Artykuły w czasopismach na temat „Congresses, Internat., 1936”

The paper deals with the orientation of the Yugoslav freemasonry during the existence of the Grand Lodge of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes ?Jugoslavia? (GLJ), later the Grand Lodge of Yugoslavia (GLY). The state of freemasonry in Serbia on the eve of the Great War is briefly described and followed by an analysis of how the experience of the First World War influenced Serbian freemasons to establish strong ties with French freemasonry. During the 1920s the Grand Lodge ?Jugoslavia? maintained very close relations with the Grand Orient of France and the Grand Lodge of France, and this was particularly obvious when GLJ got the opportunity to organise the Masonic congress for peace in Belgrade in 1926 through its links with French Freemasonry. Grand Master Georges Weifert (1919-34) also symbolised close links of French and Serbian freemasonry. However, his deputy and later Grand Master Douchan Militchevitch (1934-39) initiated in 1936 the policy of reorientation of Yugoslav freemasonry to the United Grand Lodge of England. Although there had already been such initiatives, they could not be materialised due to the fact that it was not until 1930 that the United Grand Lodge of England (UGLE) recognised several continental grand lodges, including GLJ. In a special section efforts of GLJ to be recognised by UGLE are analysed. Efforts for reorientation of GLY were conducted through several persons, including Douchan Militchevitch (1869-1939), Stanoje Mihajlovic (1882-1946), Vladimir Corovic (1885-1941) and Dragan Militchevitch (1895-1942). Special attention is given to the plans of GLY?s grand master to make the Duke of York (subsequently King George VI), who was a very dedicated freemason, an honorary past master of GLY. This plan failed, and the main idea behind it was to make GLY more resistant to internal clerical attacks and also to the external pressure of Italy. Mihajlovic?s three official Masonic visits to Britain (1933-39) are analysed as well as a private visit of Corovic and Dragan Militchevitch in March 1940. In the context of the visits made in 1939-40 plans to establish an Anglo-Yugoslav lodge are also analysed. Finally, the context of the de facto ban on Yugoslav freemasonry in August 1940 is given and the subsequent fates of its pro-British actors are also described.

In interwar Poland, academic Oriental studies developed in three distinct centres, although the Orientalist community remained decentralized. In Vilnius, several scholars in this field were active and conducted both research and instruction of Oriental languages. Among them were Poles, Jews, Karaites and Tatars. Professionally, they were also diverse, including linguists, biblical scholars, Palestinologists, museologists, lecturers, and rabbis. Their academic pursuits encompassed religious studies, Semitic studies (with a focus on Hebrew), Ancient Eastern philology, Sanskrit, Ottoman Turkish studies, Turkish dialectology, Karaim studies, and ethnographic studies of the Polish Orient. In terms of education, they were involved in both school and university instruction, teaching Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, and Karaim. Noteworthy figures among these scholars in Vilnius included: Antoni Cichoński, Zofia Dubińska, Aleksander Dubiński, Dawid Neiger, Paweł Nowicki, Jan Otrębski, Seraja Szapszał, Jakub Szynkiewicz, Franciszek Tyczkowski, Bolesław Wilanowski, Ali Ismaił Woronowicz, Ananiasz Zajączkowski, and Włodzimierz Zajączkowski, along with Władysław Zimnicki. However, the research on Jewish, Tatar (Quranic) and Karaim education in Vilnius remains scant. Beyond scholarly and pedagogical pursuits, Orientalist activities in Vilnius extended to numerous institutions, including the Jewish Library, the Karaim and Tatar Museum, and various associations (including the Polish Oriental Society). Moreover, the city served as a hub for many periodicals, such as “Myśl Karaimska,” “Rocznik Tatarski,” “Życie Tatarskie,” as well as many Jewish magazines. Vilnius also hosted two Congresses of Polish Orientalists (in 1932 and 1937).

This article analyses the internal fight between the leadership of the Communist Party of Lithuania (LCP) in the 1930s. In the 1920s and early 1930s the LCP had two strong leaders: Zigmas Angarietis and Vincas Kapsukas who disagreed on some revolutionary tactics related issues. Z. Angarietis, being the leader of the Lithuanian section in the Comintern, was in control of many of the everyday affairs of the Communist underground movement in Lithuania and the Soviet Union. Being able to send young revolutionaries to Communist schools and courses in Moscow, he attracted some ollowers. V. Kapsukas, however, being an old revolutionary Bolshevik and one of the ideologues of Lithuanian Communism, was a moral authority, who also attracted followers. Following the death of V. Kapsukas in 1935, Z. Angarietis wished to advance with the new Comintern tactics of popular fronts and thus wanted to consolidate his power in Lithuania, though some of the former V. Kapsukas’ followers, mainly Aizikas Lifšicas and Karolis Grosmanas, disagreed with Z. Angarietis and the new tactics. Z. Angarietis managed to replace them but they started objecting their ousting by sending letters to other LCP Central Committee members and the Comintern Executive Committee. This had the opposite effect as Z. Angarietis and his followers started to suspect both A. Lifšicas and K. Grosmanas of treason and of being Trotskyists. Finally, A. Lifšicas was expelled from the party and K. Grosmanas, acknowledging his guilt, was spared. Z. Angarietis and his followers, advancing the new Comintern tactics (adopted at the seventh congress) managed to expand the circle of Communist sympathizers which proved very useful in the new administration after the occupation of 1940.

