) was dangerous bordering on the suicidal. Consequently, wearing shoulder-length hair, wide bell bottoms, western-style suits, and “risqué” mini-skirts could all be considered acts of at least daring and definitely defiance. Not only are these photographs a challenge to gender constructions in a country ruled by a hyper-masculine army, but these images also question the nature of what it meant to be Burmese at a time when Burmeseness itself was rigidly codified. Recording such acts on film and then sharing the images entailed further risk. Thus, these models are, as Mina Roces puts it, “express[ing] their agency through sartorial change” (Roces 5). Fig. 2: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit dress and hair. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Fig. 3: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Roces also notes the “challenge” of making protest visible in spaces “severely limited” under authoritarian regimes (Roces 10). Burma under the Socialist government was a particularly difficult place in which to mount any form of resistance. Consequences included imprisonment or even execution, as in the case of the student leader Tin Maung Oo. Ma Thida, a writer and human rights advocate herself jailed for her work, explains the use of creative tools such as metaphor in a famous story about a crab by the writer and journalist Hanthawaddy U Win Tin: The crab, being hard-shelled, was well protected and could not be harmed. However, the mosquito, despite being a far smaller animal, could bite the eyes of the crab, leading to the crab’s eventual death. ... Readers drew the conclusion that the socialist government of Ne Win was the crab that could be destabilized if a weakness could be found. (Thida 317) If the metaphor of a crab defeated by a mosquito held political meaning, then being photographed in prohibited fashions was a more overt way of making defiance and resistant “visible”. While that visibility seems ephemeral, the fashionistas also found a way not only to be seen by the camera in their rebellious clothing, but also by a “public” or audience of those with whom they shared their images. The act of exchanging portraits, what Birk describes as “old-school Instagram”, anticipates not only the shared selfie, but also the basis of successful contemporary social campaigns, which relied in part on networks sharing posts to amplify their message (Birk, Yangon Fashion 17). What the fashionistas also demonstrate is that an act of rebellion can also be a means of testing the limits of conformity, of the need for beauty, of the human desire to look beautiful. Acts of rebellion are also acts of celebration and so, solidarity. Fig. 4: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit dress length. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. Fig. 5: Image from a secret Rangoon fashion shoot – illicit trousers. Photograph: Myanmar Photo Archive / Lukas Birk. As the art critic and cultural theorist Nikos Papastergiadis writes, “the cosmopolitan imagination in contemporary art could be defined as an aesthetic of openness that engenders a global sense of inter-connectedness” (207). Inter-connectedness and its possibilities and limits shape the aesthetic imaginary of both the secret fashion shoots of 1970s Rangoon and the artists and videographers of 2021. In the videos of the #100projectors project and the fashion portraits of stylish Rangoonites, interconnection comes as a form of aesthetic blending, a conversation that transcends the border. The sitter posing in illicit western clothes in a photo studio in the heart of Rangoon, then Burma’s capital and seat of power, cannot help but point out that borders are permeable, and that national identity is temporally-based, transitory, and full of slippages. In this spot, 40-odd years earlier, Burmese nationalists used dress as a means of publicly supporting the nationalist cause (Edwards, Roces). Like the portraits, the #100projector videos blend global and local perspectives on Myanmar. Combining paintings, drawings, graphics, performance art recordings, as well as photography, the work shares the ‘instagrammable’ quality of the Easter Egg, Watermelon, and Marching Shoes strikes with their bright colours and focus on people—or the conspicuous lack of people and the example of the Silent Strike. Graphics are in Burmese as well as English. Video #6 was linked to International Women’s Day. Other graphics reference American artists such as Shepherd Fairey and his Hope poster, which was adapted to feature Aung San Suu Kyi’s face during then-President Obama’s visit in 2012. The videos also include direct messages related to political entities such as Video #3, which voiced support for the Committee Representing Pyidaungsu Hlutaw (CRPH), a group of 15 elected MPs who represented the ideals of Gen Z youth (Jordt et al., viii). This would not necessarily be understood by an international viewer. Also of note is the prevalence of the colour red, associated with Aung San Suu Kyi’s NLD. Red is one of the three “political” colours formerly banned from paintings under SLORC. The other two were white, associated with the flowers Aung Sang Suu Kyi wore in her hair, and black, symbolic of negative feelings towards the regime (Carlson, 145). The Burmese master Aung Myint chose to paint exclusively in the banned colours as an ongoing act of defiance, and these videos reflect that history. The videos and portraits may propose that culturally, the world is interconnected. But implicit in this position is also the failure of “interconnectedness”. The question that arises with every viewing of a video or Instagram post or Facebook plea or groovy portrait is: what can these protesters, despite the risks they are prepared to take, realistically expect from the rest of the world in terms of help to remove the unwanted military government? Interconnected or not, political misfortune is the most effective form of national border. Perhaps the most powerful imaginative association with both the #100projectors video projections and fashionistas portraits is the promise of transformation, in particular the transformations possible in a city like Rangoon / Yangon. In his discussion of the cosmopolitan space of the city, Christensen notes that although “digital transformations touch vast swathes of political, economic and everyday life”, it is the city that retains supreme significance as a space not easily reducible to an entity beneath the national, regional, or global (556). The city is dynamic, “governed by the structural forces of politics and economy as well as moralities and solidarities of both conservative and liberal sorts”, where “othered voices and imaginaries find presence” in a mix that leads to “contestations” (556). Both the fashionistas and the video artists of the #100projectors use their creative work to contest the ‘national’ space from the interstices of the city. In the studio these transformations of the bodies of Burmese subjects into international “citizens of the world” contest Ne Win’s Burma and reimagine the idea of nation. They take place in the Chinatown, a relic of the old, colonial Rangoon, a plural city and one of the world’s largest migrant ports, where "mobility, foreignness and cross-cultural hybridity" were essential to its make-up (Aung Thin 778). In their instructions on how to project their ideas as a form of public art to gain audience, the #100projectors artists suggest projectors get “full on creative with other ways: projecting on people, outdoor cinema, gallery projection” (#100projectors). It is this idea projection as an overlay, a doubling of the everyday that evokes the possibility of transformation. The #100projector videos screen on Rangoon bridges, reconfiguring the city, albeit temporarily. Meanwhile, Rangoon is doubled onto other cities, towns, villages, communities, projected onto screens but also walls, fences, the sides of buildings in Finland, Scotland, Australia, and