Academic literature on the topic 'Yemen Events Timeline 2011-2015'

The so-called Arab spring of 2011 did not pass by Yemen. As it became clear later on, it triggered a chain of events leading up to cardinal changes in the country’s destiny. It would be wrong, however, to call the 2011 turmoil a revolution since it failed to bring about a fundamental social and political transformation. This was achieved later, in 2014-2015, when a vigorous social protest was accompanied by an outburst of tribalism as the Shiite Houthi movement dared to challenge the long-standing domination of powerful traditional clans that used to be represented by President Salih who lost his position but kept trying to ensure a comeback. In a completely new and surprising configuration of forces Salih made an alliance with the Houthites who succeeded in quickly overrunning most of the country. These events, unlike the 2011 events, can be branded a genuine revolution. The situation was aggravated by the increased activity of “Al-Qaeda in the Arabian peninsula” and the separatist movement in the South. As the Houthites appeared to be winning, Saudi Arabia began a large scale military intervention aimed at preventing Yemen from becoming a Shia-dominated state and possibly an Iranian stooge. As a result of the Saudi air bombardment, contours of a serious international conflict have been shaping up. Acknowledgements. Research has been implemented in the framework of NRU HSE Program of Fundamental Studies in 2015 with support of Russian Scientifi c Foundation, Project № 14-18-03615.

After the unification of North and South Yemen into a single state in 1990, some Yemeni writers tried to rethink in a literary form the country’s recent past, which was presented in the literature of the previous period in an ideologically embellished form. One of the first authors to do so was Habib Saruri, a Yemeni-born computer scientist who lives permanently in France. In his first novel, The Ruined Queen (1998), he described the life of South Yemen in the first half of the 1970s, during the period of active implementation of the theory of scientific socialism in the country. The success of the novel encouraged Saruri to continue writing, and to date he has published nine novels. In most of his works, the writer focuses on the sociopolitical transformations that Yemen has gone through over the past half-century, including the socialist experiment of the 1970–80s and the civil war of 1986 in the South, the consequences of this war for the losing side, the process of rapprochement and unification of the two parts of Yemen, the civil war of 1994 in the united Yemen and its consequences for the South, the spread of radical Islamism, the revolution of 2011 and further political chaos, the Houthis’ attempt to capture Aden in 2015, and the current military campaign of the Arab coalition against the Houthis. Saruri treats the events of Yemen’s modern history boldly and straightforwardly, in a manner characteristic of a columnist, and most of his works resemble journalism, presented in the form of a novel. This article examines the picture of the modern history of Yemen presented in six of Saruri’s novels: The Ruined Queen (1998), Damlan (2004), The Bird of Destruction (2005), Suslov’s Daughter (2014), The Grandson of Sinbad (2016), and Revelation (2018).

The unification of the two Yemeni states?the northern Yemen Arab Republic (YAR) and the southern People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY), respectively?in 1990 has been a resounding failure. Merging the tribal-dominated northern and state-party dominated southern regimes meant increasing the number of factions competing for access to state resources to satisfy material and security needs of their respective networks of influence. In particular, efforts at growing the resource base of the unified state after 1990, by means of an expansion of oil and gas exploration and extraction, raised the revenue base of the state in an unsustainable manner. Such growth in national oil and gas rents increased rather than decreased competition over state authority to control the spoils. The major subsequent events, such as the 1994 civil war, the 2004-2010 “Saada wars” against the Houthi movement, the Yemeni version of the “Arab Spring” in 2011, the failure of the National Dialogue Conference (March 2013-January 2014), and the start of the Saudi and Emirati bombing campaign and subsequent ground war in Yemen since March 2015 all triggered major clashes between different factions of the Yemeni state bureaucracy, army, and civil society. On each of these occasions, efforts to freeze out some Yemeni actors produced escalating conflict between the remaining factions instead of a winning coalition that could have reestablished a degree of stability. The article explains how local, regional, and global factors have jointly overwhelmed the Yemeni actors, and how foreign intervention has led to the further deterioration of the pre-existing national crisis.

“Every morning you have 2 choices: Continue to sleep with your dreams Or wake up and chase them.” --- J.S. Tinaza Dr. Tinaza may not have been Shakespeare, Poe or Frost but he was known for his meaningful verses which he posted on viber, mundane and profound thoughts about life and recent photos he captured in his timeline. Dr. Jomar S. Tinaza obtained his Doctor of Medicine degree from the De La Salle University College of Medicine in 1995. He joined the Quezon City General Hospital residency training program with Dr. Carmina G. Galang in January 2000. In January 2003, the Philippine Board of Otolaryngology – Head and Neck Surgery accredited the training program. Dr. Galang graduated in 2004 while Jomar opted to extend his training for 2 years to complete the 4 years needed to become board-eligible. Hence, Jomar was the first alumnus of the QCGH ENT department. He passed the Diplomate exam on Sep 17, 2010. His extended stay was instrumental for our full accreditation and Dr. Pascual, his previous training officer and chair admired him for his extraordinary ideas and trusted him to accomplish certain tasks beyond his comfort zone. He saw the potential of a good clinical practice in cosmetic surgery and pursued subspecialty training in facial aesthetic surgery under the Facial Aesthetic Core of ENT Surgeons (FACES) in 2010. Afterwards Jomar and his wife Amy established the Asian Aesthetic Center in Katipunan Ave. He became a visiting and subspecialty consultant in Maxillofacial, Facial Plastic and Reconstructive surgery of the department in 2011. As a mentor, he unselfishly shared his skills and diligently assisted the residents during surgery working pro bono as a visiting consultant. He came early to attend grand rounds, was never satisfied with mediocre answers, persistently scrutinizing and demanding precision and accuracy. Sometimes his queries may have been perceived as nit-picking but they certainly echoed the effervescence and eagerness of a budding junior consultant plunging into the dynamics of clinical discussion. He helped organized the series of international postgraduate courses in Facial Plastic Surgery in QCGH from 2010 – 2012. As a consultant, Jomar was a silent worker who actively participated and contributed voluntarily. He co-authored the paper on a case series of Tessier patients which is published in the current issue of this journal; he assisted in a case of tuberous sclerosis which he proposed as a case report to represent the department this year; he was preparing a descriptive paper on a case series of rhinoplasty in cleft noses; and he helped amputate an Abbe flap on a clinical patient with lip cancer, a week before he left. He was invited to lecture in a postgraduate course at St. Luke’s Medical Center after the PSO-HNS annual convention and he subsequently gave an inspirational talk where he emphasized the value of hard work and patience to succeed, during the residents’ graduation last December. One of his passions was photography. He had a keen eye for taking pictures of people in action, picturesque sceneries and documenting events. He even proposed a post-graduate course on photography especially on selecting the proper angle, exposure, and lighting before and after cosmetic surgery and showcased a photo exhibit of his works. Jomar treated his patients with compassion and pampered them with care with his motto and familiar verse: “Do all things with kindness.” He was generous and gracious to hospital employees and treated the residents as members of an extended family. To break loose from the monotony and grime of daily routine, he would often invite residents to have dinner in their new house at LGV, share thoughts and perspectives about life over a bottle of beer or shots of tequila, once in a while dishing out songs from his own repertoire. The staff will miss his silly grin while holding the microphone during videoke nites at the perennial watering hole in Bauschmann cafe. He had a toast for all occasions, with a pocketful of cheers and stories to tell. One of his favorite lines was, “for good looks and good life…” Jomar had a penchant for gadgets-- buying gifts especially for his wife, he savored food, dining, and vacations with his family. As a husband, Amy could not ask for more. During the necrological rites, she confided that there were times when she would wake up and catch Jomar staring at her, giving her the impression that she was the most beautiful woman in this world. And to his 2 sons, Earl and Marcus, Jomar was a loving father who woke up early and took them to school, securing a brighter future for both of them. True to his words, Jomar never slept and chased his dream. He undoubtedly touched many people’s lives along the way. The staff grieves and deeply mourns the passing of a fellow, colleague, comrade, mentor, brother, and friend. His gestures and verses will continue to reverberate, long after he has gone.

This article looks at the structure and the dynamics of the Middle Eastern crisis set in motion by the events of the Arab Spring. At the heart of the crisis was Syria, where antigovernment protests broke out in early 2011, almost in parallel with other countries also affected by the Arab Spring. Starting from late March 2011, the unrest morphed into a civil war, leading to a large-scale crisis engulfing the country by the end of the year. At first, the opposition to the Syrian regime consisted of numerous groups with varying political affiliations – from liberals to Islamists – however, by early 2012, radical Islamism came to dominate the opposition forces. And by the end of the same year, the opposition was spearheaded by an openly terrorist organization – the al-Nusra Front, an outgrowth of the Syrian branch of Al-Qaeda. Over the same period, regional and international forces were becoming more and more involved in the Syrian crisis. Since 2012, in parallel with the Syrian crisis, there has been another internal conflict raging in the Middle East, namely in Iraq, with the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) taking the foreground and combining groups of Iraqi al-Qaeda militants with Baathist underground forces. In 2014–2015, ISIL took hold of large swaths of territory in Syria and Iraq, effectively turning the Syrian civil war into a regional conflict. In addition to Syria and Iraq, the ongoing crisis has involved – either directly or indirectly – such actors as Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and a number of other regional powers. Turkey has been indirectly involved in the Syrian crisis since its very beginning, but starting from 2016 its engagement in the conflict has become much more active – not only in Syria, but also in Iraq. In 2013, Iran started to interfere in the Syrian crisis directly, using its Shia allies, and expanded its presence onto Iraq in 2014. Saudi Arabia and Qatar’s participation in the Syrian conflict has been indirect, mainly through military and financial assistance provided to their clients inside the country. However, Saudi Arabia’s activities in Syria have started to decline in 2015, due to its military involvement in Yemen, which – in a broader context – can be perceived as a peripheral component of the large regional conflict. In addition to the above mentioned components, one could also name a number of other equally important factors to the crisis. One of them is that the ranks of al- Nusra and ISIL militants have been reinforced not only by people coming from the Arab countries, but also from the citizens of Western Europe, North America and the former USSR. Another factor has been the growing role of Kurdish groups in the confrontation with the terrorists, especially with ISIL. This has led to the creation of a Kurdish autonomy in northern Syria. At the same time, an armed confrontation began in Turkish Kurdistan, which Turkey views as a threat to its territorial integrity. The Syrian crisis has also been marked by involvement of global powers, such as the US and Russia. The US-led international coalition has not succeeded in changing the course of the conflict – on the other hand, Russia’s involvement since the second half of 2015 has made a significant difference. With the end of the campaign against ISIL already in view, and with the prospects for a successful intra- Syrian settlement, it would seem reasonable to raise the question of the post-conflict configuration of the region, which is discussed at the end of the article.