A relação entre Brasil e Argentina foi historicamente marcada por sua rivalidade, que ocasionalmente se manifestava em crises diplomático-militares. Uma destas ocorreu em agosto de 1937, quando o Brasil e os Estados Unidos negociaram a cessão de contratorpedeiros para a Marinha Brasileira. Desde meados da década, o governo Vargas se esforçava para cumprir um programa de renovação naval, com objetivo de reestruturar a obsoleta esquadra nacional. O cenário internacional oferecia grandes oportunidades para os brasileiros, pois a polarização acirrava a disputa pelo fornecimento de armamentos e pelo posicionamento do Brasil no quadro de alianças. Washington, sob orientação da política da boa vizinhança e alarmados com a influência do Eixo na América Latina, decidiram negociar com os brasileiros a despeito da resistência isolacionista em seu Congresso, oferecendo a cessão de seis contratorpedeiros para o Brasil. Entretanto, surgiram fortes críticas ao acordo tanto na opinião pública norte-americana como na comunidade internacional, especialmente na Argentina. Assustados com as reações contrárias internas e externas, Washington recuou, para desapontamento dos brasileiros. Partindo das noções clássicas de diplomacia naval, nosso objetivo é entender as razões e motivações, sob perspectiva de política interna e externa, dos principais países envolvidos, bem como a repercussão internacional do acordo.

Abstract The Pan-Slavic Association of Dermatovenereologists (PSADVs) was founded in May 1928, and it included dermatologic associations of Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Yugoslavia. Its president was Prof. Krzysztalowicz from Poland. The 1st Congress of this association was held in Warsaw in 1929, and the 2nd Congress was organized by the Association of Dermatovenereologists of Yugoslavia (ADVY), in Belgrade in 1931. The president of the Organizing Committee was Prof. Đorđe Đorđevic, and the secretary Assoc. Prof. Milan Kićevac from the Clinic of Dermatovenereology in Belgrade. The Congress was attended by representatives of Slavic national associations, as well as by representatives of French, Romanian, Greek and Turkish dermatology. The number of participants amounted to 160 physicians and 60 members of their families. According to the report of Ilić S., 104 papers had been presented: 48 from Yugoslavia (37 from Serbia, 3 from Croatia, 3 from Macedonia, and 5 from Bosnia), 23 from Czechoslovakia, 18 from Poland, 8 from France, 5 from Romania, 1 from Turkey, and 1 from Greece. Most papers were from the area of sexually transmitted diseases: 43 papers (41.35% of the total number). Out of these, 27 papers were on syphilis, followed by gonorrhea with 9 papers. There were both research and experimental papers. The authors insisted on assessing diagnostic and therapeutic issues, as well as disease prevention. The second most frequent group of diseases accounted for eczema. The problem included the defi nition and pathogenesis of the disease. The third group of diseases was tuberculosis. The results of experiments on animals were studied pointing out the need for reclassifi cation of skin tuberculosis in relation to internal tuberculosis. A small number of papers were on other infections of the skin and genitals, as well as individual cases of various dermatoses. During the Congress, social events were also organized, as well as a banquet on the ship Alexander I cruising on the Danube and Sava. Optional travel tours to all parts of Yugoslavia were also offered. Soon after the Congress, foreign journals published reports on its high professional level and the entire organization.