elsewhere. Conclusion In this article I have compared the recent #100projectors creative campaign of resistance against the 2021 coup d’état in Myanmar with the “fashionistas” of 1970 and their “secret” photo shoots. While the #100projectors is a contemporary digital campaign, some of the creative tactics employed, such as dissemination and identifying audiences, can be traced back to the practices of Rangoon’s fashionistas of the 1970s. ­­Creative resistance begins with an act of imagination. The creative strategies of resistance examined here share certain imaginative qualities of connection, a privileging of the ‘cosmopolitan’ and ‘interconnectedness’ as well as the transformativity of actual space, with the streets of Rangoon, itself a cosmopolitan city. References @100projectors Instagram account. <https://www.instagram.com/100projectors/>. @Artphy_1 Instagram account. <https://www.instagram.com/artphy_1/>. Aung Thin, Michelle. “Sensations of Rootedness’ in Cosmopolitan Rangoon or How the Politics of Authenticity Shaped Colonial Imaginings of Home.” Journal of Intercultural Studies 41.6 (2020): 778-792. Birk, Lukas. Yangon Fashion 1979 – Fashion=Resistance. France: Fraglich Publishing, 2020. ———. Burmese Photographers. Myanmar: Goethe-Institut Myanmar, 2018. Brooten, Lisa. “Power Grab in a Pandemic: Media, Lawfare and Policy in Myanmar.” Journal of Digital Media & Policy 13.1 (2022): 9-24. ———. “Myanmar’s Civil Disobedience Movement Is Built on Decades of Struggle.” East Asia Forum, 29 Mar. 2021. 29 July 2022 <https://www.eastasiaforum.org/2021/03/29/myanmars-civil-disobedience-movement-is-built-on-decades-of-struggle/>. Carlson, Melissa. “Painting as Cipher: Censorship of the Visual Arts in Post-1988 Myanmar.” Sojourner: Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia 31.1 (2016): 116-72. Christensen, Miyase. “Postnormative Cosmopolitanism: Voice, Space and Politics.” The International Communication Gazette 79.6–7 (2017): 555–563. Edwards, Penny. “Dressed in a Little Brief Authority: Clothing the Body Politic in Burma.” In Mina Roces & Louise Edwards (eds), The Politics of Dress in Asia and the Americas. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 121–138. France24. “‘Longyi Revolution’: Why Myanmar Protesters Are Using Women’s Clothes as Protection.” 10 Mar. 2021. <https://youtu.be/ebh1A0xOkDw>. Ferguson, Jane. “Who’s Counting? Ethnicity, Belonging, and the National Census in Burma/Myanmar.” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 171 (2015): 1–28. Htun Khaing. “Salai Tin Maung Oo, Defiant at the End.” Frontier, 24 July 2017. 1 Aug. 2022 <https://www.frontiermyanmar.net/en/salai-tin-maung-oo-defiant-to-the-end>. Htun, Pwin, and Paula Bock. “Op-Ed: How Women Are Defying Myanmar’s Junta with Sarongs and Cellphones.” Los Angeles Times, 16 Mar. 2021. <https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2021-03-16/myanmar-military-women-longyi-protests>. Jordt, Ingrid, Tharaphi Than, and Sue Ye Lin. How Generation Z Galvanized a Revolutionary Movement against Myanmar’s 2021 Military Coup. Singapore: Trends in Southeast Asia ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, 2021. Ma Thida. “A ‘Fierce’ Fear: Literature and Loathing after the Junta.” In Myanmar Media in Transition: Legacies, Challenges and Change. Eds. Lisa Brooten, Jane Madlyn McElhone, and Gayathry Venkiteswaran. Singapore: ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute, 2019. 315-323. Myanmar Poster Campaign (@myanmarpostercampaign). “Silent Strike on Feb 1, 2022. We do not forget Feb 1, 2021. We do not forget about the coup. And we do not forgive.” Instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/CZJ5gg6vxZw/>. Papastergiadias, Nikos. “Aesthetic Cosmopolitanism.” In Routledge International Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies. Ed. Gerard Delanty. London: Routledge, 2018. 198-210. Roces, Mina. “Dress as Symbolic Resistance in Asia.” International Quarterly for Asian Studies 53.1 (2022): 5-14. Smith, Emiline. “In Myanmar, Protests Harness Creativity and Humor.” Hyperallergic, 12 Apr. 2021. 29 July 2022 <https://hyperallergic.com/637088/myanmar-protests-harness-creativity-and-humor/>. Thin Zar (@Thinzar_313). “Easter Egg Strike.” Instagram. <https://www.instagram.com/p/CNPfvtAMSom/>. VERO. “Myanmar Communication Landscape”. 10 Feb. 2021. <https://vero-asean.com/a-briefing-about-the-current-situation-in-myanmar-for-our-clients-partners-and-friends/>. World Advertising Research Centre (WARC). “What We Know about Segmentation.” WARC Best Practice, May 2021. <https://www-warc-com.ezproxy.lib.rmit.edu.au/content/article/bestprac/what-we-know-about-segmentation/110142>.

The war in Ukraine has serious consequences for the entire Ukrainian society and the world in general. The Ukrainian people have once again suffered a tragic event at the hands of the Russian Federation in the 21st century, resulting in a bloody genocide and undermining the concept of freedom for all humanity. Ukraine survived the Holodomor genocides of the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s, the occupation wars of the Soviet Union in the early 1920s and late 1930s, and deportations of Ukrainians in the 20th and 21st centuries [1]. Every family remembers the significant losses of loved ones through generations and their suffering across the world. The concept of genocide as a crime emerged in international law after the Second World War. Lawyer Raphael Lemkin, a Polish and American legal practitioner of Jewish origin, first introduced the term genocide as a legal concept. In the early 1920s, R. Lemkin studied philology and then law at the Jan Kazimierz University of Lviv. He defended his doctoral thesis at Heidelberg University in Germany, served as an assistant prosecutor in Berezhany in Ternopil Region, and lectured in Warsaw. In the early 1930s, he represented Poland at international legal conferences, and as early as 1933, he suggested that those who deliberately harmed a large group of people out of hatred and destroyed their cultural treasures, engaged in “vandalism,” killed, and raped should be considered as manifestations of genocide. People who performed actions or gave orders to do them should be tried and punished [2]. On December 9, 1948, the United Nations General Assembly adopted the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. The definition of genocide is used in the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court [3]. The following acts committed with the intention of complete or partial destruction of the national, ethnic, racial or religious group are considered genocide: 1) murder; 2) causing severe physical or mental injuries; 3) deliberate creation of living conditions that are designed for complete or partial destruction; 4) actions intended to prevent the birth of children; 5) forcible transfer of children of this group to another group [4]. Thousands of Ukrainian civilians, wounded, soldiers, and prisoners of war have been victims of violent murders in this war. Russian prisoners of war have given testimony: “We had an order to immediately shoot anyone over 15 years of age without a word. 20 to 24 individuals were executed, including teenagers aged 10–15 and 17... we cleared the building. It was unimportant who was there... In Soledar and Bakhmut, 150 Wagner Group mercenaries killed everyone – women, men, retired, and children, including young ones aged five... If they disobeyed orders, they were killed” [5]. They not only murdered civilian Ukrainians but were also ordered to finish off injured Ukrainian soldiers and shoot and behead prisoners[5]. In Geneva, Chair of the UN Independent International Commission of Inquiry, Erik Møse, stated that while no evidence had yet been found, the question «of the genocide in Ukraine presented by independent experts regarding the actions of the Russian aggressor (killings, inflicting severe bodily or mental injuries) needed further investigation». This is how the UN