Introduction Since December 2010 the dramatic spectacle of the spread of mass uprisings, civil unrest, and protest across North Africa and the Middle East have been chronicled daily on mainstream media and new media. Broadly speaking, the Arab Spring—as it came to be known—is challenging repressive, corrupt governments and calling for democracy and human rights. The convulsive events linked with these debates have been striking not only because of the rapid spread of historically momentous mass protests but also because of the ways in which the media “have become inextricably infused inside them” enabling the global media ecology to perform “an integral part in building and mobilizing support, co-ordinating and defining the protests within different Arab societies as well as trans-nationalizing them” (Cottle 295). Images of mass protests have been juxtaposed against those of individuals prepared to self-destruct for political ends. Video clips and photographs of the individual suffering of Tunisian Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation and the Bahraini Abdulhad al-Khawaja’s emaciated body foreground, in very graphic ways, political struggles that larger events would mask or render invisible. Highlighting broad commonalties does not assume uniformity in patterns of protest and media coverage across the region. There has been considerable variation in the global media coverage and nature of the protests in North Africa and the Middle East (Cottle). In Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen uprisings overthrew regimes and leaders. In Syria it has led the country to the brink of civil war. In Bahrain, the regime and its militia violently suppressed peaceful protests. As a wave of protests spread across the Middle East and one government after another toppled in front of 24/7 global media coverage, Bahrain became the “Arab revolution that was abandoned by the Arabs, forsaken by the West … forgotten by the world,” and largely ignored by the global media (Al-Jazeera English). Per capita the protests have been among the largest of the Arab Spring (Human Rights First) and the crackdown as brutal as elsewhere. International organizations have condemned the use of military courts to trial protestors, the detaining of medical staff who had treated the injured, and the use of torture, including the torture of children (Fisher). Bahraini and international human rights organizations have been systematically chronicling these violations of human rights, and posting on Websites distressing images of tortured bodies often with warnings about the graphic depictions viewers are about to see. It was in this context of brutal suppression, global media silence, and the reluctance of the international community to intervene, that the Bahraini-Danish human rights activist Abdulhad al-Khawaja launched his “death or freedom” hunger strike. Even this radical action initially failed to interest international editors who were more focused on Egypt, Libya, and Syria, but media attention rose in response to the Bahrain Formula 1 race in April 2012. Pro-democracy activists pledged “days of rage” to coincide with the race in order to highlight continuing human rights abuses in the kingdom (Turner). As Al Khawaja’s health deteriorated the Bahraini government resisted calls for his release (Article 19) from the Danish government who requested that Al Khawaja be extradited there on “humanitarian grounds” for hospital treatment (Fisk). This article does not explore the geo-politics of the Bahraini struggle or the possible reasons why the international community—in contrast to Syria and Egypt—has been largely silent and reluctant to debate the issues. Important as they are, those remain questions for Middle Eastern specialists to address. In this article I am concerned with the overlapping and interpenetration of two ecologies. The first ecology is the ethical framing of a prison hunger strike as a corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction intended to achieve political ends. The second ecology is the operation of global media where international inaction inadvertently foregrounds the political struggles that larger events and discourses surrounding Egypt, Libya, and Syria overshadow. What connects these two ecologies is the body of the hunger striker, turned into a spectacle and mediated via a politics of affect that invites a global public to empathise and so enter into his suffering. The connection between the two lies in the emaciated body of the hunger striker. An Ecological Humanities Approach This exploration of two ecologies draws on the ecological humanities and its central premise of connectivity. The ecological humanities critique the traditional binaries in Western thinking between nature and culture; the political and social; them and us; the collective and the individual; mind, body and emotion (Rose & Robin, Rieber). Such binaries create artificial hierarchies, divisions, and conflicts that ultimately impede the ability to respond to crises. Crises are major changes that are “out of control” driven—primarily but not exclusively—by social, political, and cultural forces that unleash “runaway systems with their own dynamics” (Rose & Robin 1). The ecological humanities response to crises is premised on the recognition of the all-inclusive connectivity of organisms, systems, and environments and an ethical commitment to action from within this entanglement. A founding premise of connectivity, first articulated by anthropologist and philosopher Gregory Bateson, is that the “unit of survival is not the individual or the species, but the organism-and-its-environment” (Rose & Robin 2). This highlights a dialectic in which an organism is shaped by and shapes the context in which it finds itself. Or, as Harries-Jones puts it, relations are recursive as “events continually enter into, become entangled with, and then re-enter the universe they describe” (3). This ensures constantly evolving ecosystems but it also means any organism that “deteriorates its environment commits suicide” (Rose & Robin 2) with implications for the others in the eco-system. Bateson’s central premise is that organisms are simultaneously independent, as separate beings, but also interdependent. Interactions are not seen purely as exchanges but as dynamic, dialectical, dialogical, and mutually constitutive. Thus, it is presumed that the destruction or protection of others has consequences for oneself. Another dimension of interactions is multi-modality, which implies that human communication cannot be reduced to a single mode such as words, actions, or images but needs to be understood in the complexity of inter-relations between these (see Rieber 16). Nor can dissemination be reduced to a single technological platform whether this is print, television, Internet, or other media (see Cottle). The final point is that interactions are “biologically grounded but not determined” in that the “cognitive, emotional and volitional processes” underpinning face-to-face or mediated communication are “essentially indivisible” and any attempt to separate them by privileging emotion at the expense of thought, or vice versa, is likely to be unhealthy (Rieber 17). This is most graphically demonstrated in a politically-motivated hunger strike where emotion and volition over-rides the survivalist instinct. The Ecology of a Prison Hunger Strike The radical nature of a hunger strike inevitably gives rise to medico-ethical debates. Hunger strikes entail the voluntary refusal of sustenance by an individual and, when prolonged, such deprivation sets off a chain reaction as the less important components in the internal body systems shut down to protect the brain until even that can no longer be protected (see Basoglu et al). This extreme form of protest—essentially an act of self-destruction—raises ethical issues over whether or not doctors or the state should intervene to save a life for humanitarian or political reasons. In 1975 and 1991, the World Medical Association (WMA) sought to negotiate this by distinguishing between, on the one hand, the mentally/psychological impaired individual who chooses a “voluntary fast” and, on the other hand, the hunger striker who chooses a form of protest action to secure an explicit political goal fully aware of fatal consequences of prolonged action (see Annas, Reyes). This binary enables the WMA to label the action of the mentally impaired suicide while claiming that to do so for political protesters would be a “misconception” because the “striker … does not want to die” but to “live better” by obtaining certain political goals for himself, his group or his country. “If necessary he is willing to sacrifice his life for his case, but the aim is certainly not suicide” (Reyes 11). In practice, the boundaries between suicide and political protest are likely to be much more blurred than this but the medico-ethical binary is important because it informs discourses about what form of intervention is ethically appropriate. In the case of the “suicidal” the WMA legitimises force-feeding by a doctor as a life-saving act. In the case of the political protestor, it is de-legitimised in discourses of an infringement of freedom of expression and an act of torture because of the pain involved (see Annas, Reyes). Philosopher Michel Foucault argued that prison is a key site where the embodied subject is explicitly governed and where the exercising of state power in the act of incarceration means the body of the imprisoned no longer solely belongs to the individual. It is also where the “body’s range of significations” is curtailed, “shaped and invested by the very forces that detain and imprison it” (Pugliese 2). Thus, prison creates the circumstances in which the incarcerated is denied the “usual forms of protest and judicial safeguards” available outside its confines. The consequence is that when presented with conditions that violate core beliefs he/she may view acts of self-destruction—such as hunger strikes or lip sewing—as one of the few “means of protesting against, or demanding attention” or achieving political ends still available to them (Reyes 11; Pugliese). The hunger strike implicates the state, which, in the act of imprisoning, has assumed a measure of power and responsibility for the body of the individual. If a protest action is labelled suicidal by medical professionals—for instance at Guantanamo—then the force-feeding of prisoners can be legitimised within the WMA guidelines (Annas). There is considerable political temptation to do so particularly when the hunger striker has become an icon of resistance to the state, the knowledge of his/her action has transcended prison confines, and the alienating conditions that prompted the action are being widely debated in the media. This poses a two-fold danger for the state. On the one hand, there is the possibility that the slow emaciation and death while imprisoned, if covered by the media, may become a spectacle able to mobilise further resistance that can destabilise the polity. On the other hand, there is the fear that in the act of dying, and the spectacle surrounding death, the hunger striker would have secured the public attention to the very cause they are championing. Central to this is whether or not the act of self-destruction is mediated. It is far from inevitable that the media will cover a hunger strike or do so in ways that enable the hunger striker’s appeal to the emotions of others. However, when it does, the international scrutiny and condemnation that follows may undermine the credibility of the state—as happened with the death of the IRA member Bobby Sands in Northern Ireland (Russell). The Media Ecology and the Bahrain Arab Spring The IRA’s use of an “ancient tactic ... to make a blunt appeal to sympathy and emotion” in the form of the Sands hunger strike was seen as “spectacularly successful in gaining worldwide publicity” (Willis 1). Media ecology has evolved dramatically since then. Over the past 20 years communication flows between the local and the global, traditional media formations (broadcast and print), and new communication media (Internet and mobile phones) have escalated. The interactions of the traditional media have historically shaped and been shaped by more “top-down” “politics of representation” in which the primary relationship is between journalists and competing public relations professionals servicing rival politicians, business or NGOs desire for media attention and framing issues in a way that is favourable or sympathetic to their cause. However, rapidly evolving new media platforms offer bottom up, user-generated content, a politics of connectivity, and mobilization of ordinary people (Cottle 31). However, this distinction has increasingly been seen as offering too rigid a binary to capture the complexity of the interactions between traditional and new media as well as the events they capture. The evolution of both meant their content increasingly overlaps and interpenetrates (see Bennett). New media technologies “add new communicative ingredients into the media ecology mix” (Cottle 31) as well as new forms of political protests and new ways of mobilizing dispersed networks of activists (Juris). Despite their pervasiveness, new media technologies are “unlikely to displace the necessity for coverage in mainstream media”; a feature noted by activist groups who have evolved their own “carnivalesque” tactics (Cottle 32) capable of creating the spectacle that meets television demands for action-driven visuals (Juris). New media provide these groups with the tools to publicise their actions pre- and post-event thereby increasing the possibility that mainstream media might cover their protests. However there is no guarantee that traditional and new media content will overlap and interpenetrate as initial coverage of the Bahrain Arab Spring highlights. Peaceful protests began in February 2011 but were violently quelled often by Saudi, Qatari and UAE militia on behalf of the Bahraini government. Mass arrests were made including that of children and medical personnel who had treated those wounded during the suppression of the protests. What followed were a long series of detentions without trial, military court rulings on civilians, and frequent use of torture in prisons (Human Rights Watch 2012). By the end of 2011, the country had the highest number of political prisoners per capita of any country in the world (Amiri) but received little coverage in the US. The Libyan uprising was afforded the most broadcast time (700 minutes) followed by Egypt (500 minutes), Syria (143), and Bahrain (34) (Lobe). Year-end round-ups of the Arab Spring on the American Broadcasting Corporation ignored Bahrain altogether or mentioned it once in a 21-page feature (Cavell). This was not due to a lack of information because a steady stream has flowed