В статье рассматривается практика апелляций оппозиционеров, исключенных из партии в 1926–1928 годах. Дается анализ как известных, так и недавно рассекреченных источников и их интерпретация в контексте внутрипартийной борьбы. Кроме того, в статье рассматриваются изменения в оценке оппозиции на партийных съездах со стороны партийного большинства. Цель данного исследования – проанализировать апелляции оппозиционеров в контексте эмоционального давления со стороны партии. Как показано в работе, за несколько лет политической борьбы в коммунистической партии, оппозиция становится официально неприемлемой группой и исключается из партии. Параллельно этому процессу формируется процедура апеллирования на восстановление в партию для исключенных членов, включая и оппозиционеров. Оппозиционеры, вынужденные обращаться в партию по вопросу восстановления, заполняют апелляции эмоциональным содержанием. Эти эмоции могут свидетельствовать о еще одном, малоизученном измерении политической борьбы, а именно существовании «эмоциональных режимов» и «сообществ». Оппозиционеры могли подчиниться эмоциональным требованиям партийных органов и открыто выразить сожаление в своих прежних действиях. Некоторые выбирали путь продолжения политической борьбы и пытались инициировать дискуссию в своих обращениях, прибегая подчас к явно выраженной эмоциональной аргументации. Связи, укрепившиеся между ленинградскими оппозиционерами за время внутрипартийной борьбы, могут говорить об эмоциональной общности этой группы. Статья может представлять интерес как для специалистов в области политической истории СССР, так и для всех заинтересованных в истории России XX века. The article examines the practice of appeals of oppositionists who were expelled from the party in 1926–1928. The analysis of both well-known and recently declassified sources and their interpretation in the context of internal party struggle is given. In addition, the article discusses changes in the assessment of the opposition at party congresses by the party majority. The purpose of this study is to analyze the appeals of the opposition in the context of emotional pressure from the party. As shown in the work, after several years of political struggle in the Communist Party, the opposition becomes an officially unacceptable group and is excluded from the party. In parallel to this process, a procedure for appealing for reinstatement to the party is being formed for excluded members, including opposition members. The oppositionists, who are forced to appeal to the party on the issue of restoration, fill the appeals with emotional content. These emotions may indicate another, poorly understood dimension of political struggle, namely the existence of "emotional regimes" and "communities". The oppositionists could submit to the emotional demands of the party organs and openly express regret for their previous actions. Some chose the path of continuing the political struggle and tried to initiate a discussion in their appeals, sometimes resorting to clearly expressed emotional arguments. The ties that have strengthened between the Leningrad oppositionists during the internal party struggle can speak of the emotional community of this group. The article may be of interest both for specialists in the field of political history of the USSR, and for all those interested in the history of Russia of the XX century.

The purpose of the article is to analyze the factors of transformation of the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b) into the governing body of the Soviet state. The article has studied the activities of such party and state institutions as the Council of People’s Commissars, the Politburo, the Secretariat of the Central Committee. In this work, an attempt was made to consider the transformation of the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b) headed by I.V. Stalin into a body for developing key decisions. The scientific novelty of the article lies in the fact that it describes the main events of the internal political struggle of various departments of the Soviet state in terms of their priority on the political Olympus at the time of the initial formation of a new one-party state. The article uses the methods of comparison and analysis of archival documents. A chain of various political events led to the fact that by the beginning of the 1930s, the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b), headed by the Secretary General I.V. Stalin, had begun to hold a privileged position in the political circles of the Soviet state. As a result of the internal political struggle, the interaction between the members and candidates for membership in the Politburo of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b) began to focus on the political position of the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b), which since April 1922 was headed by I.V. Stalin. In a long and bitter struggle, I.V. Stalin gained a privileged position in political circles and got a stable majority of votes at party congresses. Considering various disputable situations that constantly arose between the opposing factions in the Bolshevik Party, it can be revealed that as a result of the internal political struggle, ideological principles were often pushed into the background. The primary task of one or another group of party leaders was to discredit political opponents and exclude them from the leadership, and then from the Communist Party. I.V. Stalin gained a preponderance of political power due to combining positions in the leadership of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b) and in the leadership of the Secretariat of the Central Committee of the AUCP(b). The realization of this benefit took place through frequent changes within the Party and gaining the overwhelming majority of Stalin supporters’ votes at the plenums of the Central Committee of the Party, meetings of the Political Bureau and congresses of the Bolshevik organization. After I.V. Stalin had been promoted to the position of General Secretary in April 1922, the Central Committee Secretariat headed by him was gradually becoming superior to other political institutions. Stalin’s work in the above-mentioned party organ turns into a decision-making activity, and over time the nature of the documents emanating from him is transformed. As a result of the party infighting of the 1920s, such leaders of the October Revolution as Zinoviev, Kamenev, Trotsky, Bukharin, Rykov, Tomsky, Pyatakov were removed from the political arena. Their names had ceased to appear in the business correspondence of the central party organs. In the leadership of the Bolshevik Party, the factor of the informal system of political decision-making is gradually becoming crucial. The practical significance of the article is that the results obtained in the study can be used in the preparation of generalizing works on the history of Russia, as well as the history of party-state construction in the USSR. The prospects of the research consist in using the article by teachers and students of educational institutions in the framework of educational courses on the history of the Fatherland. The research materials and the conclusions obtained may be of interest to the heads of state authorities for the development and implementation of personnel policy, the implementation of measures aimed at improving its effectiveness, as well as the strategy of sustainable development of the state.

Este artigo analisa o ensaio História do Brasil, publicado por Afrânio Peixoto em 1940. Entende-se que, em sua estrutura interna, o livro comporta nuances dos conflitos entre o autor e o Estado Novo brasileiro (1937-1945) e também em relação ao teor autoritário, com o qual a ditadura portuguesa, comandada por Antônio Salazar, modelou o Congresso do Mundo Português (1940). Muito embora tenha colaborado para a organização do evento, na última hora, por ordem expressa do governo brasileiro, Afrânio Peixoto foi impedido de participar das comemorações. Nesse sentido, busca-se demonstrar que uma das razões capaz de explicar sua ausência foi o patriotismo luso-brasileiro praticado por Afrânio, o qual o colocou em rota de colisão com as representações oficiais preparadas para aquela efeméride.