works, not for the people, but for the Russian Federation!!! [6] The International Criminal Court in the Hague, which has the authority to prosecute individuals responsible for genocide, war crimes, and crimes against humanity, has only recognized the fifth item as a manifestation of genocide in Ukraine – the forcible transfer of children from one group to another. The International Criminal Court issued an arrest warrant for the President of the Russian Federation, Vladimir Putin, for deporting Ukrainian children to Russia, as well as for the RF Commissioner for Children’s Rights, Maria Lvova-Belova, who is suspected of committing a war crime. The courageous and consistent chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court, Karim Khan, believes that no one should feel free to commit crimes [7]. We review the third and fourth items of the UN Convention in this article, which demonstrate signs of genocide in Ukraine and are associated with medicine, education, and science. Specifically, the intentional creation of living conditions intended for complete or partial destruction, actions intended to prevent the birth of children. Since late February 2022 and up to the present day, the WHO has verified 1,773 attacks on the healthcare system in Ukraine, resulting in the deaths of at least 136 medical workers and injuries to 288 [8]. 1,564 medical facilities were damaged, and an additional 208 were completely destroyed. During this period, the Russian army also destroyed 260 ambulances, damaged 161, and captured another 125. The enemy attacks medical infrastructure, such as hospitals, outpatient healthcare facilities, maternity hospitals, polyclinics, etc., on a daily basis [9]. In 2024, the attacks intensified. The healthcare infrastructure has suffered significant damage, particularly in areas near the front line. Up to 14% of facilities were completely destroyed, and up to 48% experienced partial damage. During this period, 40% of all attacks on the healthcare system are targeted at the primary level of medical care, hindering Ukrainians’ access to essential medical services. Emergency medical care centers accounted for 15% of the attacks. The number of double strikes has increased, posing an even greater danger to emergency workers and civilians. Emergency service workers and medical transport personnel are three times more likely to be injured by such strikes compared to other medical professionals. The most significant damage was suffered by medical facilities in Kharkiv, Donetsk, Mykolaiv, Kyiv, Chernihiv, Dnipropetrovsk, Kherson, and Zaporizhzhia Oblasts. The cost of medications has increased for the state during the war, particularly when inpatient treatment for patients is required. Patients purchase many medications themselves. Delivery of medicines to frontline regions is challenging. Providing access to medications is a significant issue in the healthcare sector, especially in areas that are subjected to constant shelling. As of April 2023, 75% of individuals had faced challenges because of the rising cost of medications, and 44% had difficulties obtaining them[10]. From February 24, 2022 to September 2023, complicated patients with oncological, autoimmune, and cardiovascular conditions who were receiving medication through clinical trials were affected. According to data from the State Expert Center of Ukraine, at the onset of the full-scale war, international sponsors of clinical trials suspended patient recruitment for 217 clinical trials. 234 clinical trials were prematurely terminated. Participants in the clinical trials were given four options: continuing treatment at the trial site (if possible), withdrawing from the trial early, transferring to other sites within Ukraine, or transferring to locations outside of Ukraine. Displaced patients scattered across over 25 countries around the world. The top therapeutic fields of transferred researched individuals were oncology, neurology, gastroenterology, rheumatology, and cardiology [10]. Damaging the energy infrastructure in Ukraine directly impacts the functioning of healthcare facilities. This applies to both the supply of electricity and water. Following the strikes on energy infrastructure last month, the winter season of 2024–2025 is likely to be extremely challenging. We also need to consider the availability of quality water and adequate sanitation, which are essential conditions for ensuring public health. 22% of households in the frontline regions delay seeking medical assistance. This is mainly due to financial constraints. Specifically, 24% of households are unable to afford medication, while 51% cannot cover the cost of medical services or vaccinations. Furthermore, there is an increasing lack of medical staff and a significant level of burnout. They feel a double burden. Medical professionals are part of affected communities in need of support and psychological assistance [11,12]. Therefore, the deliberate killing of patients and medical staff, the destruction of hospitals, polyclinics, outpatient medical facilities, and maternity hospitals, the destruction of the energy supply of medical facilities, the double bombing of ambulances, the inability to obtain necessary medications for patients, especially the seriously ill, the lack of possibility of getting medical assistance for Ukrainian citizens on their own territory are all consequences of the treacherous war waged by the Russian Federation against a neighboring country with the aim of seizing Ukrainian lands. Isn’t it a manifestation of genocide? Citizens of Ukraine have been deprived of the right to normal medical care for a third consecutive year! As medical professionals, we would like to ask the UN Investigative Committee if this could be considered a form of genocide. Children and young people have faced terrible trials as a result of the brutal war, depriving them of a normal life and education. 1,790 children have been recognized as victims during the deceitful war in Ukraine. 535 children have died, and over 1,255 have sustained injuries of varying degrees of severity, according to official information from juvenile prosecutors [13]. Many children and students had their schools, colleges, institutes, and universities destroyed or captured. 410 educational institutions were completely destroyed, and over 3,500 were damaged [14]. Due to frequent air raid alerts and bombings in Ukraine, education takes place in shelters or remotely. Children and youth lack the chance to obtain a quality education, making it challenging for them to enroll in higher educational institutions. More than a million children are unable to communicate with their teachers and friends because they are pursuing distance learning. Children living in the frontline territories of Ukraine have been forced to spend about 5,000 hours in underground shelters and the subway over the past two years [14]. The future of Ukraine greatly depends on the higher education of its youth. More than ten universities and research institutes were destroyed, with up to 40 experiencing destruction. Many students and faculty had to relocate to safe areas in Western Ukraine or evacuate abroad [15]. Ukrainian science has been suffering losses due to Russian aggression since 2014, following the occupation of Crimea and parts of Donetsk and Luhansk Regions. This resulted in Ukrainian scientific and educational institutions losing their premises, equipment, and some employees. They were forced to restructure their work during the evacuation. Since February 24, 2022, Ukraine has suffered unparalleled losses to its scientific community, with casualties including renowned professors, associate professors, senior researchers, assistants, graduate students, and undergraduates. By April 2024, over 140 Ukrainian scientists had perished in the full-scale Russian-Ukrainian war. We have lost highly talented individuals – the cream of the Ukrainian society [16]. Research and professional development