from mobile phones, Internet sites and Twitter as NGOs—Bahraini and international—chronicled in images and first-hand accounts the abuses. However, little of this coverage was picked up by the US-dominated global media. It was in this context that the Bahraini-Danish human rights activist Abdulhad Al Khawaja launched his “freedom or death” hunger strike in protest against the violent suppression of peaceful demonstrations, the treatment of prisoners, and the conduct of the trials. Even this radical action failed to persuade international editors to cover the Bahrain Arab Spring or Al Khawaja’s deteriorating health despite being “one of the most important stories to emerge over the Arab Spring” (Nallu). This began to change in April 2012 as a number of things converged. Formula 1 pressed ahead with the Bahrain Grand Prix, and pro-democracy activists pledged “days of rage” over human rights abuses. As these were violently suppressed, editors on global news desks increasingly questioned the government and Formula 1 “spin” that all was well in the kingdom (see BBC; Turner). Claims by the drivers—many of who were sponsored by the Bahraini government—that this was a sports event, not a political one, were met with derision and journalists more familiar with interviewing superstars were diverted into covering protests because their political counterparts had been denied entry to the country (Fisk). This combination of media events and responses created the attention, interest, and space in which Al Khawaja’s deteriorating condition could become a media spectacle. The Mediated Spectacle of Al Khawaja’s Hunger Strike Journalists who had previously struggled to interest editors in Bahrain and Al Khawaja’s plight found that in the weeks leading up to the Grand Prix and since “his condition rapidly deteriorated”’ and there were “daily updates with stories from CNN to the Hindustan Times” (Nulla). Much of this mainstream news was derived from interviews and tweets from Al Khawaja’s family after each visit or phone call. What emerged was an unprecedented composite—a diary of witnesses to a hunger strike interspersed with the family’s struggles with the authorities to get access to him and their almost tangible fear that the Bahraini government would not relent and he would die. As these fears intensified 48 human rights NGOs called for his release from prison (Article 19) and the Danish government formally requested his extradition for hospital treatment on “humanitarian grounds”. Both were rejected. As if to provide evidence of Al Khawaja’s tenuous hold on life, his family released an image of his emaciated body onto Twitter. This graphic depiction of the corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction was re-tweeted and posted on countless NGO and news Websites (see Al-Jazeera). It was also juxtaposed against images of multi-million dollar cars circling a race-track, funded by similarly large advertising deals and watched by millions of people around the world on satellite channels. Spectator sport had become a grotesque parody of one man’s struggle to speak of what was going on in Bahrain. In an attempt to silence the criticism the Bahraini government imposed a de facto news blackout denying all access to Al Khawaja in hospital where he had been sent after collapsing. The family’s tweets while he was held incommunicado speak of their raw pain, their desperation to find out if he was still alive, and their grief. They also provided a new source of information, and the refrain “where is alkhawaja,” reverberated on Twitter and in global news outlets (see for instance Der Spiegel, Al-Jazeera). In the days immediately after the race the Danish prime minister called for the release of Al Khawaja, saying he is in a “very critical condition” (Guardian), as did the UN’s Ban-Ki Moon (UN News and Media). The silencing of Al Khawaja had become a discourse of callousness and as global media pressure built Bahraini ministers felt compelled to challenge this on non-Arabic media, claiming Al Khawaja was “eating” and “well”. The Bahraini Prime Minister gave one of his first interviews to the Western media in years in which he denied “AlKhawaja’s health is ‘as bad’ as you say. According to the doctors attending to him on a daily basis, he takes liquids” (Der Spiegel Online). Then, after six days of silence, the family was allowed to visit. They tweeted that while incommunicado he had been restrained and force-fed against his will (Almousawi), a statement almost immediately denied by the military hospital (Lebanon Now). The discourses of silence and callousness were replaced with discourses of “torture” through force-feeding. A month later Al Khawaja’s wife announced he was ending his hunger strike because he was being force-fed by two doctors at the prison, family and friends had urged him to eat again, and he felt the strike had achieved its goal of drawing the world’s attention to Bahrain government’s response to pro-democracy protests (Ahlul Bayt News Agency). Conclusion This article has sought to explore two ecologies. The first is of medico-ethical discourses which construct a prison hunger strike as a corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction to achieve particular political ends. The second is of shifting engagement within media ecology and the struggle to facilitate interpenetration of content and discourses between mainstream news formations and new media flows of information. I have argued that what connects the two is the body of the hunger striker turned into a spectacle, mediated via a politics of affect which invites empathy and anger to mobilise behind the cause of the hunger striker. The body of the hunger striker is thereby (re)produced as a feature of the twin ecologies of the media environment and the self-environment relationship. References Ahlul Bayt News Agency. “Bahrain: Abdulhadi Alkhawaja’s Statement about Ending his Hunger Strike.” (29 May 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://abna.ir/data.asp?lang=3&id=318439›. Al-Akhbar. “Family Concerned Al-Khawaja May Be Being Force Fed.” Al-Akhbar English. (27 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://english.al-akhbar.com/content/family-concerned-al-khawaja-may-be-being-force-fed›. Al-Jazeera. “Shouting in the Dark.” Al-Jazeera English. (3 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.aljazeera.com/programmes/2011/08/201184144547798162.html› ——-. “Bahrain Says Hunger Striker in Good Health.” Al-Jazeera English. (27 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/04/2012425182261808.html> Almousawi, Khadija. (@Tublani 2010). “Sad cus I had to listen to dear Hadi telling me how he was drugged, restrained, force fed and kept incommunicado for five days.” (30 April 2012). 3h. Tweet. 1 June 2012. Amiri, Ranni. “Bahrain by the Numbers.” CounterPunch. (December 30-31). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.counterpunch.org/2011/12/30/bahrain-by-the-numbers›. Annas, George. “Prison Hunger Strikes—Why the Motive Matters.” Hastings Centre Report. 12.6 (1982): 21-22. ——-. “Hunger Strikes at Guantanamo—Medical Ethics and Human Rights in a ‘Legal Black Hole.’” The New England Journal of Medicine 355 (2006): 1377-92. 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Introduction This article explores the phenomenon of the Creative City in the context of Aberdeen, Scotland’s third-largest city. The common perception of Aberdeen is likely to revolve around its status, for the last 50 years, as Europe’s Oil & Gas Capital. However, for more than a decade Aberdeen’s city planners have sought to incorporate creativity and culture in their placemaking. The most visible expression of this was the unsuccessful 2013 bid to become the UK City of Culture 2017 (CoC), which was referred to as a “reality check” by Marie Boulton (BBC), the councillor charged with the culture portfolio. This article reviews and appraises subsequent policies and actions. It looks at Aberdeen’s history and its current Cultural Strategy and how events have supported or inhibited the reimagining of Aberdeen as a Creative and Cultural City. Landry’s “Lineages of the Creative City” tracks the rise in interest around culture and creative sectors and highlights that there is more to the creative city than economic growth, positing that a creative city is a holistic environment in which “ordinary people can make the extra-ordinary happen” (2). Comunian develops Landry’s concept of hard (infrastructural) assets and soft (people and activity) assets by introducing Complexity Theory to examine the interactions between the two. Comunian argues that a city should be understood as a complex adaptive system (CAS) and that the interconnectivity of consumption and production, micro and macro, and networks of actors must be incorporated into policy thinking. Creating physical assets without regard to what happens in and around them does not build a creative city. Aberdeen: Context and History Important when considering Aberdeen is its remoteness: 66 miles north of its closest city neighbour Dundee, 90 miles north of Edinburgh and 125 miles north-east of Glasgow. For Aberdonians travel is a necessity to connect with other cultural centres whether in Scotland, the UK, Europe, or further afield, making Aberdeen’s nearly 900-year-old port a key asset. Sitting at the mouth of the River Dee, which marks Aberdeen’s southern boundary, this key transport hub has long been central to Aberdeen’s culture giving rise to two of the oldest established businesses in the UK: the Port of Aberdeen (1136) and the Shore Porter’s Society (1498). Fishing and trade with Europe thrived and connections with the continent led to the establishment of Aberdeen’s first university: King’s College (Scotland’s third and the UK’s fifth) in 1495. A second, Marischal College, was established in 1593, joining forces with King’s in 1860 to become the University of Aberdeen. The building created in 1837 to house Marischal College is the second-largest granite building in the world (VisitAberdeenshire, Marischal) and now home to Aberdeen City Council (ACC). Robert Gordon University (RGU), awarded university status in 1992, grew out of an institution established in 1729 (RGU, Our History); this period marked the dawning of the Scottish Enlightenment when Aberdeen’s Wise Club were key to an intellectual discourse that changed western thinking (RSA). Gray’s School of Art, now part of RGU, was established in 1885, at the same time as Aberdeen Art Gallery which holds a collection of national significance (ACC, Art Gallery). Aberdeen’s northern boundary is marked by its second river, the River Don, which has also contributed to the city’s history, economics, and culture. For centuries, paper and woollen mills, including the world-famous Crombie, thrived on its banks and textile production was the city’s largest employer, with one mill employing 3,000 staff (P&J, Broadford). While the city and surrounds have been home to notable creatives, including writers Lewis Grassic Gibbon and Lord Byron; musicians Annie Lennox, Dame Evelyn Glennie, and Emeli Sandé; fashion designer Bill Gibb and dancer Michael Clark, it has struggled to attract and retain creative talent, and there is a familiar exodus of art school graduates to the larger and more accepted creative cities of Glasgow, Edinburgh, and London. In 2013, at the time of the CoC bid, ACC recognised that creative industries graduates leaving the city was “a serious issue” (ACC, Cultural Mapping 1). The City of Culture Bid This recognition came at a time when ACC acknowledged that Aberdeen, with already low unemployment, required an influx of workforce. An ACC document (Cultural Mapping) cites Richard Florida’s proposal that a strong cultural offer attracts skilled workers to a city, adding that they “look for a lively cultural life in their choice of location” (7) and quoting an oil executive: “our poor city centre is often cited as a major obstacle in attracting people” (7). Changing the image of the city to attract new residents appears to have been a key motivation for the CoC bid. The CoC assessor noted this in their review of the bid, citing a report that 120,000 recruits were required in the city and agreeing that Aberdeen needed to “change perceptions of the city to retain and attract talent” (Regeneris 1). Aberdeen’s CoC bid was rejected at the first shortlisting stage, with feedback that the artistic vision “lacked depth” and “that cultural activity in the city was weaker than in several other bidding areas” (Regeneris 3). In an exploration of the bidding process, McGillivray and Turner highlight two factors which link to other concerns and feedback about the bid. Firstly, they compare Aberdeen’s choice of a Bid Manager from the business community with Paisley’s choice of one from their local arts sector in their bid for CoC 2021, which was successful in being shortlisted, highlighting different motivators behind the bids. Secondly, Aberdeen secured a bid team member from “Pafos’s bid to be 2017 European Capital of Culture (ECC), who subsequently played an important role” for Kalamata’s 2021 ECC bid (41), showing Aberdeen’s reluctance to develop local talent. A Decade of Investment ACC responded to the “reality check” with a series of investments in the hard assets of the city. Major refurbishment of two key buildings, the Music Hall and the Art Gallery, caused them both to be closed for several years, significantly diminishing the cultural offer in the city. The Music Hall re-opened in 2018 (Creative Scotland) and the Art Gallery in 2019 (McLean). In 2021, the extended and updated Art Gallery was named “Scotland’s building of the year” by the Royal Incorporation of Architects in Scotland (RIAS) (Museums Association). Concurrent with this was the development of “Europe’s largest new events complex, TECA [now P&J live] part financed through a £370 million stock market bond issue” (InvestAberdeen). Another cultural asset of the city which has been undergoing a facelift since 2019 is Union Terrace Gardens (UTG), the green heart of the city centre, gifted to the public in 1877. The development of this asset has had a chequered history. In 2008 it had been awarded “funding from Aberdeen Council (£3 million), the Scottish Arts Council (£4.3M) and Scottish Enterprise (£2 million)” (Aberdeenvoice) to realise a new multi-disciplinary contemporary art centre to be called ‘Northern Light’ and housed in a purpose-designed building (Brizac Gonzalez). The project, led by Peacock Visual arts, a printmaking centre of excellence and gallery founded in 1974, had secured planning permission. It would host Peacock Visual Arts, City Moves dance company, and the ACC arts development team. It echoed similar cultural partnership approaches, such as Dundee Contemporary Arts, although notably without involvement from the universities. Three months later, a counterbid