Quackery in medicine is as old as medicine. In times of crisis, desperate patients believe in extraordinary claims. In the annals of pain killer quack medicine, elixirs, nostrums and liniments hold a preeminent position. The College of Dentistry at NYU received a collection of 234 bottles of nostrums and liniments dating from approximately 1840 through 1940. This article highlights three sets of painkillers that contained morphine, opium or were considered being “electric or magnetic”. The exaggerated nature of the curative claims, the dangerous and addictive content of the drugs led the US Congress in 1906 to ban many of such substances and introduce The Pure Food and Drug Act. In spite of such measures, 100+ years later quack medicine is alive and well thanks to the internet and social media.

Čenču Jezups or Dzērkste (real name Jezups Kindzuļs, 1888–1941?) was a Latgalian public figure, agronomist, publicist and writer. Date of his death is unknown – he was arrested in February 1941 by NKVD (People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs), but after that there is no information about his further life. He participated in the Latgalian Awakening movement at the beginning of 20th century. Later J. Kindzuļs was one of the organizers of the Latgalian congress (1917) in Rēzekne and a member of Constitutional Assembly of Latvia (1920–1922). He was an editor of such periodicals as “Latgalīts” (1921), “Latgolas Zemkūpis” (1924–1935), “Latgolas lauksaimnīks” (calendar, 1924–1935). He wrote his novel “Pīters Vylāns” between 1935 and 1941. It was first published in Daugavpils in 1943 by writer and publisher Vladislavs Luocis. Later it was published again in Germany in 1967.Čenču Jezups’ novel “Pīters Vylāns” was analysed by Miķelis Bukšs, Ilona Salceviča, Oskars Seiksts. The mentioned papers reveal the meaning of Latgalian self-confidence, which is disclosed in “Pīters Vylāns”, but unfortunately the author of this novel seems to be forgotten. Therefore the aim of this research is to “decode” factors of inspiration in Čenču Jezups’ novel “Pīters Vylāns” to gain more information about author’s life and his value system.Inspiration is always connected with writer’s life experience. Furthermore, the writer creates his own world. Vladislavs Luocis wrote that J. Kindzuļs planned to write a trilogy (Lōcis 1965: 26), but because of Latvia’s occupation by the Soviet Union this intention was not fulfilled. Factors of inspiration are divided into two groups: literary and non-literary (Lukaševičs 2007: 5). Non-literary factors of inspiration are those connected with J. Kindzuļs’ life (social and political events, education and public activities, private life). Literary and cultural factors of inspiration refer to his interests and Latgalian self-identification.Novel “Pīters Vylāns” was written during the authoritarian regime of Kārlis Ulmanis (1934–1940) and deals with peasants’ life during the Russian Revolution of 1905 (1905–1907) in Latgale. The problems of Latgalian identity (to be russified or polonized, quest for identity as a possibility) are dealt with by means of such characters as Vera Semjonova, Stefa, Meikuls Stumbris and Buks. It may be that the characters Pīters Vylāns and Ontons Sleižs are the two sides of J. Kindzuļs’ alter ego. His life experience until World War I is revealed in Pīters Vylāns, but after 1920 – in Ontons Sleižs. J. Kindzuļs may have studied either agronomy or law in Petersburg (after 1907). He took part in Latgalian Musical society and later he worked in the editorial office of newspaper “Drywa” (1908–1912). J. Kindzuļs was involved in the First World War and after that he worked in Rēzekne Commerce School (1919). After 1922 he started farming in his household “Pelēķi” in Laucesa rural municipality and was busy with issues of agronomy in Latgale.J. Kindzuļs’ private life is revealed in two women characters: Elvira and Stefa. Kindzuļs himself had three wives: unknown (married before 1919), Hortenzija Kindzule (Dardedze, married about 1921), Jadviga Kindzule (Kondrāte, married before 1933). J. Kindzuļs became a widower twice. He had two sons: Česlavs (from his first marriage) and Andrivs Jēkabs (from the second marriage). The third child was a daughter, but he and his wife Jadviga lost her because she died of an illness when she was 3.Because of lack of information about J. Kindzuļs, there is no possibility to find out his interests. The only way to get more information about J. Kindzuļs is to research his novel “Pīters Vylāns”. From the novel we know that for J. Kindzuļs there are three groups of literary and cultural factors of inspiration. Firstly, it is Latgalian self-confidence, which appears in the use of Roman Catholic elements such as rites, prayers and honour songs for God. Secondly, it is syncretism of Christian faith and paganism, which is presented as rewriting of folksongs by hand and “vakariešona” or evening gathering. Thirdly, it is European culture, because it is clear that J. Kindzuļs knew, for example, such writers as Goethe, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, classical music (F. F. Chopin) and architecture. The amount of information about J. Kindzuļs must be enriched and research must be continued. Novel “Pīters Vylāns” was written after 1935 and it is autobiographical. Such characters as Pīters Vylāns and Ontons Sleižs reflect the personality of J. Kindzuļs, but Elvira and Stefa reveal some traits of his wives Hortenzija and Jadviga. J. Kindzuļs glorifies values which became significant after 1934: land and farming, peasants and unity. He describes the Latvians of Latgale during the Russian Revolution of 1905 (1905–1907), but at the same time he criticizes the tendency to be latvianized. The same attitude he has to russification. He accepts the ideological course of Kārlis Ulmanis policy and this ideological position of J. Kindzuļs is manifested as a form of rebellion.