opportunities for scientists in Ukraine are limited or completely absent due to the war. Continuous shelling, life-threatening situations, ruined labs, lecture halls, and research institutes, financial shortages, absence of basic amenities (power cuts, internet and mobile communication disruptions, etc.), displacement, forced emigration, and Russian occupation are just some of the challenges faced by students, teachers, and scientists. According to the National Research Fund, only 57 out of 169 teams are prepared to resume their scientific research and development under martial law conditions. Only 62 teams can continue their work under specific circumstances, and 50 teams will be unable to continue their research at all [17]. Therefore, the deliberate destruction of educational and scientific institutions provides grounds to label the actions of the Russian Federation as “scientific genocide” against Ukrainian citizens. This is all part of the genocide of the Ukrainian people, aimed at eradicating Ukraine’s intellectual capacity. Ukrainians have been denied access to proper education and science due to the war initiated by the Russian Federation. In conclusion, we call upon the civilized world that upholds democratic principles, the UN, and the International Criminal Court in The Hague! You are observing another genocide and its elements: urbicide, eliticide, linguicide, ecocide, and culturicide of the ancient Ukrainian people living in the heart of Europe. Ukraine has suffered all five legal indicators of genocide as adopted by the Rome Statute during this war. We do not want other European and world countries to experience this horror! We beg you: make strategically correct decisions for the future of humanity, because it may be too late for everyone!

Introduction «I have never worked in the technocratic exaltation, solving a constructive problem and that’s it. I’ve always tried to interpret the space of human life» (Vittorio Garatti). Vittorio Garatti (Milan, April 6, 1927) is certainly one of the last witnesses of one “heroic” season of Italian architecture. In 1957 he graduated in architecture from the Polytechnic of Milan with a thesis proposing the redesign of a portion of the historic centre of Milan: the area between “piazza della Scala”, “via Broletto”, “via Filodrammatici” and the gardens of the former Olivetti building in via Clerici. These are the years in which Ernesto Nathan Rogers established himself as one of the main personalities of Milanese culture. Garatti endorses the criticism expressed by Rogers to the approval of the Rationalist “language” in favour of an architecture that recovers the implications of the place and of material culture. The social responsibility of architecture and connections between architecture and other forms of artistic expression are the invariants of all the activity of the architect, artist and graphic designer of Garatti. It will be Ernesto Nathan Rogers who will offer him the possibility of experiencing these “contaminations” early: in 1954, together with Giuliano Cesari, Raffaella Crespi, Giampiero Pallavicini and Ferruccio Rezzonico, he designs the preparation of the exhibition on musical instruments at the 10th Milan Triennale. The temporary installations will be a privileged area in which Garatti will continue to experiment and integrate the qualities of artist, graphic designer and architect with each other. Significant examples of this approach are the Art Schools in Cuba 1961-63, the residential complex of Cusano Milanino in 1973, the Attico Cosimo del Fante in 1980, the fittings for the Bubasty shops in 1984, the Camogli residence in 1986, his house atelier in Brera in 1988 and the interiors of the Hotel Gallia in 1989. True architecture generates itself1: an approach that was consolidated over the years of collaboration with Raúl Villanueva in Venezuela and is fulfilled in Cuba in the project of the Art Schools, where Garatti makes use of a plurality of tools that cannot be rigidly confined to the world of architecture. In 1957, in Caracas, he came into contact with Ricardo Porro and Roberto Gottardi. Ricardo Porro, who returned to Cuba in 1960, will be the one to involve Vittorio Garatti and Roberto Gottardi in the Escuelas Nacional de Arte project. The three young architects will be the protagonists of a happy season of the architecture of the Revolution, they will be crossed by that “revolutionary” energy that Ricardo Porro has defined as “magical realism”. As Garatti recalls: it was a special moment. We designed the Schools using a method developed in Venezuela. We started from an analysis of the context, understood not only as physical reality. We studied Cuban poets and painters. Wifredo Lam was a great reference. For example, Lezama Lima’s work is clearly recalled in the plan of the School of Ballet. We were pervaded by the spirit of the revolution. The contamination between knowledge and disciplines, the belief that architecture is a “parasitic” discipline are some of the themes at the centre of the conversation that follows, from which a working method that recognizes architecture as a “social transformation” task emerges, more precisely an art with a social purpose. Garatti often cites Porro’s definition of architecture: architecture is the poetic frame within which human life takes place. To Garatti architecture is a self-generating process, and as such it cannot find fulfilment within its disciplinary specificity: the disciplinary autonomy is a contradiction in terms. Architecture cannot be self-referencing, it generates itself precisely because it finds the sense of its social responsibility outside of itself. No concession to trends, to self-referencing, to the “objectification of architecture”, to its spectacularization. Garatti as Eupalino Valery shuns “mute architectures” and instead prefers singing architectures. A Dialogue of Luigi Alini with Vittorio Garatti Luigi Alini. Let’s start with some personal data. Vittorio Garatti. I was born in Milan on April 6, 1927. My friend Emilio Vedova told me that life could be considered as a sequence of encounters with people, places and facts. My sculptor grandfather played an important role in my life. I inherited the ability to perceive the dimensional quality of space, its plasticity, spatial vision from him. L.A. Your youth training took place in a dramatic phase of history of our country. Living in Milan during the war years must not have been easy. V.G. In October 1942 in Milan there was one of the most tragic bombings that the city has suffered. A bomb exploded in front of the Brera Academy, where the Dalmine offices were located. With a group of boys we went to the rooftops. We saw the city from above, with the roofs partially destroyed. I still carry this image inside me, it is part of that museum of memory that Luciano Semerani often talks about. This image probably resurfaced when I designed the ballet school. The idea of a promenade on the roofs to observe the landscape came from this. L.A. You joined the Faculty of Architecture at the Milan Polytechnic in May 1946-47. V.G. Milan and Italy were like in those years. The impact with the University was not positive, I was disappointed with the quality of the studies. L.A. You have had an intense relationship with the artists who gravitate around Brera, which you have always considered very important for your training. V.G. In 1948 I met Ilio Negri, a graphic designer. Also at Brera there was a group of artists (Morlotti, Chighine, Dova, Crippa) who frequented the Caffè Brera, known as “Bar della Titta”. Thanks to these visits I had the opportunity to broaden my knowledge. As you know, I maintain that there are life’s appointments and lightning strikes. The release of Dada magazine provided real enlightenment for me: I discovered the work of Kurt Schwitters, Theo Van Doesburg, the value of the image and three-dimensionality. L.A. You collaborated on several projects with Ilio Negri. V.G. In 1955 