to radically re-think UTG as a vast new city square was proposed by oil tycoon Sir Ian Wood, who backed the proposal with £50 million of his own funds, requiring matching finance by the city and ownership of the Gardens passing to private hands. Resistance to these plans came from ‘Friends of UTG’, and a public consultation was held. ACC voted to adopt Wood’s plans and drop those of Peacock, but a change of administration in the local authority overturned Wood’s plans in August 2012. A significant portion of the funding granted to the Northern Lights project was consumed in the heated public debate and the remainder was lost to the city, as was the Wood money, providing a highly charged backdrop to the CoC bid and an unfortunate divide created between the business and culture sectors that is arguably still discernible in the city today. According to the Aberdeen & Grampian Chamber of Commerce (AGCC) 2022 Investment Tracker, the nearly complete UTG transformation has cost £28.3m. The AGCC trackers since 2016 provide a useful reference for a wider view of investment in the region over this period. During this period, ACC commissioned two festivals: Spectra (ACC, Culture Programme 5), a festival of light curated by a Manchester-based organisation, and NuArt (VisitAberdeenshire, Nuart), a street-art festival curated by a Stavanger-based team. Both festivals deliver large-scale public spectacles but have little impact on the development of the cultural sector in the city. The drivers of footfall, income generation, and tourism are key motivators for these festivals, supporting a prevailing narrative of cultural consumption over cultural production in the city, despite Regeneris’s concerns about “importing of cultural activity, which might not leave behind a cultural sector” (1) and ACC’s own published concerns (ACC, Cultural Mapping). It is important to note that in 2014 the oil and gas industry that brought prosperity to Aberdeen was severely impacted upon by a drop in price and revenue. Many jobs were lost, people left the city, and housing prices, previously inflated, fell dramatically. The attention of the authorities turned to economic regeneration of the city and in 2015, the Aberdeen City Region Deal (UK Gov), bringing £250m to the region, (REF) was signed between the UK Government, Scottish Government, ACC, Aberdeenshire Council, and Opportunity North East (ONE). ONE “is the private sector leader and catalyst for economic diversification in northeast Scotland” with board members from industry, enterprise, AGCC, the councils, the universities, the harbour, and NHS. ONE focuses on five ‘pillars’: Digital Technology, Energy, Life Sciences, Tourism and Food, and Drink & Agriculture. A Decade of Creativity and Cultural Development Aberdeen’s ambitious cultural capital infrastructure spending of the last decade has seen the creation or refurbishment of significant hard assets in the city. The development of people (Cohendet et al.), the soft assets that Landry and Comunian agree are essential to the complex system that is a Creative City, has also seen development over this time. In 2014, RGU commissioned a review of Creative Industries in the North East of Scotland. The report notes that: the cultural sector in the region is strong at the grass roots end, but less so the higher up the scale it goes. There is no producing theatre, and no signature events or assets, although the revitalised art gallery might provide an opportunity to address this. (Ekos 2) This was followed by an international conference at which other energy cities (Calgary, Houston, Perth, and Oslo) presented their culture strategies, providing useful comparators for Aberdeen and a second RGU report (RGU, Regenerating). A third report, (RGU, New North), set out a vision for the region’s cultural future. The reports recommend strategy, leadership, and vision in the development of the cultural and creative soft assets of the region and the need to create conditions for graduate and practitioner retention. Also in 2014, RGU initiated the Look Again Festival of Art and Design, an annual festival to address a gap in the city festival roster and meet a need arising from the closure of both Art Gallery and Music Hall for refurbishment. The first festival took place in 2015 with a weekend-long public event showcasing a series of thought-provoking installations and events which demonstrated a clear appetite amongst the public and partner organisations for more activity of this type. Between 2015 and 2019, the festivals grew from strength to strength and increased in size and ambition, “carving out a new creative community in Aberdeen” (Williams). The 2019 festival involved 119 creatives, the majority from the region, and created 62 paid opportunities. Look Again expanded and became a constant presence and vehicle for sectoral and skills development, supporting students, graduates, volunteers, and new collectives, focussing on social capital and the intangible creative community assets in the city. Creative practitioners were supported with a series of programmes such as ‘Cultivate’ (2018), funded by Creative Scotland, that provided mentoring to strengthen business sustainability and networking events to improve connectivity in the sector. Cultivate also provided an opportunity to undertake further research, and a survey of over 100 small and micro creative businesses presented a view of a tenacious sector, committed to staying in the region but lacking structured and tailored support. The project report noted consistent messages about the need for “a louder voice for the sector” and concluded that further work was needed to better profile, support, and connect the sector (Cultivate 15). Comunian’s work supports this call to give greater consideration to the interplay of the agents in the creation of a strong creative city. In 2019, Look Again’s evolving role in creative sector skills development was recognised when they became part of Gray’s School of Art. A partnership quickly formed with the newly created Entrepreneurship & Innovation Group (EIG), a team formed within RGU to drive entrepreneurial thinking across all schools of the university. Together, Look Again and EIG ran a Creative Accelerator which became a prototype for a validated Creative Entrepreneurship post-graduate short-course that has supported around 120 creative graduates and practitioners with tailored business skills, contextual thinking, and extended peer networks. Meanwhile, another Look Again collaboration with the newly re-opened Art Gallery provided pop-up design events that many of these small businesses took part in, connecting them with public-facing retail opportunities and, for some, acquisitions for the Gallery’s collection. Culture Aberdeen During this time and after a period of public consultation, a new collaborative group, ‘Culture Aberdeen’, emerged. Membership of the group includes many regional cultural and arts organisations including ACC, both universities, and Aberdeen Civic Forum, which seeks “to bring the voice and views of all communities to every possible level of decision making”. The group subsequently published Culture Aberdeen: A Culture Strategy for the City of Aberdeen 2018-2028, which was endorsed by ACC in their first Cultural Investment Impact Report. The strategy sets out a series of cultural ambitions including a bid to become a UNESCO Creative City, establishing an Aberdeen Biennale, and becoming a national centre of excellence for an (unspecified) artform. This collaboration brings a uniting vision to Aberdeen’s creative activity and places of culture and presents a more compelling identity as a creative city. It also begins to map to Comunian’s concept of CAS and establish a framework for realising the potential of hard assets by strategically envisioning and leading the agents, activities, and development of the city’s creative sector. Challenges for Delivery of the Strategy In delivering a strategy based on collaborative efforts, it is essential to have shared goals and strong governance “based on characteristics such as trust, shared values, implicit standards, collaboration, and consultation” (Butcher et al. 77). Situations like Aberdeen’s tentative bid for UNESO Creative City status, which began in late 2018 but was halted in early 2019, suggest that shared goals and clear governance may not be in place. Wishing to join other UNESCO cities across Scotland – Edinburgh (Literature), Glasgow (Music), and Dundee (Design) –, Aberdeen had set its sights on ‘City of Craft and Folk Art’; that title subsequently went to the city of Perth in 2022, limiting Aberdeen’s future hopes of securing UNESCO Creative City status. In 2022, Aberdeen is nearly halfway through its strategy timeline; to achieve its vision by 2028, the leadership recommended in 2014 needs to be established and given proper authority and backing. Covid-19 has been particularly disruptive for the strategy, arriving early in its implementation and lasting for two years during which collaborators have, understandably, had to attend to core business and crisis management. Picking up the threads of collaborative activity at the same time as ‘returning to normal’ will be challenging. The financial impacts of Covid-19 have also hit arts organisations and local councils particularly hard, creating survival challenges that displace future investment plans. The devastation caused to city centres across the UK as shops close and retail moves online is keenly felt in Aberdeen. Yet the pandemic has also seen the growth of pockets of new activity. With falling demand for business space resulting in more ‘meanwhile spaces’ and lower rents, practitioners have been able to access or secure spaces that were previously prohibitive. Deemouth Artists’ Studios, an artist-run initiative, has provided a vital locus of support and connectivity for creatives in the city, doubling in size over the past two years. ‘We Are Here Scotland’ arrived in response to the resurgent Black Lives Matter movement in 2020, as a Community Interest Company initiated in Aberdeen to support black creatives and creatives of colour across Scotland. Initiatives such as EP Spaces that re-purpose empty offices as studios have created a resource, albeit precarious, for scores of recent creative graduates, supporting an emerging creative community. The consequences of the pandemic for the decade of cultural investment and creative development are yet to be understood, but disrupted strategies are hard to rekindle. Culture Aberdeen’s ability to resolve or influence these factors is unclear. As a voluntary network without a cohesive role or formal status in the provision of culture in the city, and little funding and few staff to advocate on its behalf, it probably lacks the strength of leadership required. Nevertheless, work is underway to refresh the strategy in response to the post-pandemic needs of the city and culture, and the Creative Industries more broadly, are, once again, beginning to be seen as part of the solution to recovery as new narratives emerge. There is a strong desire in the city’s and region’s creative communities to nurture, realise, and retain emerging talent to authentically enrich the city’s culture. Since the 2013 failed CoC bid, much has been done to rekindle confidence and shine a light on the rich creative culture that exists in Aberdeen, and creative communities are gaining a new voice for their work. 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IntroductionIn this article, I set out to accomplish two tasks. The first is to map coffee and cafés in Mainland China in different historical periods. The second is to focus on coffee and cafés in the socio-cultural milieu of contemporary China in order to understand the symbolic value of the emerging coffee/café-scape. Cafés, rather than coffee, are at the centre of this current trend in contemporary Chinese cities. With instant coffee dominating as a drink, the Chinese have developed a cultural and social demand for cafés, but have not yet developed coffee palates. Historical Coffee Map In 1901, coffee was served in a restaurant in the city of Tianjin. This restaurant, named Kiessling, was run by a German chef, a former solider who came to China with the eight-nation alliance. At that time, coffee was reserved mostly for foreign politicians and military officials as well as wealthy businessmen—very few ordinary Chinese drank it. (For more history of Kiessling, including pictures and videos, see Kiessling). Another group of coffee consumers were from the cultural elites—the young revolutionary intellectuals and writers with overseas experience. It was almost a fashion among the literary elite to spend time in cafés. However, this was negatively judged as “Western” and “bourgeois.” For example, in 1932, Lu Xun, one of the most important twentieth century Chinese writers, commented on the café fashion during 1920s (133-36), and listed the reasons why he would not visit one. He did not drink coffee because it was “foreigners’ food”, and he was too busy writing for the kind of leisure enjoyed in cafés. Moreover, he did not, he wrote, have the nerve to go to a café, and particularly not the Revolutionary Café that was popular among cultural celebrities at that time. He claimed that the “paradise” of the café was for genius, and for handsome revolutionary writers (who he described as having red lips and white teeth, whereas his teeth were yellow). His final complaint was that even if he went to the Revolutionary Café, he would hesitate going in (Lu Xun 133-36). From Lu Xun’s list, we can recognise his nationalism and resistance to what were identified as Western foods and lifestyles. It is easy to also feel his dissatisfaction with those dilettante revolutionary intellectuals who spent time in cafés, talking and enjoying Western food, rather than working. In contrast to Lu Xun’s resistance to coffee and café culture, another well-known writer, Zhang Ailing, frequented cafés when she lived in Shanghai from the 1920s to 1950s. She wrote about the smell of cakes and bread sold in Kiessling’s branch store located right next to her parents’ house (Yuyue). Born into a wealthy family, exposed to Western culture and food at a very young age, Zhang Ailing liked to spend her social and writing time in cafés, ordering her favourite cakes, hot chocolate, and coffee. When she left Shanghai and immigrated to the USA, coffee was an important part of her writing life: the smell and taste reminding her of old friends and Shanghai (Chunzi). However, during Zhang’s time, it was still a privileged and elite practice to patronise a café when these were located in foreign settlements with foreign chefs, and served mainly foreigners, wealthy businessmen, and cultural celebrities. After 1949, when the Chinese Communist Party established the People’s Republic of China, until the late 1970s, there