Abstract51 years after its founding in 1882, the "Congress for Internal Medicine", 1920 renamed "German Society for Internal Medicine (DGIM)", fell into heavy water. While during the Kaiserreich and the Weimar Republic the medical care for the individual patient had never been seriously questioned, the proclaimed “Third Reich” brought fundamental changes. The 1164 male and 13 female physicians, who had been organized in the DGIM 1933, had to position themselves in the Nazi dictatorship. The same applied for the society as a whole.The behavior of the German Society of Internal Medicine during the Nazi period is disenchanting. The society completely subordinated to the Nazi regime. The scientific program of the meetings was oriented to the ideological interests of the regime. Solidarity with nazi-persecuted people is only apparent in rare cases. On the contrary, even DGIM chairmen were involved in expulsions and NS-medical crimes. Cautious criticism was limited to a few areas, such as the “Neue Deutsche Heilkunde” (“New German Healing”) and the study conditions at the universities. Only individual DGIM members developed oppositional behavior on the basis of personal conviction.In accordance with the more recent research on the Nazi era, these results both clarify and broaden the picture of scientific organizations in general and medical societies in particular.

The article provides external and internal criticism of the documents of Mufti Rizaetdin bin Fakhretdin deposited in the National Archives of the Republic of Bashkortostan about the WMC in Mecca in 1926, which introduce new understanding of the formation of the foreign policy of the young Soviet republic in the East, the reasons for the participation of the spiritual leaders of the Russian ummah, the conditions for the functioning of Islam and its institutions in the USSR. For the first time, the published report of the head of the Soviet delegation on a significant forum acquaints the reader with the background of its convocation, characterizes the decisions made at it, reveals the positions of the envoys of the USSR regarding the initiatives of the future founder of the state of Saudi Arabia, Ibn Sa‘ud, to strengthen the Muslim unity.

FRAGMENTO. El académico honorario Eduardo Gaitán Marulanda (1933 - 2021) se graduó Summa Cum Laude de médico en la Universidad Nacional de Colombia en 1954 y se especializó en Medicina Interna y Endocrinología en la Universidad de Tulane en New Orleans. Durante este tiempo investigó sobre las hormonas de la neurohipófisis. En 1962 regresó a Cali, Colombia, para dirigir la sección de endocrinología en el Hospital Universitario Evaristo García, donde se formaron y trabajaron importantes endocrinólogos del país, en la mejor época de la Universidad del Valle, con apoyo de la Fundación Rockfeller, del programa Tulane Colombia y de otras fundaciones. Ocupó la Cátedra de Endocrinología en la Universidad del Valle entre 1960 y 1975, donde se distinguió por sus investigaciones sobre mecanismo de acción de las hormonas de la hipófisis posterior y, particularmente, por el descubrimiento de los bociógenos naturales en las aguas de consumo humano como causa coadyuvante de la endemia bociosa, trabajos inicialmente llevados a cabo en la localidad de Candelaria y extendidos después al Valle de Sibundoy y a numerosas poblaciones del occidente colombiano. Su interés investigativo cambió al campo de la glándula tiroides, interés que continuó por el resto de su vida. Su trabajo más importante en esta etapa fue Caracterización química, geoquímica y biológica de los bociógenos naturales del agua. Fue publicado en el exterior y presentado en diversos congresos interna1 Editor Emérito Revista MEDICINA. cionales. Posteriormente fue elegido presidente de la Sociedad Colombiana de Endocrinología, cargo en el que tuve el honor de sucederlo. Desde 1975 el doctor Gaitán residió en los Estados Unidos; allí fue Profesor Titular de su especialidad en las Universidades de Alabama y de Mississippi.

AbstractThis essay argues that the definition of the USSR's political system as a “party-state,” ignores the crucial difference between the majority of the members of the CPSU who hold positions in the Soviet state and the minority who are full time party officials with no such position and who regard themselves as the natural leaders of the party as a whole. To highlight this distinction, this essay defines the party officials as the “inner party” and the party members who man the state as the “outer party” and focuses on the ongoing dispute among party officials over the most effective way to provide leadership of the Soviet state. This conflict is expressed indirectly in the published discussion of the relative importance of officials' “internal work” (personnel management, verification of fulfillment and ideological education) and their “economic work” the close supervision of state agencies' administration of the five year plans. The essay briefly summarizes Stalin's own formulations on the subject, the conflict between Malenkov and Zhdanov over this issue from 1939 to 1948, and the ongoing debate among officials after the reform of the departments of the Secretariat in 1948. The bulk of the essay analyzes the widely divergent views of officials' priorities presented at the Nineteenth Congress of the CPSU in October 1952. It concludes that Western scholars have generally underestimated the role of the Congress in the creation of the political oligarchy that ruled the USSR after 1953.