we created the graphics of the Lagostina brand, which was then also used for the preparation of the exhibition at the “Fiera Campionaria” in Milan. We also worked together for the Lerici steel industry. There was an extraordinary interaction with Ilio. L.A. The cultural influence of Ernesto Nathan Rogers was strong in the years you studied at the Milan Polytechnic. He influenced the cultural debate by establishing himself as one of the main personalities of the Milanese architectural scene through the activity of the BBPR studio but even more so through the direction of Domus (from ‘46 to ‘47) and Casabella Continuità (from ‘53 to ‘65). V.G. When I enrolled at the university he was not yet a full professor and he was very opposed. As you know, he coined the phrase: God created the architect, the devil created the colleague. In some ways it is a phrase that makes me rethink the words of Ernesto Che Guevara: beware of bureaucrats, because they can delay a revolution for 50 years. Rogers was the man of culture and the old “bureaucratic” apparatus feared that his entry into the University would sanction the end of their “domain”. L.A. In 1954, together with Giuliano Cesari, Raffella Crespi, Giampiero Pallavicini and Ferruccio Rezzonico, all graduating students of the Milan Polytechnic, you designed the staging of the exhibition on musical instruments at the 10th Milan Triennale. V.G. The project for the Exhibition of Musical Instruments at the Milan Triennale was commissioned by Rogers, with whom I subsequently collaborated for the preparation of the graphic part of the Castello Sforzesco Museum, together with Ilio Negri. We were given a very small budget for this project. We decided to prepare a sequence of horizontal planes hanging in a void. These tops also acted as spacers, preventing people from touching the tools. Among those exhibited there were some very valuable ones. We designed slender structures to be covered with rice paper. The solution pleased Rogers very much, who underlined the dialogue that was generated between the exhibited object and the display system. L.A. You graduated on March 14, 1957. V.G. The project theme that I developed for the thesis was the reconstruction of Piazza della Scala. While all the other classmates were doing “lecorbusierani” projects without paying much attention to the context, for my part I worked trying to have a vision of the city. I tried to bring out the specificities of that place with a vision that Ernesto Nathan Rogers had brought me to. I then found this vision of the city in the work of Giuseppe De Finetti. I tried to re-propose a vision of space and its “atmospheres”, a theme that Alberto Savinio also refers to in Listen to your heart city, from 1944. L.A. How was your work received by the thesis commission? V.G. It was judged too “formal” by Emiliano Gandolfi, but Piero Portaluppi did not express himself positively either. The project did not please. Also consider the cultural climate of the University of those years, everyone followed the international style of the CIAM. I was not very satisfied with the evaluation expressed by the commissioners, they said that the project was “Piranesian”, too baroque. The critique of culture rationalist was not appreciated. Only at IUAV was there any great cultural ferment thanks to Bruno Zevi. L.A. After graduation, you left for Venezuela. V.G. With my wife Wanda, in 1957 I joined my parents in Caracas. In Venezuela I got in touch with Paolo Gasparini, an extraordinary Italian photographer, Ricardo Porro and Roberto Gottardi, who came from Venice and had worked in Ernesto Nathan Rogers’ studio in Milan. Ricardo Porro worked in the office of Carlos Raúl Villanueva. The Cuban writer and literary critic Alejo Carpentier also lived in Caracas at that time. L.A. Carlos Raul Villanueva was one of the protagonists of Venezuelan architecture. His critical position in relation to the Modern Movement and the belief that it was necessary to find an “adaptation” to the specificities of local traditions, the characteristics of the places and the Venezuelan environment, I believe, marked your subsequent Cuban experience with the creative recovery of some elements of traditional architecture such as the portico, the patio, but also the use of traditional materials and technologies that you have masterfully reinterpreted. I think we can also add to these “themes” the connections between architecture and plastic arts. You also become a professor of Architectural Design at the Escuela de Arquitectura of the Central University of Caracas. V.G. On this academic experience I will tell you a statement by Porro that struck me very much: The important thing was not what I knew, I did not have sufficient knowledge and experience. What I could pass on to the students was above all a passion. In two years of teaching I was able to deepen, understand things better and understand how to pass them on to students. The Faculty of Architecture had recently been established and this I believe contributed to fuel the great enthusiasm that emerges from the words by Porro. Porro favoured mine and Gottardi’s entry as teachers. Keep in mind that in those years Villanueva was one of the most influential Venezuelan intellectuals and had played a leading role in the transformation of the University. Villanueva was very attentive to the involvement of art in architecture, just think of the magnificent project for the Universidad Central in Caracas, where he worked together with artists such as the sculptor Calder. I had recently graduated and found myself catapulted into academic activity. It was a strange feeling for a young architect who graduated with a minimum grade. At the University I was entrusted with the Architectural Design course. The relationships with the context, the recovery of some elements of tradition were at the centre of the interests developed with the students. Among these students I got to know the one who in the future became my chosen “brother”: Sergio Baroni. Together we designed all the services for the 23rd district that Carlos Raúl Villanueva had planned to solve the favelas problem. In these years of Venezuelan frequentation, Porro also opened the doors of Cuba to me. Through Porro I got to know the work of Josè Martì, who claimed: cult para eser libre. I also approached the work of Josè Lezama Lima, in my opinion one of the most interesting Cuban intellectuals, and the painting of Wilfredo Lam. L.A. In December 1959 the Revolution triumphed in Cuba. Ricardo Porro returned to Cuba in August 1960. You and Gottardi would join him in December and begin teaching at the Facultad de Arcuitectura. Your contribution to the training of young students took place in a moment of radical cultural change within which the task of designing the Schools was also inserted: the “new” architecture had to give concrete answers but also give “shape” to a new model of society. V.G. After the triumph of the Revolution, acts of terrorism began. At that time in the morning, I checked that they hadn’t placed a bomb under my car. Eisenhower was preparing the invasion. Life published an article on preparing for the invasion of the counterrevolutionary brigades. With Eisenhower dead, Kennedy activated the programme by imposing one condition: in conjunction with the invasion, the Cuban people would have to rise up. Shortly before the attempted invasion, the emigration, deemed temporary, of doctors, architects, university teachers etc. began. They were all convinced they would return to “liberated Cuba” a few weeks later. Their motto was: it is impossible for Americans to accept the triumph of the rebel army. As is well known, the Cuban people did not rise up. The revolutionary process continued and had no more obstacles. The fact that the bourgeois class and almost all the professionals had left Cuba put the country in a state of extreme weakness. The sensation was of great transformation taking place, it was evident. In that “revolutionary” push there was nothing celebratory. All available energies were invested in the culture. There were extraordinary initiatives, from the literacy campaign to the founding of international schools of medicine and of cinema. In Cuba it was decided to close schools for a year and to entrust elementary school children with the task of travelling around the country and teaching illiterate adults. In the morning they worked in the fields and in the evening they taught the peasants to read and write. In order to try to block this project, the counter-revolutionaries killed two children in an attempt to scare the population and the families of the literate children. There was a wave of popular indignation and the programme continued. L.A. Ricardo Porro was commissioned to design the Art Schools. Roberto Gottardi recalls that: «the wife of the Minister of Public Works, Selma Diaz, asked Porro to build the national art schools. The architecture had to be completely new and the schools, in Fidel’s words, the most beautiful in the world. All accomplished in six months. Take it or leave it! [...] it was days of rage and enthusiasm in which all areas of public life was run by an agile and imaginative spirit of warfare»2. You too remembered several times that: that architecture was born from a life experience, it incorporated enthusiasm for life and optimism for the future. V.G. The idea that generated them was to foster the cultural encounter between Africa, Asia and Latin America. A “place” for meeting and exchanging. A place where artists from all over the third world could interact freely. The realisation of the Schools was like receiving a “war assignment”. Fidel Castro and Ernesto Che Guevara selected the Country Club as the place to build a large training centre for all of Latin America. They understood that it was important to foster the Latin American union, a theme that Simón Bolivar had previously wanted to pursue. Il Ché and Fidel, returning from the Country Club, along the road leading to the centre of Havana, met Selma Diaz, architect and wife of Osmany Cienfuegos, the Cuban Construction Minister. Fidel Castro and Ernesto Che Guevara entrusted Selma Diaz with the task of designing this centre. She replied: I had just graduated, how could I deal with it? Then she adds: Riccardo Porro returned to Cuba with two Italian architects. Just think, three young architects without much experience catapulted into an assignment of this size. The choice of the place where to build the schools was a happy intuition of Fidel Castro and Ernesto Che Guevara. L.A. How did the confrontation develop? V.G. We had total freedom, but we had to respond to a functional programme defined with the heads of the schools. Five directors were appointed, one for each school. We initially thought of a citadel. A proposal that did not find acceptance among the Directors, who suggest thinking of five autonomous schools. We therefore decide to place the schools on the edge of the large park and to reuse all the pre-existing buildings. We imagined schools as “stations” to cross. The aim was to promote integration with the environment in which they were “immersed”. Schools are not closed spaces. We established, for example, that there would be no doors: when “everything was ours” there could not be a public and a private space, only the living space existed. L.A. Ricardo Porro recalled: I organised our study in the chapel of the former residence of the Serrà family in Vadado. It was a wonderful place [...]. A series of young people from the school of architecture came to help us […]. Working in that atmosphere, all night and all day was a poetic experience (Loomis , 1999). V.G. We felt like Renaissance architects. We walked around the park and discussed where to locate the schools. Imagine three young people discussing with total, unthinkable freedom. We decided that each of us would deal with one or more schools, within a global vision that was born from the comparison. I chose the Ballet School. Ivan Espin had to design the music school but in the end I did it because Ivan had health problems. Porro decided to take care of the School of Plastic Arts to support his nature as a sculptor. Gottardi had problems with the actors and directors, who could not produce a shared functional programme, which with the dancers was quite simple to produce. The reasons that led us to choose the different project themes were very simple and uncomplicated, as were those for identifying the areas. I liked hidden lands, I was interested in developing a building “embedded” in the ground. Ricardo, on the other hand, chose a hill on which arrange the school of Modern Art. Each of us chose the site almost instinctively. For the Classical Dance School, the functional programme that was provided to me was very meagre: a library, a deanery, an infirmary, three ballet classrooms, theoretical classrooms and one of choreography. We went to see the dancers while they were training and dancing with Porro. The perception was immediate that we had to think of concave and convex spaces that would welcome their movements in space. For a more organic integration with the landscape and to accommodate the orography of the area, we also decided to place the buildings in a “peripheral” position with respect to the park, a choice that allowed us not to alter the nature of the park too much but also to limit the distances to be covered from schools to homes. Selma Diaz added others to the first indications: remember that we have no iron, we have little of everything, but we have many bricks. These were the indications that came to us from the Ministry of Construction. We were also asked to design some large spaces, such as gyms. Consequently, we found ourselves faced with the need to cover large spans without being able to resort to an extensive use of reinforced concrete or wood. L.A. How was the comparison between you designers? V.G. The exchange of ideas was constant, the experiences flowed naturally from one work group to another, but each operated in total autonomy. Each design group had 5-6 students in it. In my case I was lucky enough to have Josè Mosquera among my collaborators, a brilliant modest student, a true revolutionary. The offices where we worked on the project were organised in the Club, which became our “headquarters”. We worked all night and in the morning we went to the construction site. For the solution of logistical problems and the management of the building site of the Ballet School, I was entrusted with an extraordinary bricklayer, a Maestro de Obra named Bacallao. During one of the meetings that took place daily at the construction site, Bacallao told me that in Batista’s time the architects arrived in the morning at the workplace all dressed in white and, keeping away from the construction site to avoid getting dusty, they transferred orders on what to do. In this description by we marvelled at the fact that we were in the construction site together with him to face and discuss how to solve the different problems. In this construction site the carpenters did an extraordinary job, they had considerable experience. Bacallao was fantastic, he could read the drawings and he managed the construction site in an impeccable way. We faced and solved problems and needs that the yard inevitably posed on a daily basis. One morning, for example, arriving at the construction site, I realised the impact that the building would have as a result of its total mono-materiality. I was “scared” by this effect. My eye fell on an old bathtub, inside which there were pieces of 10x10 tiles, then I said to Bacallao: we will cover the wedges between the ribs of the bovedas covering the Ballet and Choreography Theatre classrooms with the tiles. The yard also lived on decisions made directly on site. Also keep in mind that the mason teams assigned to each construction site were independent. However the experience between the groups of