were no coffee shops in Mainland China. It was only when Deng Xiaoping suggested neo-liberalism as a so-called “reform-and-open-up” economic policy that foreign commerce and products were again seen in China. In 1988, ten years after the implementation of Deng Xiaoping’s policy, the Nestlé coffee company made the first inroads into the mainland market, featuring homegrown coffee beans in Yunnan province (China Beverage News; Dong; ITC). Nestlé’s bottled instant coffee found its way into the Chinese market, avoiding a direct challenge to the tea culture. Nestlé packaged its coffee to resemble health food products and marketed it as a holiday gift suitable for friends and relatives. As a symbol of modernity and “the West”, coffee-as-gift meshed with the traditional Chinese cultural custom that values gift giving. It also satisfied a collective desire for foreign products (and contact with foreign cultures) during the economic reform era. Even today, with its competitively low price, instant coffee dominates coffee consumption at home, in the workplace, and on Chinese airlines. While Nestlé aimed their product at native Chinese consumers, the multinational companies who later entered China’s coffee market, such as Sara Lee, mainly targeted international hotels such as IHG, Marriott, and Hyatt. The multinationals also favoured coffee shops like Kommune in Shanghai that offered more sophisticated kinds of coffee to foreign consumers and China’s upper class (Byers). If Nestlé introduced coffee to ordinary Chinese families, it was Starbucks who introduced the coffee-based “third space” to urban life in contemporary China on a signficant scale. Differing from the cafés before 1949, Starbucks stores are accessible to ordinary Chinese citizens. The first in Mainland China opened in Beijing’s China World Trade Center in January 1999, targeting mainly white-collar workers and foreigners. Starbucks coffee shops provide a space for informal business meetings, chatting with friends, and relaxing and, with its 500th store opened in 2011, dominate the field in China. Starbucks are located mainly in the central business districts and airports, and the company plans to have 1,500 sites by 2015 (Starbucks). Despite this massive presence, Starbucks constitutes only part of the café-scape in contemporary Chinese cities. There are two other kinds of cafés. One type is usually located in universities or residential areas and is frequented mainly by students or locals working in cultural professions. A representative of this kind is Sculpting in Time Café. In November 1997, two years before the opening of the first Starbucks in Beijing, two newlywed college graduates opened the first small Sculpting in Time Café near Beijing University’s East Gate. This has been expanded into a chain, and boasts 18 branches on the Mainland. (For more about its history, see Sculpting in Time Café). Interestingly, both Starbucks and Sculpting in Time Café acquired their names from literature, Starbucks from Moby Dick, and Sculpting in Time from the Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky’s film diary of the same name. For Chinese students of literature and the arts, drinking coffee is less about acquiring more energy to accomplish their work, and more about entering a sensual world, where the aroma of coffee mixes with the sounds from the coffee machine and music, as well as the lighting of the space. More importantly, cafés with this ambience become, in themselves, cultural sites associated with literature, films, and music. Owners of this kind of café are often lovers of foreign literatures, films, and cultures, and their cafés host various cultural events, including forums, book clubs, movie screenings, and music clubs. Generally speaking, coffee served in this kind of café is simpler than in the kind discussed below. This third type of café includes those located in tourist and entertainment sites such as art districts, bar areas, and historical sites, and which are frequented by foreign and native tourists, artists and other cultural workers. If Starbucks cultivates a fast-paced business/professional atmosphere, and Sculpting in Time Cafés an artsy and literary atmosphere, this third kind of café is more like an upscale “bar” with trained baristas serving complicated coffees and emphasising their flavour. These coffee shops are more expensive than the other kinds, with an average price three times that of Starbucks. Currently, cafés of this type are found only in “first-tier” cities and usually located in art districts and tourist areas—such as Beijing’s 798 Art District and Nanluo Guxiang, Shanghai’s Tai Kang Road (a.k.a. “the art street”), and Hangzhou’s Westlake area. While Nestlé and Starbucks use coffee beans grown in Yunnan provinces, these “art cafés” are more inclined to use imported coffee beans from suppliers like Sara Lee. Coffee and Cafés in Contemporary China After just ten years, there are hundreds of cafés in Chinese cities. Why has there been such a demand for coffee or, more accurately, cafés, in such a short period of time? The first reason is the lack of “third space” environments in Mainland China. Before cafés appeared in the late 1990s, stores like KFC (which opened its first store in 1987) and McDonald’s (with its first store opened in 1990) filled this role for urban residents, providing locations where customers could experience Western food, meet friends, work, or read. In fact, KFC and McDonald’s were once very popular with college students looking for a place to study. Both stores had relatively clean food environments and good lighting. They also had air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter, which are not provided in most Chinese university dormitories. However, since neither chain was set up to be a café and customers occupying seats for long periods while ordering minimal amounts of food or drink affected profits, staff members began to indirectly ask customers to leave after dining. At the same time, as more people were able to afford to eat at KFC and McDonald’s, their fast foods were also becoming more and more popular, especially among young people. As a consequence, both types of chain restaurant were becoming noisy and crowded and, thus, no longer ideal for reading, studying, or meeting with friends. Although tea has been a traditional drink in Chinese culture, traditional teahouses were expensive places more suitable for business meetings or for the cultural or intellectual elite. Since almost every family owns a tea set and can readily purchase tea, friends and family would usually make and consume tea at home. In recent years, however, new kinds of teahouses have emerged, similar in style to cafés, targeting the younger generation with more affordable prices and a wider range of choices, so the lack of a “third space” does not fully explain the café boom. Another factor affecting the popularity of cafés has been the development and uptake of Internet technology, including the increasing use of laptops and wireless Internet in recent years. The Internet has been available in China since the late 1990s, while computers and then laptops entered ordinary Chinese homes in the early twenty-first century. The IT industry has created not only a new field of research and production, but has also fostered new professions and demands. Particularly, in recent years in Mainland China, a new socially acceptable profession—freelancing in such areas as graphic design, photography, writing, film, music, and the fashion industry—has emerged. Most freelancers’ work is computer- and Internet-based. Cafés provide suitable working space, with wireless service, and the bonus of coffee that is, first of all, somatically stimulating. In addition, the emergence of the creative and cultural industries (which are supported by the Chinese government) has created work for these freelancers and, arguably, an increasing demand for café-based third spaces where such people can meet, talk and work. Furthermore, the flourishing of cafés in first-tier cities is part of the “aesthetic economy” (Lloyd 24) that caters to the making and selling of lifestyle experience. Alongside foreign restaurants, bars, galleries, and design firms, cafés contribute to city branding, and link a city to the global urban network. Cafés, like restaurants, galleries and bars, provide a space for the flow of global commodities, as well as for the human flow of tourists, travelling artists, freelancers, and cultural specialists. Finally, cafés provide a type of service that contributes to friendly owner/waiter-customer relations. During the planned-economy era, most stores and hotels in China were State-owned, staff salaries were not related to individual performance, and indifferent (and even unfriendly) service was common. During the economic reform era, privately owned stores and shops began to replace State-owned ones. At the same time, a large number of people from the countryside flowed into the cities seeking opportunities. Most had little if any professional training and so could only find work in factories or in the service industry. However, most café employees are urban, with better educational backgrounds, and many were already familiar with coffee culture. In addition, café owners, particularly those of places like Sculpting in Time Cafe, often invest in creating a positive, community atmosphere, learning about their customers and sharing personal experiences with their regular clients. This leads to my next point—the generation of the 1980s’ need for a social community. Cafés’ Symbolic Value—Community A demand for a sense of community among the generation of the 1980s is a unique socio-cultural phenomenon in China, which paradoxically co-exists with their desire for individualism. Mao Zedong started the “One Child Policy” in 1979 to slow the rapid population growth in China, and the generations born under this policy are often called “the lonely generations,” with both parents working full-time. At the same time, they are “the generation of me,” labelled as spoiled, self-centred, and obsessed with consumption (de Kloet; Liu; Rofel; Wang). The individuals of this generation, now aged in their 20s and 30s, constitute the primary consumers of coffee in China. Whereas individualism is an important value to them, a sense of community is also desirable in order to compensate for their lack of siblings. Furthermore, the 1980s’ generation has also benefitted from the university expansion policy implemented in 1999. Since then, China has witnessed a surge of university students and graduates who not only received scientific and other course-based knowledge, but also had a better chance to be exposed to foreign cultures through their books, music, and movies. With this interesting tension between individualism and collectivism, the atmosphere provided by cafés has fostered a series of curious temporary communities built on cultural and culinary taste. Interestingly, it has become an aspiration of many young college students and graduates to open a community-space style café in a city. One of the best examples is the new Henduoren’s (Many People’s) Café. This was a project initiated by Wen Erniu, a recent college graduate who wanted to open a café in Beijing but did not have sufficient funds to do so. She posted a message on the Internet, asking people to invest a minimum of US$316 to open a café with her. With 78 investors, the café opened in September 2011 in Beijing (see pictures of Henduoren’s Café). In an interview with the China Daily, Wen Erniu stated that, “To open a cafe was a dream of mine, but I could not afford it […] We thought opening a cafe might be many people’s dream […] and we could get together via the Internet to make it come true” (quoted in Liu 2011). Conclusion: Café Culture and (Instant) Coffee in China There is a Chinese saying that, if you hate someone—just persuade him or her to open a coffee shop. Since cafés provide spaces where one can spend a relatively long time for little financial outlay, owners have to increase prices to cover their expenses. This can result in fewer customers. In retaliation, cafés—particularly those with cultural and literary ambience—host cultural events to attract people, and/or they offer food and wine along with coffee. The high prices, however, remain. In fact, the average price of coffee in China is often higher than in Europe and North America. For example, a medium Starbucks’ caffè latte in China averaged around US$4.40 in 2010, according to the price list of a Starbucks outlet in Shanghai—and the prices has recently increased again (Xinhua 2012). This partially explains why instant coffee is still so popular in China. A bag of instant Nestlé coffee cost only some US$0.25 in a Beijing supermarket in 2010, and requires only hot water, which is accessible free almost everywhere in China, in any restaurant, office building, or household. As an habitual, addictive treat, however, coffee has not yet become a customary, let alone necessary, drink for most Chinese. Moreover, while many, especially those of the older generations, could discern the quality and varieties of tea, very few can judge the quality of the coffee served in cafés. As a result, few Mainland Chinese coffee consumers have a purely somatic demand for coffee—craving its smell or taste—and the highly sweetened and creamed instant coffee offered by companies like Nestlé or Maxwell has largely shaped the current Chinese palate for coffee. Ben Highmore has proposed that “food spaces (shops, restaurants and so on) can be seen, for some social agents, as a potential space where new ‘not-me’ worlds are encountered” (396) He continues to expand that “how these potential spaces are negotiated—the various affective registers of experience (joy, aggression, fear)—reflect the multicultural shapes of a culture (its racism, its openness, its acceptance of difference)” (396). Cafés in contemporary China provide spaces where one encounters and constructs new “not-me” worlds, and more importantly, new “with-me” worlds. While café-going communicates an appreciation and desire for new lifestyles and new selves, it can be hoped that in the near future, coffee will also be appreciated for its smell, taste, and other benefits. Of course, it is also necessary that future Chinese coffee consumers also recognise the rich and complex cultural, political, and social issues behind the coffee economy in the era of globalisation. References Byers, Paul [former Managing Director, Sara Lee’s Asia Pacific]. Pers. comm. Apr. 2012. China Beverage News. “Nestlé Acquires 70% Stake in Chinese Mineral Water Producer.” (2010). 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://chinabevnews.wordpress.com/2010/02/21/nestle-acquires-70-stake-in-chinese-mineral-water-producer›. Chunzi. 张爱玲地图[The Map of Eileen Chang]. 