In the aftermath of America's Civil War, national lawmakers who chronicled the fall of slavery described the North as a terrain of states whose representatives assembled in Congress, as evidenced in Henry Wilson's The Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America (1872–77) and Alexander Stephens's A Constitutional View of the Late War Between the States (1868–70). Beginning in the early 1900s, scholars who helped establish the field of American constitutional history redescribed the national government as the voice of the Northern people and the foe of the states, as evidenced in Henry Wilson's The Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America (1872–1877) and Alexander Stephens's A Constitutional View of the Late War Between the States (1868–1870), a first generation of scholars writing during the Progressive Era redescribed the national government as the voice of the Northern people and the foe of the states, as evidenced in William A. Dunning's Essays on the Civil War and Reconstruction (1898), John W. Burgess's The Civil War and the Constitution (1901–1906), and James G. Randall's Constitutional Problems Under Lincoln (1926). Although a second generation of scholars uncovered traces of the lawmakers' perspective of states, new efforts in the wake of the civil rights movement to understand the internal workings of political parties and the contributions of ordinary Americans kept the study of national lawmakers and their states on the margins of inquiry, as evidenced in leading revisionist histories of Reconstruction, including Harold Hyman's A More Perfect Union: The Impact of the Civil War and Reconstruction on the Constitution (1973), Michael Les Benedict's A Compromise of Principle: Congressional Republicans and Reconstruction, 1863–1869 (1974a), and Eric Foner's Reconstruction: An Unfinished Revolution (1988). Today, the terrain of Northern states remains in the backdrop, as illustrated in recent studies featuring the wartime national government, including James Oakes's Freedom National: The Destruction of Slavery in the United States, 1861–1865 (2012) and Mark E. Neely, Jr.'s Lincoln and the Triumph of the Nation: Constitutional Conflict in the American Civil War (2011), as well as studies of the mechanisms of constitutional change during Reconstruction, including relevant sections of Bruce Ackerman's We the People II: Transformations (1998) and Akhil Reed Amar's America's Constitution: A Biography (2005). This review essay argues that incorporating the states back into this century‐old framework will open new lines of inquiry and provide a more complete account of federalism's role in the fall of slavery. In particular, a return to the archives suggests that in the uncertain context of mid‐nineteenth‐century America, slavery's leading opponents in Congress saw the Constitution's federal logic not simply as an obstacle, but as a crucial tool with which to mobilize collective action and accommodate wartime opposition at a time when no one could say for sure what would remain of the United States.

During the creation of the modern Serbian state, Kragujevac had a continuous development, primarilythanks to its geographical position, and then to various political decisions. At the beginning of the 20th century it was the Turkish city and over time it became a real European city with all those elements of development in the 19th century. First of all, thanks to the wisdom of Prince Miloš Obrenović, various institutions were founded in Kragujevac, both administrative and educational and also cultural, and thanks to him Kragujevac became not only the center of the principality of Serbia, still under the supreme Ottoman rule, but also the center of liberation movements, which developed in this period not only in the Serbian national territories but also throughout the Balkans. The decisions of the Turkish sultans were read in Kragujevac,enablingthe city with a wide degree of autonomy so that the release from external pressure became stronger and the internal influence was felt less and less. In the process, internal political freedoms processes were also getting stronger. The Sretenje Constitution passed in 1835, and it foresaw the restriction of the Prince's power and the division into judicial executive and legislative power. The development of political freedoms was unstoppable and a certain number of laws were passed, predicting economic freedom. After passing the Constitution in 1869, and political events culminated in Kragujevac, the Principality of Serbia became an independent state, in August 1878, with the declaration of the decisions of the Congress of Berlin. Political actions after this period shifted to Belgrade, and Kragujevac gradually lost its political significance, although assemblies convened in this period. At the beginning of the Great War, Kragujevac became the military capital of the Kingdom of Serbia. Apart from these political events, Kragujevac was also developing economically, which was documented by the increase in population. One of the most important events that will undoubtedly play the most significant role in its development was Prince Aleksandar Karađorđević's decision to found the first modern arms factory in the Principality of Serbia - Topolivnica. Kragujevac, as well as Prince Miloš, was chosen because of its position. During this period, the middle of the 19th century, revolutionary changes took place throughout Europe. Topolivnica had a continuous development, and thanks to its rapid modernization Kragujevac received the first electric lighting in Serbia. It is important to emphasize that the foundation of the Military School of Arts and Crafts enabled an educated workforce in Kragujevac. Kragujevac was also the center of new political ideas that dominated throughout Europe in that period. Simultaneously with the development of the Military Factory, smaller other industrial companies were created, initially intended for the local market, however, they developed over time, especially in the early 20th century.During the continuous wars waged by the Kingdom of Serbia from 1912-1918, the economic development ceased in Kragujevac. Significant civil and budgetary losses happened in this period, as in other parts of the Kingdom of Serbia. After the First World War, the facilities of the Military Factory were devastated. The gradual recovery began in the 1920s when the elite of the newly created state decided to renovate military-industrial facilities, and the number of workers started to grow. Before the war, there were about 45,000 of them. Military and economic agreements with the Kingdom of Belgium and the Republic of France enabled the import of new modern weapons technology. All these decisions had considerable consequences for the local economy so that in this first period, the number of craft shops and privately owned industrial companies significantly increased (Stefanovići and Fijale). A time of crisis in foreign relations with the surrounding countries brought faster and greater investments into military-industrial facilities throughout the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, as well as in Kragujevac. This development also enables the strengthening of local infrastructure. This continuous development of the city lasted until 1930. Due to the Great World Economic crisis, there was a decline and significant losses appeared in the economy around the world. The Great World Economic crisis hit the private craft sector, trade and financial institutions the hardest. The production volume had been reduced by almost 2/3 and traders had a reduced sales volume. The only thing that helped maintenance of the economy in this period was the existence of the Military Technical Institute, and thanks to its existence, unemployed craftsmen had the opportunity to get a job again. Kragujevac, like other cities, did not feel the consequences of the crisis to that extent, thanks to the large military factory that employed the largest part of the population fit for military service.