masons engaged in the different activities circulated, flowed. There was a constant confrontation. For the workers the involvement was total, they were building for their children. A worker who told me: I’m building the school where my son will come to study. Ricardo Porro was responsible for the whole project, he was a very cultured man. In the start-up phase of the project he took us to Trinidad, the old Spanish capital. He wanted to show us the roots of Cuban architectural culture. On this journey I was struck by the solution of fan windows, by the use of verandas, all passive devices which were entrusted with the control and optimisation of the comfort of the rooms. Porro accompanied us to those places precisely because he wanted to put the value of tradition at the centre of the discussion, he immersed us in colonial culture. L.A. It is to that “mechanism” of self-generation of the project that you have referred to on several occasions? V.G. Yes, just that. When I design, I certainly draw from that stratified “grammar of memory”, to quote Luciano Semerani, which lives within me. The project generates itself, is born and then begins to live a life of its own. A writer traces the profile and character of his characters, who gradually come to life with a life of their own. In the same way the creative process in architecture is self-generated. L.A. Some problems were solved directly on site, dialoguing with the workers. V.G. He went just like that. Many decisions were made on site as construction progressed. Design and construction proceeded contextually. The dialogue with the workers was fundamental. The creative act was self-generated and lived a life of its own, we did nothing but “accompany” a process. The construction site had a speed of execution that required the same planning speed. In the evening we worked to solve problems that the construction site posed. The drawings “aged” rapidly with respect to the speed of decisions and the progress of the work. The incredible thing about this experience is that three architects with different backgrounds come to a “unitary” project. All this was possible because we used the same materials, the same construction technique, but even more so because there was a similar interpretation of the place and its possibilities. L.A. The project of the Music School also included the construction of 96 cubicles, individual study rooms, a theatre for symphonic music and one for chamber music and Italian opera. You “articulated” the 96 cubicles along a 360-metre-long path that unfolds in the landscape providing a “dynamic” view to those who cross it. A choice consistent with the vision of the School as an open place integrated with the environment. V.G. The “Gusano” is a volume that follows the orography of the terrain. It was a common sense choice. By following the level lines I avoided digging and of course I quickly realized what was needed by distributing the volumes horizontally. Disarticulation allows the changing vision of the landscape, which changes continuously according to the movement of the user. The movements do not take place along an axis, they follow a sinuous route, a connecting path between trees and nature. The cubicles lined up along the Gusano are individual study rooms above which there are the collective test rooms. On the back of the Gusano, in the highest part of the land, I placed the theatre for symphonic music, the one for chamber music, the library, the conference rooms, the choir and administration. L.A. In 1962 the construction site stopped. V.G. In 1962 Cuba fell into a serious political and economic crisis, which is what caused the slowdown and then the abandonment of the school site. Cuba was at “war” and the country’s resources were directed towards other needs. In this affair, the architect Quintana, one of the most powerful officials in Cuba, who had always expressed his opposition to the project, contributed to the decision to suspend the construction of the schools. Here is an extract from a writing by Sergio Baroni, which I consider clarifying: «The denial of the Art Schools represented the consolidation of the new Cuban technocratic regime. The designers were accused of aristocracy and individualism and the rest of the technicians who collaborated on the project were transferred to other positions by the Ministry of Construction [...]. It was a serious mistake which one realises now, when it became evident that, with the Schools, a process of renewal of Cuban architecture was interrupted, which, with difficulty, had advanced from the years preceding the revolution and which they had extraordinarily accelerated and anchored to the new social project. On the other hand, and understandably, the adoption of easy pseudo-rationalist procedures prevailed to deal with the enormous demand for projects and constructions with the minimum of resources» (Baroni 1992). L.A. You also experienced dramatic moments in Cuba. I’m referring in particular to the insane accusation of being a CIA spy and your arrest. V.G. I wasn’t the only one arrested. The first was Jean Pierre Garnier, who remained in prison for seven days on charges of espionage. This was not a crazy accusation but one of the CIA’s plans to scare foreign technicians into leaving Cuba. Six months after Garnier, it was Heberto Padilla’s turn, an intellectual, who remained in prison for 15 days. After 6 months, it was my turn. I was arrested while leaving the Ministry of Construction, inside the bag I had the plans of the port. I told Corrieri, Baroni and Wanda not to notify the Italian Embassy, everything would be cleared up. L.A. Dear Vittorio, I thank you for the willingness and generosity with which you shared your human and professional experience. I am sure that many young students will find your “story” of great interest. V.G. At the end of our dialogue, I would like to remember my teacher: Ernesto Nathan Rogers. I’ll tell you an anecdote: in 1956 I was working on the graphics for the Castello Sforzesco Museum set up by the BBPR. Leaving the museum with Rogers, in the Rocchetta courtyard the master stopped and gives me a questioning look. Looking at the Filarete tower, he told me: we have the task of designing a skyscraper in the centre. Usually skyscrapers going up they shrink. Instead this tower has a protruding crown, maybe we too could finish our skyscraper so what do you think? I replied: beautiful! Later I thought that what Rogers evoked was a distinctive feature of our city. The characters of the cities and the masters who have consolidated them are to be respected. If there is no awareness of dialectical continuity, the city loses and gets lost. It is necessary to reconstruct the figure of the architect artist who has full awareness of his role in society. The work of architecture cannot be the result of a pure stylistic and functional choice, it must be the result of a method that takes various and multiple factors into analysis. In Cuba, for example, the musical tradition, the painting of Wilfredo Lam, whose pictorial lines are recognisable in the floor plan of the Ballet School, the literature of Lezama Lima and Alejo Carpentier and above all the Cuban Revolution were fundamental. We theorised this “total” method together with Ricardo Porro, remembering the lecture by Ernesto Nathan Rogers.