汉语大词典出版 [Hanyu Dacidian Chubanshe], 2003. de Kloet, Jeroen. China with a Cut: Globalization, Urban Youth and Popular Music. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2010. Dong, Jonathan. “A Caffeinated Timeline: Developing Yunnan’s Coffee Cultivation.” China Brief (2011): 24-26. Highmore, Ben. “Alimentary Agents: Food, Cultural Theory and Multiculturalism.” Journal of Intercultural Studies, 29.4 (2008): 381-98. ITC (International Trade Center). The Coffee Sector in China: An Overview of Production, Trade And Consumption, 2010. Liu, Kang. Globalization and Cultural Trends in China. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004. Liu, Zhihu. “From Virtual to Reality.” China Daily (Dec. 2011) 31 Mar. 2012 ‹http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/life/2011-12/26/content_14326490.htm›. Lloyd, Richard. Neobohemia: Art and Commerce in the Postindustrial City. London: Routledge, 2006. Lu, Xun. “Geming Kafei Guan [Revolutionary Café]”. San Xian Ji. Taibei Shi: Feng Yun Shi Dai Chu Ban Gong Si: Fa Xing Suo Xue Wen Hua Gong Si, Mingguo 78 (1989): 133-36. Rofel, Lisa. Desiring China: Experiments in Neoliberalism, Sexuality, and Public Culture. Durham and London: Duke UP, 2007: 1-30. “Starbucks Celebrates Its 500th Store Opening in Mainland China.” Starbucks Newsroom (Oct. 2011) 31 Mar. 2012. ‹http://news.starbucks.com/article_display.cfm?article_id=580›. Wang, Jing. High Culture Fever: Politics, Aesthetics, and Ideology in Deng’s China. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: U of California P, 1996. 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Introduction There are many competing explanations for why people are drawn to conspiracy theories. Increasingly, conspiracy theories are mainstream sites of cultural engagement (Barkun). Conspiracy theorising, then, is part of, or at least brushes up against, people’s daily sense-making practices. However, many still think of conspiracy theorising and the communities that form around them as deviant, pathological or deficient (Swami et al.). In this article, we argue that we need to shift from a model of a deficient and deviant understanding of conspiracy theorising to understand these practices as part of our everyday behavioural and social repertoires. We argue that part of this shift means attending to the sensory and felt experience of conspiracy thinking, as a bodily and affective experience, as a site of pleasure. Centring pleasure as an explanatory framework for conspiracy theorising does not foreclose other explanations. Rather we argue that pleasure operates as a broader explanatory framework within which these competing explanations can also offer insight. We do not aim to provide an empirical account of the #FreeBritney movement in this article, but instead use it as an example through which we can begin to develop pleasure as a potential explanatory framework for understanding conspiracy theorising. To argue for the centrality of ‘pleasure’ in conspiracy theories, we draw on scholarship from fandom studies to ask, “What can the ‘Free Britney’ movement tell us about the pleasures of conspiracy?” We pay particular attention to how conspiracy theorising can be understood as a site of pleasure and, at times, hope, which in turn transform conspiracy theories into ‘sticky’ cultural sites (Ahmed). The centring of pleasure as a driver of conspiracy theorising also points to possible alternative approaches to countering the affective pull of conspiracy theories. Why #FreeBritney? This article focusses on the #FreeBritney community as an example for several reasons. #FreeBritney sits outside many of the political concerns that often characterise conspiracy theories; that is, it is neither left nor right in its orientation. Additionally, #FreeBritney was initially written off as nonsense by mainstream media outlets and commentators. For example, in the first version of TikToker Abbie Richards’s viral chart that categorises conspiracy theories, #FreeBritney is in the same category as UFOs and not something that ‘actually happened’ (Richards), meaning Richards did not believe the central claim of the #FreeBritney movement, that Britney wished to end an abusive conservatorship, was real. Similar coverage was evident in other press, including by Maria Sherman for Jezebel, which describes the #FreeBritney theory as “dubiously sourced” and as “mak[ing] gargantuan assumptions about mental health without much concrete evidence” (Sherman). Despite the derision, #FreeBritney persisted, and the claims made in the initial, instigating episode of Britney’s Gram (a fan-created podcast) have been borne in court, affirmed by Spears herself, and in numerous pieces of investigative reporting (Stark and Day). The #FreeBritney Context So, how did we get to #FreeBritney? In early 2008, after a string of increasingly erratic public appearances, Britney Spears was placed into a conservatorship arrangement. Conservatorships are typically reserved for the elderly and mentally ill, or those without the capacity to care for them themselves. Spears’s conservatorship meant that she could not make any personal or financial decisions for herself. Spears’s conservatorship was overseen by her father and court-appointed lawyers who benefited financially by allegedly exploiting the arrangement (Day and Abrams). Until 2021, Spears remained under the conservatorship, while continuing to work. These working arrangements included world tours, TV appearances and a long-running Las Vegas residency where she performed a 90-100 minute show several times per week (Jacobs). Rumours marked the beginning of Spears’s conservatorship that it was an attempt to exploit Spears financially while keeping her under parental control (Jacobs). This is evidenced by her thwarted attempt to acquire legal representation, where the court ultimately ruled that she was too unwell to retain her own counsel (Coscarelli et al.). Rumours of a broader conspiracy designed to entrap Spears in the conservatorship only gained widespread traction in 2019, resulting in the birth of the #FreeBritney movement. The growth of #FreeBritney discourse can be traced to an April 2019 episode of the podcast Britney’s Gram (Barker and Babs). Britney’s Gram was initially a ‘close reading’ of Spears’s Instagram focussed on parsing her captions, images, and emoticon use. In the podcast's special ‘emergency’ episode, episode 75, titled “#FreeBritney”, the nature of the conspiracy regarding Spears’s conservatorship took shape. The ‘emergency’ episode of the podcast responded to a tip called into the Britney’s Gram hotline. The anonymous source claims to be a paralegal who worked on legal documents related to the conservatorship throughout their employment. The paralegal claims that the conservatorship is “disturbing to say the least”. The show goes on to lay out a timeline of key events that support their assertion that Spears is being kept in the conservative against her will. Their claims are supported by a ‘close reading’ of Spears’s output, including her Instagram account and her public appearances, both official and unofficial. The hosts assemble their theory from a diverse range of sources, but their iterative theory building is underscored by the hosts’ empathetic reading, “what if it were me?” Fandom and the Collective Feelings of Conspiracy The #FreeBritney movement offers an opportunity to reflect on the parallels and intersections between fandom culture and conspiracy. It also allows us to consider what contemporary fan practices might tell us about the appeal of engaging in conspiracy. While #FreeBritney as a movement has extended far beyond the reach of the Britney Spears fandom, its roots began in the everyday fan practices that are not unique to the singer's supporters. Identifying as a ‘fan’ of a celebrity, a band, television show, film franchise, or other popular cultural texts has become a mainstream activity in recent decades, moving from a more subcultural or fringe practice (Gray et al.). Fan practices often include developing a repertoire of knowledge of their chosen fandom. This repertoire allows them to conduct close readings of these ‘texts’, which include relevant images and social media content (Hills), and look for patterns, consistencies and inconsistencies — what Jason Mittell (52) calls ‘forensic fandom’. Fans also create their own paratexts drawing on their fandom-specific knowledge to create work such as fanfiction, fan videos (fanvids), blogs, dedicated social media accounts, podcasts (such as Britney’s Gram) and other texts that fans may also analyse (Geraghty). Much like engaging in conspiracy, participating in fandom is also a broad continuum in terms of commitment, and depth of engagement. Some fans are more peripheral to the fandom, casually engaged, and only broadly aware of close reading practices that may be normalised for those within the more engaged inner circle of the fandom. However, these more casual fans may also draw on and consume paratext created by more avid fans. Creators of popular and well-made paratexts can even become renowned in social media spaces within fan communities for their creations (Hills). This mirrors conspiracy thinking, where believers range from curious about the conspiracy to committed and embedded in the conspiracy community. Like fandoms, the more active participants in the conspiracy can become established and well-known in the community for disseminating information and knowledge. For example, many followers of the QAnon conspiracy receive most of their information through secondary QAnon social media influencers who interpret ‘Qdrops’ rather than interpret the cryptic message board posts themselves (Conner and MacMurray). Scholarship examining fandom and fan experiences has emphasised the key role of pleasure for fans in developing this fan expertise (McCann and Southerton). In particular, the practices of close textual reading and familiarity with the fandom's texts, symbols, and key players offer a sense of community and collective feeling. As McCann and Southerton report in their study on queer shipping among One Direction fans (when fans invest emotional energy in the relationship, the ‘ship’, between two characters or celebrities), pleasure is collective rather than individual and emerges from a sense of belonging and shared investment. While, as we have discussed, the differing levels of involvement and investment can create hierarchy, and therefore potential conflict within fandom, scholarship on fandom has argued that fans primarily take pleasure in the feeling of community, support and belonging (McCann and Southerton; Geraghty; Pearson). Fan spaces are spaces in which collective feelings can be heightened, as participants take pleasure in experiencing something that thousands of others are feeling simultaneously — whether it be in person at a concert or, increasingly, in social media communities. The pleasures of fandom also go beyond momentous occasions like a singer's album launch or a celebrity scandal. Fans can cultivate pleasure in the mundane practices of fandom by building a sense of building and momentum, by using their close reading to predict imminent events (e.g. attempting to discern what Instagram posts might be hinting that a popstar is going to put out a new album) or undertaking rereading of old material to reinterpret meanings in new contemporary light. The pleasures of anticipation are central to these fan practices, with close reading offering endless rewards. Conspiracy theorists operate similarly, even when an anticipated event does not come to fruition. When the predictions of the mysterious Q that tell of mass arrests of prominent enemies of the movement fail to eventuate, rather than lose belief in Q’s prophetic power, the believers find explanation and new events to anticipate (Butler and Martin). Is #FreeBritney a Conspiracy? While it is tempting to situate #FreeBritney firmly within the domain of fan studies, we argue that while later borne out by facts, it can also be understood as a conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theories are united by a focus on and fear of a larger malevolent actor, who uses the power vested in institutions to control the narrative about the conspiracy, and indeed the conspiracy itself (Melley). In #FreeBritney, the stakes are a little lower, with the clearest villains being Spears’s immediate family, who appear to have financially benefited from her conservatorship. Nevertheless, the conspiracy involves elements of control, not only over Spears herself but the media, the criminal justice system, and the medical professionals diagnosing and treating Spears, as well as any close friends and staff. As with other conspiracies, power is exercised through social institutions to ‘cover up’ the conspiracy itself and any damage it is causing (Barkun; Melley). If conspiracies are secret, how then are they detected? Key to conspiracy theorising is the ‘close reading’ or ‘forensic’ examination (Mittell) of various texts to spot inconsistencies and gaps in authenticity that disrupt the dominant narrative. This is a hallmark of conspiracy theorising, which relies on “the interpretation of half-hidden cIues, tell-tale signs, and secret messages” (Melley 16). Within #FreeBritney, close reading is most obviously applied to her Instagram account and extends to various court courts, interviews, and media reporting. This analysis allows for these inconsistencies to build an alternative explanation while using a corpus of evidence available to everyone. Where Is the Pleasure? Where can we locate the sources of pleasure in #FreeBritney? To be clear, we are arguing for an understanding of pleasure that is not eroticised but rather found in the arguably mundane practises of conspiracy. The close, detailed sifting through evidence required to build a conspiracy theory is pleasurable in a number of ways. These practices are pleasurable in and of themselves — developing deep knowledge assembling the threads in the conspiracy theory holds the individual in a continual site of possibility and potential. The space of ‘what if’ where nothing is certain and outcomes can be constantly refigured allows conspiracy theorists to exist in expectation, in ‘looking forward to’ as one would a long-awaited holiday. The pleasure is in anticipating the event, but not necessarily in the resolution of the conspiracy itself. The momentum and anticipation in fan communities are remarkably similar to those of conspiracy theory communities, creating a pleasurable affective atmosphere (Anderson) that circulates in and through digital practices. The ‘close reading’ practice we describe is also pleasurable through proximity and intimacy. Close reading allows for a point of entry and connection to the broader #Free Britney community, where close readings are contributed, the readings of others are affirmed, and these individual contributions