For anyone who studies modern Chinese political thought, the revival of interest in federalism is one of the most striking features of the current scene. It has been particularly visible abroad in the wake of the Tiananmen massacre, and its most conspicuous spokesman has been the former director of the Institute of Political Science of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Yan Jiaqi. In remarks delivered to the First Congress of Chinese Students and Scholars in the United States, held in Chicago in July 1989, Yan proposed a Chinese “federation” (lianbang guojia) having a democratic system as the best hope both for reforming China's internal politics and ultimately for resolving the problems of Hong Hong, Taiwan and Tibet. He made similar remarks in other speeches in America and at the founding meeting of the Federation for Chinese Democracy, of which he was elected president, held in Paris in September 1989. Some other mainland Chinese intellectuals, among them Ge Yang, former editor-in-chief of Xin guancha, have supported such views, as have members of the China Spring movement. A recent official denunciation of such views is testimony to their growing influence.These are surprising developments. Federalist programmes for China have long been seen as little more than relics of an era which ended in the 1920s. As the Cihai entry for liansheng zizhi (one of the phrases for the idea in Chinese) puts it, while certain warlord politicians of the 1920s believed that federalism was the appropriate political system for China, “after the Guangdong revolutionary government launched the Northern Expedition in 1926, no one advocated federalism again.”

The imposition of official state ideology (Marxism-Leninism) is characteristic for Ukrainian and Romanian theoretical linguistics of the middle and second half of the 20th century. It was the leading methodology for solving the problems of nature and essence of the human language. With its help, it was possible to study internal structure of the linguistic system and use linguistic research methods, which are the subject of general linguistics. Issues that are related to the problems of ideology and specific linguistics (Ukrainization, Russification, Romanization, Magyarization, etc.) are not considered and addressed. The subject of research is the penetration of official state ideology into linguistic questions about the nature and essence of language, its reflection in the methods of linguistic research. In Ukrainian Soviet theoretical linguistics of the 1930–1940s, Marism was officially propagated as a proletarian ideology directed against bourgeois comparative studies. Some Ukrainian linguists, following Ivan Meshchaninov (which then was the official head of Soviet linguistics), used the name Marr as a “shield”. They started with quoting Marr in their own works, but that did not affect much the language material investigation (for example, Academician Mykhailo Kalynovych (1888-1949) and others). After appearance of Stalin’s work “Marxism and Problems of Linguistics” (1950), well-known quotes from this work occured widely in Ukrainian and Romanian theoretical linguistics. They were about the class nature of the language, developed the ideas of revolutionary upheavals in it, stated the need for a dialectical combination of language learning with the history of the society. They have been quoted in the linguistic literature of Ukraine until the 22nd Congress of the CPSU (1961). In Romania, they have been quoted until the death of Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej (1965). Only by this time the development of linguistic structuralism had begun, because the linguistic outlook of the “leader” allowed comprehending lingual facts exclusively within the framework of comparative-historical and descriptive paradigm.