At least as far back as classical Greek times, humankind has speculated over the complexities of creativity as a concept and the modes of its transmission (Madden 133-134). This paper considers what happens when our inherited conceptions of creativity collide with the World Wide Web. It concludes with a brief survey of the Creativity Resource Portal, a current on-line project managed by the authors and related to the conceptual issues raised in the body of the text. Today, creativity has moved beyond its traditional home in the rhetoric of the philosopher and the exploits of the artist to form an integral part of both the theory and practice of a myriad of disciplines. Health professionals (Dossey; Kirklin & Meakin; Meites, Bein & Shafer; Rees; Satalof), scientists (Bohn 1-3, 13-15; Culross), educators (Guilford; Sawyer; Sternberg & Williams; Wilks) and those involved in the corporate world (Forbes & Domm; Mauzy & Harriman; Robinson & Stern) all consider creativity to be a fundamental criterion by which they measure and achieve their successes. In this way, however, creativity has become something of an over-burdened signifier. Now the market is flooded with highly idealised and ever expanding models for understanding and transmitting creativity, in which the medium (transmission) strives to outdo the message (creativity itself). We are not attempting here to arbitrate between these various models with a view to providing a rank order of creativity. Instead, we want to focus on and explore the ways in which recent technological developments, primarily the internet, have been, and might be, used to transmit and facilitate new directions and expressions of creativity and the creative process itself. Although the internet has no single inventor or birth date, its origins lie in the communication system devised by the RAND corporation in the 1960s: a system designed to survive a nuclear war because it had no central point of control. To this extent, one could say that its initial egalitarianism tips towards the expression of creativity. From here, the internet evolved through various mutations, such as APRANET and Bulletin Boards, to become the World Wide Web that emerged in the 1990s. Since then, the internet has encroached further and further into our everyday lives: we buy and sell goods at sites like Amazon or E-bay, we communicate to the world via email accounts at Hotmail or Yahoo, we court potential partners at Lavalife or Okcupid, and we engage in scholarly debates on sites such as M/C – Media and Culture. The point here is that the sheer ubiquity of the internet has brought about a quiet revolution in our everyday modes of creativity. Web navigation, for example, is heavily dependent on the creativity of the user to move through virtual space, even or perhaps especially when he/she must counter the ‘point and click’ inducements of advertising and marketing strategies. Little wonder then that the emergence of creativity as a fundamental tenet for success across a wide array of disciplines, coupled with the pervasiveness of cyberspace, has led to an explosion of both the production and transmission of creativity on-line. One such development is the transmission and dissemination of already created products via the web: that is, products hijacked from the ‘real’. In its most controversial and publicized form, the creative output of musicians has become tender for trade between individuals who subscribe to programs such as Napster and Limewire. Beyond this, the internet extends ever outwards in a panoply of both solicited and pirated images and video clips of people’s creative output. Here the internet seems to move beyond the liberating potential that Benjamin saw in technology’s ability to reproduce the image (Benjamin) towards the simulacra (or hyper-real copies of the ‘real’) proposed by Baudrillard (Baudrillard). On-line creativity has not, however, been limited to the reproduction of artistic output that exists in the ‘real’. As with any practice fundamental to the expression of the human condition, creativity has found new and exciting ways to express itself on-line. For example, digital art has emerged as a serious artistic pursuit since the late 20th century. Here, a number of artists have fused their creative ability and their technological skills to generate new ways in which their creativity can be transmitted. A cyber-poet may meld both the classical poetic forms of stanza and rhyme with the language of HTML or Java to create a cyber-poem (see the work of Komninos Zervos). Visual artists such as Han Hoogerbrugge have also been able to successfully adapt their works to the digital world: Hooderbrugge converted a comic strip he wrote in the mid-1990s to a series of digital animations. As well as this, new on-line formats such as blogs have been used by a number of artists to express their creativity in new and interesting ways (see the work of Olia Lialina). Other artists have dived even further into the simulacra, preferring the aesthetic value of the code itself over the presence of images or words that might signify something in the ‘real’ (see this work by Jason Nelson). Unlike traditional art forms, these emerging digital art forms are intensively interactive and thereby encourage the creativity of their audience. By allowing the artistic product itself to be manipulated, digital artists facilitate new ways of ‘reading’ art. It is tempting then to offer the internet up as something of a creative utopia – an Aladdin’s Cave – a place where creativity, in all its manifestations, can be transmitted to the masses. However, in the final chapter of her book The Pearly Gates of Cyberspace, Margaret Wertheim discusses the notion of a ‘cyber-utopia’ and asks “Who is this cyber-utopia really going to be for?” (Wertheim 295). She goes on to point out that not only do the majority of the world’s inhabitants not have access to the internet, but that out of those who do, many are discriminated against in the virtual world because of their gender, their sexuality, their skin colour or their ethnicity. (Of course, this does not necessarily make online space any less democratic than traditional technologies such as print forms). More recently, Lawrence Lessig has taken Wertheim’s questioning of cyber-utopia to its logical dystopian antithesis in his book Free Culture. Here, Lessig agues that the internet has had a direct impact on the way that culture is made. Specifically, the control that major media conglomerates and governments have over the internet has meant that “the ordinary ways in which individuals create and share culture fall within the reach of the regulation of the law, which has expanded to draw within its control a vast amount of culture and creativity that it never reached before” (Lessig 8). Have we therefore clicked open a Pandora’s Box through our incessant attempts to get wired? All technologies are open to abuse. Cyberspace is neither Aladdin’s Cave nor Pandora’s Box but simply a work in progress. And it is on this basis that we are currently creating an online Creativity Resource Portal. This portal does not attempt to resolve immediately the many debates over the nature and transmission of creativity, nor does it set out to completely resolve the quandaries raised by creativity’s cyber manifestations. Instead, it aims, at least initially, to disseminate a broad range of knowledge about creativity – thus encouraging inter-fertilization across disciplines and practices – and also to act as a catalyst for currently unrecognized ways of creating and expressing creativity in the online world. That being said, we hope that future refined manifestations of the site will possess the characteristics of a ‘laboratory’, in which the serious issues of creative freedom and control outlined in this paper – issues of transmission in the broadest sense – might be more directly engaged with. It is through this direct virtual engagement that we hope to reach conclusions capable of extending outwards to the wider, global online environment. This might happen via experiments with new types of non-hierarchical site structures, or with the level of control given to visitors over what happens in the site. But can any structures resist the exercise of power? Can egalitarianism (cyber or otherwise) ever fully eschew borders and margins? These are the questions that challenge and excite us as managers of the CRP. References Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” In Illuminations. London: Fontana, 1992. Baudrillard, Jean. The Ecstasy of Communication. 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