are incorporated into the fabric of the community. Close reading also provides proximity and a sense of intimate familiarity with Spears herself. Close reading is only made possible through deep knowledge, through being able to understand Spears’s self-presentation, mediated through digital platforms like Instagram, as authentic or forced. The Internet also makes close reading more accessible and immediate. Instagram posts can be saved for later perusal, comments screenshotted, and deleted comments captured before they vanish. This work of understanding, interpreting, and building happens both in real time (as soon as content is posted) and retrospectively, using what is now known or agreed upon to go back and reinterpret old material, hunting for clues and signs previously missed. This is evident in a number of TikToks where fans closely interpret Britney’s movement to confirm their theories. In one video, Spears discusses the LGBTQIA+ community. The video is not particularly coherent, and in the comments, a fan writes, “If you need help, wear yellow and blink twice”, and “If you need help do two spins” (ABC News). In her next video, Spears appears wearing a yellow top and holding flowers; she blinks twice, then does two spins for the camera. Given what we now know about Spears’s situation at the time, it seems likely she was in dialogue with her fans, counting on their close reading, attention to detail, and emotional investment. While Spears’s abusive conservatorship was obviously of concern to fans, there is also pleasure in the moments of reading, knowing, and dialoguing with Spears, creating a parasocial intimacy (ABC News). These compounding pleasures are overlapping and mutually reinforcing and create what Ahmed would call a ‘sticky’ site of affective engagement. Ahmed’s conceptualisation of ‘stickiness’ often refers to negative affects, but we argue can apply to positive or pleasurable affectivities. Conclusion #FreeBritney began as a fringe fan concern. It was mocked, derided and dismissed, before being ultimately vindicated through legal action and the removal of the conservatorship. Legal action addressing the financial exploitation of Spears is underway (Day). In a video after the end of her conservatorship, Spears speaks to her fans through an Instagram video detailing her next steps (Sky News). She also thanks the #FreeBritney movement, saying, the Free Britney Movement, you guys rock! Honestly, my voice was muted and threatened for so long, and um I wasn’t able to speak up or say anything, and um because of you guys’ awareness and kind of knowing what was going on and delivering that news to the public for so long ... because of you, I honestly think you guys saved my life. Examining the #FreeBritney movement allows us to consider the role of pleasure in conspiracy theorising. Through this reading, we can also begin to understand conspiracy theorists in a more nuanced way. Those who believe in conspiracy theories are often characterised as fearful, anxious, and paranoid. However, there are pleasurable affectivities also associated with conspiracy theorising. While conspiracy theories most often circulate through and coalesce in online spaces, #FreeBritney demonstrates that theories also drive practice with fans protesting outside of Spears’s court hearings and taking steps to dismantle the conservatorship system more generally (Rolling Stone). Focussing on pleasure can also explain the derision directed towards conspiracy theories and their subscribers. Anti-fan communities provide a language to discuss the gleeful debunking and mocking of conspiracy theories. Pleasure is also a core part of anti-fandom, that is groups mobilised around their hate of something or someone (usually a celebrity with a fan following), and this anti-fandom mirrors many core fan practices (Pinkowitz). The anti-fan is smarter and more discerning than the fan and has the ‘right’ way of thinking, reasoning, and appreciating. The rational anti-fan understands that any clue in Spears’s videos is coincidental and that fans are over-involved, overreacting and out of touch. However, the pleasure of anti-fandom, and debunking more generally, cannot exist without the fan and the conspiracy theory. Thus, the pleasure of the anti-fan only exists in dialogue with the fan, or in this case, the perceived conspiracy theorist. Attending to conspiracy theories as a site of pleasure allows us to construct a deeper and more nuanced understanding of the seemingly magnetic pull of conspiracy theories. References ABC News. “Britney Spears’s Fans Claim She Is Pleading for Help through Her Social Media Videos.” 24 July 2020. <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-07-24/britney-spears-fans-claim-she-is-pleading-for-help/12488754>. Ahmed, Sara. Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh UP, 2014. Anderson, Ben. “Affective Atmospheres.” Emotion, Space and Society 2.2 (2009): 77–81. Barker, Tess, and Grey Babs. “75 #FREEBRITNEY.” Britney’s Gram, podcast, 75 (16 Apr. 2019). <https://soundcloud.com/user-405122914-411166228/74-freebritney>. Barkun, Michael. “Conspiracy Theories as Stigmatized Knowledge.” Diogenes 62.3-4 (2015): 114–20. Butler, Josh, and Sarah Martin. “Australian Online Anti-Vaccine Groups Switch to Putin Praise and Ukraine Conspiracies.” The Guardian 1 Mar. 2022. <https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2022/mar/02/australias-anti-vaccine-groups-switch-focus-to-putin-praise-and-ukraine-conspiracies>. Conner, Christopher T., and Nicholas MacMurray. “The Perfect Storm: A Subcultural Analysis of the QAnon Movement.” Critical Sociology (Nov. 2021). <http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/08969205211055863>. Coscarelli, Joe, et al. “Britney Spears Can Hire a New Lawyer of Her Choice, Judge Rules.” The New York Times 14 July 2021. <https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/14/arts/music/britney-spears-conservatorship-lawyer.html>. Day, Liz. “Britney Spears Fights Father’s Fee Claim, Alleging Financial Misconduct.” The New York Times 19 Jan. 2022. <https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/18/business/britney-spears-father-fees.html>. Day, Liz, and Rachel Abrams. “Investigation into Britney Spears Conservatorship Will Look into Her Finances.” The New York Times 2 Nov. 2021. <https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/02/us/britney-spears-father-deposition.html>. Geraghty, Lincoln. “Introduction: Fans and Paratexts.” Popular Media Cultures: Fans, Audiences and Paratexts, ed. Lincoln Geraghty. Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2015. 1–14. Gray, Jonathan, et al. “Why Still Study Fans?” Fandom, Second Edition: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World, ed. Jonathan Gray et al. NYU P, 2017. 1–27. Hills, Matt. “Fiske’s ‘Textual Productivity’ and Digital Fandom: Web 2.0 Democratization versus Fan Distinction.” Participations 10.1 (2013): 130–53. Jacobs, Julia. “What Is Actually Happening with Britney Spears?” The New York Times 17 May 2019. <https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/17/arts/music/britney-spears-conservatorship-mental-health.html>. McCann, Hannah, and Clare Southerton. “Repetitions of Desire: Queering the One Direction Fangirl.” Girlhood Studies 12.1 (2019): 49–65. Melley, Timothy. Empire of Conspiracy. Cornell UP, 2016. Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. NYU P, 2015. Pearson, Roberta. “Fandom in the Digital Era.” Popular Communication 8.1 (2010): 84–95. Pinkowitz, Jacqueline M. “‘The Rabid Fans That Take [Twilight] Much Too Seriously’: The Construction and Rejection of Excess in Twilight Antifandom.” Transformative Works and Cultures 7 (2011): 1–17. Richards, Abbie. “The Conspiracy Chart.” Twitter 3 Oct. 2020. <https://twitter.com/abbieasr/status/1312512066071060480>. Rolling Stone. “#FreeBritney Rallies around the World.” 14 July 2021. <https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-pictures/freebritney-rallies-britney-spears-conservatorship-photos-1197458/buk_1491/>. Sherman, Maria. “A Guide to the #FreeBritney Theory That Britney Spears Is Being Held against Her Will.” Jezebel 23 Apr. 2019. <https://jezebel.com/a-guide-to-the-freebritney-theory-that-britney-spears-1834216480>. Sky News. “Britney Spears Thanks Fans in Instagram Video after Conservatorship Ends.” 17 Nov. 2021. <https://news.sky.com/video/video-im-not-here-to-be-a-victim-britney-spears-speaks-after-end-of-conservatorship-12470545>. Stark, Samatha, and Liz Day. “‘Controlling Britney Spears’ Reveals Details of Her Life under Conservatorship.” The New York Times 2 Nov. 2021. <https://www.nytimes.com/article/controlling-britney-spears.html>. Swami, Viren, et al. “Associations between Belief in Conspiracy Theories and the Maladaptive Personality Traits of the Personality Inventory for DSM-5.” Psychiatry Research 236 (2016): 86–90.

2021 is the fiftieth anniversary year for Japanese live-action superhero franchise Kamen Rider. For half a century, heroes bearing the name Kamen Rider have battled rubber suited monsters and defended the smiles of children. Unlike many superheroes, however, the Kamen Riders are grotesque heroes, usually drawing their powers from the same source as the villains they battle. Grotesque human-machine-animal hybrids, they differ from their opponents only in the kindness of their hearts and the strength of their spirits. Although the Kamen Rider franchise includes a variety of texts including manga, novels, movies, and stage musicals, the central text is the Sunday morning children’s television program. This article focusses exclusively on the television series. Each season of the television program is comprised of around fifty twenty-five-minute episodes, and each season features an entirely new cast, title, and premise. Kamen Rider was originally created at a time of economic downturn and social unrest, and the unease of the zeitgeist is reflected in the figure of the no longer human hero. A little over thirty years later Japan was again facing a variety of crises and intense debate over what, if any, role it should play in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The 2002 television season, Kamen Rider Ryūki, tackles difficult questions about what justice, heroism, and monstrosity mean, through the medium of a children’s martial arts and live action special effects hero television program. This article explores the blurred boundaries between monster and hero in Kamen Rider, in the context of social attitudes toward children. The First Kamen Rider The inaugural Kamen Rider (protagonist of the 1971 television season), Hongo Takeshi, is a university student who gains superpowers after being abducted and experimented on by Shocker, a terrorist organisation founded by Nazis. Their medical experiments are part of a plan to produce an army capable of world domination. Takeshi’s body was modified with grasshopper DNA and cybernetic enhancements, but he was able to escape before the mind control portion of the operation. Although he appears human, Takeshi transforms via a special belt into Kamen (masked) Rider in order to fight. His face is obscured by an insectoid helmet with red compound eyes and antennae. The transformation scene is a highlight of every episode, and the transformation belt is the most important of the (many) tie-in toys. The primary audience of Kamen Rider is children between two and seven, and as a media-mix (Steinberg) franchise the sale of toys and branded products to the primary audience is vital. Anne Allison (105) identifies the transformation and blending or crossing of bodily borders it entails as the “money shot” children anticipate and enjoy. There is also a substantial tertiary audience, however, which includes older children and adults. During the early 1970s, when the first few seasons of Kamen Rider were broadcast, ‘employment trains’ were transporting Japanese teenagers (immediately following their graduation from middle school) from rural areas to the large cities, where they worked in factories and construction far from their families (Alt 54). Kamen Rider’s creator, Ishinomori Shōtarō, had debuted as a manga artist while still in school himself, and his works were particularly popular among this disenfranchised demographic. The figure of a young man taken and changed against his will and left to forge his own path in the aftermath may have been particularly resonant with these teenagers. Kamen Rider’s creator, Ishinomori Shōtarō, was a member of the yakeato (burnt ruins) generation, who were children during the Second World War and experienced the fire- and nuclear bombings of Japan and grew up amidst the burned-out ruins. Roman Rosenbaum (Redacting 97-98) argues that this generation (or perhaps more accurately, micro-generation), “later subconsciously released the bent-up trauma of their early childhood experiences throughout their adult lives in their body of work”. Ishinomori was not alone in this experience, of course; other members of the early Kamen Rider creative team were also motivated by childhood trauma. Hirayama Tōru, who helped Ishinomori bring the Rider concept to television as a producer, was sixteen when his hometown of Nagoya was firebombed. He and other schoolboys were dispatched to dispose of the bodies of civilians who had died while trying to escape the flames only to die in the river (Oda and Muraeda 41-2). Members of the yakeato generation were prominent in anti-war activism during the 1970s, opposing Japan’s entanglement in the Vietnam War (Rosenbaum Generation 284). Violence and the meaning of justice were urgent issues for this generation. This first season of Kamen Rider, along with many of the subsequent seasons, is classifiable as a horror text, with numerous Gothic elements (Staite). Many of the monsters Takeshi battles are “designed to elicit a specific reaction: that of abject horror” (Kim 28). While some of the prosthetic suits are quite silly-looking by contemporary standards, many remain compellingly disturbing in their fusion of animal-human-machine. Although he proceeds up the chain of command to eventually battle the leaders of Shocker, Takeshi is always aware when battling other victims of Shocker experimentation that the only difference between himself and them is that he was able to escape before losing his will. He, like them, is no longer entirely human, and has become as grotesque as the unfortunate monsters he must defeat. As Miura Shion (180) puts it (translation mine), “Kamen Rider was originally an entity created by evil. The reality is that the enemy in front of you and you are actually the same. The fate of Kamen Rider is to fight while struggling with this”. Noting that Kamen Rider was created during a time of social, economic, and political upheaval in Japan, Hirofumi Katsuno (37-38) links the rise of the ambiguous hero to the decline of the ‘grand narrative’ of modernity and the belief in the kind of absolute justice represented by more traditional superheroes. Kamen Rider instead inhabits “an ambiguous space between human and nonhuman, good and evil” (Katsuno 44). In the early years of the franchise the ambiguity remained largely centred on the figure of the hero. Members of the opposing Shocker organisation – who were responsible for the rise of the first two Kamen Riders – are unambiguously evil and unsympathetic. For ordinary people who have been subjected to mind control and experimentation there is compassion, but in terms of the central conflict there is no question that destroying Shocker is correct and moral. The villains battled by Kamen Riders remained predominantly fascists and cultists bent on world domination until the late 1980s, with the primary antagonist of 1987 season Kamen Rider Black the protagonist’s beloved brother. The following season, Kamen Rider Black RX, had environmental themes. The villains trying to take over the world in this season are doing so because their own planet has become too polluted to sustain life. They argue, somewhat persuasively, that since humans are on the path to global environmental destruction they are justified in taking over the planet before it is ruined. This gradual shift toward more sympathetic monsters became explicit in 2002 with Kamen Rider Ryūki’s ambivalent response to the Bush administration’s so-called War on Terror. Justice Is a Thing with Teeth and Claws Kamen Rider Ryūki (hereafter Ryūki) was in the planning stages when the 9/11 terrorist attacks occurred, destroying the twin towers. TV Asahi, the station that airs Kamen Rider, immediately sent a directive to producer Shirakura Shinichiro stating that “now more than ever we must teach children about justice” (Salas). Seemingly uncomfortable with the implications of this idea of “justice” in light of the Bush administration's subsequent actions, Shirakura says: in that mood I wondered if I could repeat the sort of hero story we had made so far, where the ‘good person’ beats the ‘bad person’ that appears one after another and finally hits the headquarters of evil. It is very dangerous to plant the mentality of the Cold War era in children at this time. ‘Ryuuki’ was created in the hope that children will have an eye for what justice means. (Cited in Uno 261-2, translation mine) Since its creation in the 1970s, Kamen Rider had been forging a new path for Japanese heroes in opposition to what Jonathan Abel identifies as an external attitude to justice in the hero programs of the 1950s and 1960s. In these programs, he argues, justice was represented as something imposed into Japan from outside (by alien superheroes, for example, or the Allied Occupation forces). American superheroes and their various approaches to questions of justice and vigilantism were also well known in Japan, as Timothy Peters has highlighted. In its depiction of a hero so closely resembling the monsters he battles, Kamen Rider rejected notions of an absolute distinction between the categories of hero and monster. As Katsuno (46) argues, “in this postmodern, liquid society, superheroes lack a unified, self-evident justice, but must navigate multiple conceptions of justice … . As embodiments of relativized justice, these grotesque heroes were the seeds for what have become enduring trends in Japanese popular culture”. 2002 season Ryūki takes the idea of relativised justice to its extreme, questioning the very existence of a ‘justice’ that exists independently from the people it impacts. It is impossible to summarise the plot of Ryūki both briefly and accurately; this attempt prioritises the former over the latter. Ryūki features thirteen Kamen Riders in a battle royale, competing for the granting of a single wish. The Riders gain their powers through forming a contract with a mirror monster, who they must feed by defeating other Riders or less powerful mirror monsters (who are themselves feeding on helpless humans). If a Rider is defeated and can no longer feed his contract monster, the creature will consume them. Mirror monsters are so called because they come from mirror world, a parallel dimension connected to ours by reflective surfaces including mirrors and, significantly, gleaming skyscrapers. The battle is controlled by antagonist Kanzaki Shiro, who is trying to save the life of his younger sister Yui. Protagonist Kido Shinji tries to stop the Riders from fighting one another, which delays Shiro’s plans and leads to Yui’s death. Shiro repeatedly loops time to restart the battle and save Yui, but Shinji disrupts each new timeline. There are multiple alternate endings to the story, including both televisual and print versions. Because the endings each involve uncovering the reason Shiro has created the battle as part of their resolution of the story, there are also multiple explanations for why and how the battle began. In some versions the origin of the mirror monsters lies in Shiro and Yui’s childhood experience of abuse at the hands of their parents, while in another Shinji inadvertently sets events in motion after breaking a childhood promise to Yui. Which origin, ending, or time-loop is ‘true’ is never resolved. Viewers were invited to vote on the ending of the television special by telephone; alternate endings had been prepared with the winning option inserted at the end of the broadcast (Uno 271). This moral ambiguity and confusion over what is ‘true’ is an intentional critique of simplistic ideas about justice. In Ryūki each of the Riders participates in the battle because they believe that their wish is important enough to justify the means employed to obtain it. The program problematises the idea that there is an objective division between good and evil by focusing on the subjective righteousness of the individual characters’ motivations, including the irony of Shinji’s battles for the sake of stopping the war. Although these feel like quite adult themes, Shirakura couches them firmly within his interpretation of teaching children about justice, explaining that children sometimes envision themselves as the heroes and think they might also be justice. There is also the idea that people often don’t accept themselves as being wrong, because in one’s mind ‘I am myself, so I’m not wrong’ is the prevailing thought process. These thoughts lead to selfish patterns because kids might not see themselves as themselves but as the heroes. (Salas) Uno Tsunehiro (263-4) argues that there is in fact no villain and no justice in Ryūki, simply competing desires. Ryūki does not make judgements about which desires are more or less worthy, he writes, but displays all of the Riders’ motivations equally, just like Google search results of products displayed on Amazon. Just like Capitalism, Uno (263-4) suggests, Ryūki treats every story (justice / evil) equally as a desire (as a product). The mirror monsters are quite frightening; using a combination of Godzilla-style rubber suits and CGI they are all based on animals including spiders, crabs, and cobras, combined with cyborg elements such as guns embedded in various body parts. However, their behaviour is straightforwardly animalistic. They are hungry; they kill to feed. The truly monstrous characters in Ryūki are clearly the Kamen Riders themselves, who use the mirror monsters to lend power to human motivations that are far more complex and twisted. Although many of the Riders have sympathetic motivations such as saving the life of a loved one, Kamen Rider Ōja simply enjoys violence. Uno points out that this character is essentially the same as The Joker in 2008’s The Dark Knight; like The Joker, Ōja tells a variety of stories explaining the origins of his psychopathy in past traumas only to mock the credulity of those so eager to believe these explanations (Uno 274). Crucially, Ōja is still a Kamen Rider, and appears alongside more sympathetic Kamen Riders in ensemble-cast films and games. The line between hero and monster has become blurred beyond comprehension. Monsters for Children, Children as Monsters Shirakura’s comment about the danger of children uncritically viewing their own actions as being just draws attention to an important shift taking place at the turn of the millennium. Monsters were no longer something to protect children from, but increasingly children themselves were becoming viewed as potentially monstrous. Five years before Ryūki’s release Japan had been rocked by the discovery that the murderer of two elementary school children was a fourteen-year-old child dubbed ‘Youth A’, who had described his behaviour as a game, taunting the police and media before his capture (Arai 370-1). Although violent crimes perpetrated by children are always shocking, what stands out from this particular incident is the response from other school children. Youth A had sent a manifesto to a local newspaper lambasting the education system that had created him. In a survey conducted by the Ministry of Education more than fifty percent of the students surveyed sympathised and identified with at Youth A (cited in Arai 371). Lindsay Nelson (4) notes the prevalence of child-monsters in Japanese horror films in the late 1990s and early 2000s, writing that “the many monstrous children of contemporary Japanese cinema stand at a crossroads of Japan’s past, present, and future, crying out for compassion even as they drag those around them into death” (Nelson 13). There is of course a world of difference between depictions of monstrous children in adult media, and depictions of monsters in children’s media. I do not mean to conflate or confuse the two. Both kinds of monsters are, however, influenced and in turn influence wider social discourses and anxieties. Kamen Rider is also a text characterised by dual address, a narrative mode which addresses both adults and children simultaneously (in contradistinction to double address, in which the adults talk over the heads of children in an exclusionary way (Wall). Although Kamen Rider Ryūki featured adult actors (teenagers began to appear in leading roles with increasing frequency from the mid-2000s), it foreshadows the shifting of social attitudes toward children through intertextual references to the film Battle Royale (2000), also distributed by Kamen Rider’s producer Toei. Battle Royale centres on a school class who have (without their prior knowledge) been selected by lottery to participate in a ‘survival game’ on an isolated island. They must kill one another until only one survives; they have all been fitted with explosive collars, and any child refusing to participate will have their collar remotely detonated, killing them. Director Fukasaku Kinji comments that he felt a connection to the thematic linking of violence and children in Battle Royale because of his own experiences as a member of the yakeato generation. He had worked in a munitions factory during the war that was frequently targeted by bombs, and he describes hiding under and later having to dispose of the bodies of his friends (Rose). The story is a biting commentary of the relationship between economic collapse, school-based violence, and failures of governance. In Andrea Arai’s (368) analysis, “the tropes of battle, survival, and the figure of the schoolchild, reflect and refract social anxieties about the Japanese future in an era of globalisation and neoliberal reform, and the enduring historical conundrums of Japan’s twentieth-century past”. The battle between Kamen Riders in Ryūki is also a battle royale; although the core audience of very young children would probably not have made the intertextual link to the film (or the 1999 novel the film was based on), the association would have been strengthened for older viewers by the use of "those who don't fight won't survive!" as a catchphrase for Kamen Rider Ryūki. Conclusion In the early 1970s, Kamen Rider stood out as a text rejecting externally imposed, objective ideas of justice enforced by unassailable virtue, in favour of a grotesque hero struggling to find a path to justice through a metaphorical forest of misadventure and victimisation. The first Kamen Rider was a grotesque, damaged hero who fought monsters to whom he was more alike than different. In the early 2000s this blurring of the heroic and monstrous was taken even further, questioning the very concepts of justice and monstrosity. Much as the original season of Kamen Rider responded to economic and social upheavals with its reassessment of the role and figure of the hero, Kamen Rider Ryūki draws attention to fears of and for its child audience in response to both domestic economic disaster and global events. In Kamen Rider Ryūki the trope of an unwitting victim being turned into a Kamen Rider through biomechanical enhancements is discarded entirely; anyone can become a Kamen Rider simply by entering into a contract with a mirror monster. No longer grotesque because of powers beyond their control, the new generation of Kamen Riders choose grotesquery and risk their lives to obtain their desire. Anyone can become a hero, Ryūki tells its viewers, and anyone can become a monster. And, perhaps, anyone can be both at the same time. References Abel, Jonathan E. "Masked Justice: Allegories of the Superhero in Cold War Japan." Japan Forum 26.2 (2014): 187–208. Allison, Anne. Millennial Monsters: Japanese Toys and the Global Imagination. Berkeley: U of California P, 2006. Alt, Matthew. Pure Invention: How Japan Conquered the World in Eight Fantasies. Brown Book Group, 2020. Arai, Andrea. "Killing Kids: Recession and Survival in Twenty-First-Century Japan." Postcolonial Studies 6.3 (2003): 367–79. 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It is in this chapter that I begin my detailed revisionist accounting of Yemen’s recent history. Crucially, I do so by emphasizing the global dynamics behind events occurring in Southern Arabia since 2000. The focus will be to identify the origins of the so-called Arab Spring in 2011. I incrementally “retell” what led to the direct confrontation between different groups in Yemen. Quickly identifying these factions may prove useful here. The most important, are a cluster of parties crudely reduced to the “Houthis” found in the Northwest in Yemen. As of March 2015, when Saudi Arabia, the US/UK and UAE initiated a war to reassert hegemony over Yemen, this coalition of parties known as “Huthis” aligned with the Ali Saleh who commands considerable support within the Yemeni military services. Their main rivals are the so-called southern separatists. These southern Yemenis have forged a precarious alliance with other rivals of the “Huthis,” including Islamist groups under the protection of competing external powers—ostensibly pitting Qatar, Saudi Arabia and UAE against each other—as well as with “President” Hadi, whom the US and Saudi Arabia/UAE claim to be the head of Yemen’s “legitimate” government.