Összefoglaló. Bevezetés: A COVID–19-járvány világszerte hónapokra átalakította a járóbeteg-ellátás működését is. Magyarországon a 2020. március 11-től 2020. június 17-ig fennálló egészségügyi veszélyhelyzeti rendelkezések szabták meg az új kereteket. Célkitűzés: Az első veszélyhelyzeti periódus második felében, 2020. április 22. és 2020. május 5. között mértük fel az epilepsziaellátásban részt vevő orvosok véleményét, hogy milyen mértékben változott a betegek ellátása, és hogyan élték meg a változásokat személyesen. Módszer: Internetes kérdőíves véleményfelmérés történt, a Magyar Epilepszia Liga 2020. április 16–17-re tervezett, de a COVID–19-járvány miatt elhalasztott XV. kongresszusára regisztrált neurológusok között. Kilenc egyszeres vagy többszörös feleletválasztós kérdés és ’szabad kommentár’ mezők álltak rendelkezésre. Eredmények: A megkeresett 116 neurológus közül 33-an válaszoltak (28%), összesen 30 kommentár került rögzítésre. 73%-uk szerint a változások komoly nehézséget okoztak, 15%-uk gondolta, hogy ennek súlyos következményei lesznek. Új betegek fogadása 53%-ban leállt, 25%-ban nagy nehézségekbe ütközött. A gondozott betegek problémáit 49%-ban a távvizit lehetőségeivel élve meg tudták oldani, de 24%-ban ez nem sikerült. A beteg távollétében lebonyolított vizitek 68%-a dokumentált telefonbeszélgetések formájában zajlott. Az orvosok kétharmada veszélyeztetve érezte magát, hogy elkapja a vírust, ebből 40% úgy érezte, nem kap elegendő védelmet, 6% (2 fő) kapta el a fertőzést. Következtetés: A COVID–19-járvány a leginkább az új szakvélemények kiadását érintette, de a gondozási feladatokat sem mindig lehetett megfelelően megoldani. A károkat jelentősen enyhítette az ellátószemélyzet rugalmassága. A telefonvizitek, szükség esetén, az epileptológiában pótolhatják a személyes orvos-beteg találkozásokat. A járvány visszatérésének veszélye miatt a távvizit-alkalmazások technikai fejlesztése és ezek dokumentálási kérdéseinek megoldása fontos. A járványidőszakban a személyzet védelmére nagy figyelmet kell fordítani a fertőződés elkerülése és az orvosok biztonságérzetének fokozása érdekében. Orv Hetil. 2020; 161(46): 1939–1943. Summary. Introduction: COVID-19 pandemic has transformed the operation of outpatient care worldwide for months. The new framework was set in Hungary by the health emergency regulations that existed from 11. 03. 2020 to 17. 06. 2020. Objective: In the second half of the emergency period, between 22. 04. 2020 and 05. 05. 2020, we surveyed the opinion of physicians involved in epilepsy care about the extent to which patient care had changed and how they experienced the changes in person. Method: An internet questionnaire survey was conducted among neurologists registered for the annual congress of the Hungarian Chapter of the International League Against Epilepsy. Nine single- or multiple-choice questions and ‘free comment’ fields were available. Results: Of 116 neurologists contacted, 33 responded (28%), and a total of 30 comments were recorded. 73% said the changes caused a serious difficulty, 15% thought it would have serious consequences. Reception of new patients was stopped in 53%, and 25% encountered great difficulties. In 49%, the problems of the cared patients could be solved using remote visits, but 24% could not solve them properly. 68% of outpatient visits took the form of documented telephone conversations. Two-thirds of doctors feared catching the virus, 40% of whom felt they were not getting enough protection. 6% caught the infection. Conclusion: The COVID-19 pandemic has mostly affected the issuance of new expert opinions, but care tasks have not always been adequately addressed. The damage was significantly mitigated by the flexibility of the care staff. Telephone visits, if necessary, can replace personal doctor-patient encounters in epileptology. The technical development of remote visit applications and their documentation issues are important. During the pandemic period, great care must be taken to protect staff in order to avoid infection and increase the sense of safety of doctors. Orv Hetil. 2020; 161(46): 1939–1943.

For a young researcher, the best way to improve his skills and develop his research capabilities is to work in established research laboratories where he is enabled to learn modern techniques and how to attack the scientific problems. Today, we have easy communications, including computers and the internet, but direct interactions with the most experienced scientists are the best way for young scientist to advance his research capabilities. Ulf Svante von Euler, Swedish pharmacologist and physiologist presents the best example that illustrates how interaction of a young researcher with established scientists develop his research capabilities and become a well-known scientist1.When Ulf was seventeen (1922), he came in Stockholm to study medicine. As a student, he became interested in research, and in 1926 he attended the Twelfth International Congress of Physiologists in Stockholm where he heard lectures by I. P. Pavlov, E. H. Starling and other great scientists of the time. He also observed a historic demonstration by Otto Loewi on the existence of Vagusstoff in the frog’s heart, which would stimulate his own interest and research on mediators of nerve transmission. Prior to this demonstration, Loewi had published several papers on the nature of this chemical substance that slowed the heart, but not all of his research contemporaries were convinced. However, a successful demonstration at the Congress (repeated eighteen times) convinced all critics. Von Euler recalled that these experiments inspired his enduring interest in neurohumoral transmission.Initially, von Euler was influenced by several well-known Swedish scientists: G. Liljestrand (pharmacologist/physiologist), R. Fåraeus (a hematologist) and H. Theorell (a biochemist, who received the Nobel Prize for Medicine and Physiology in 1955). Ulf defended his doctoral dissertation in 1930 and became a professor of pharmacology. Then, he received a two-year scholarship for postdoctoral studies abroad that enabled him to improve his skills by working with several famous foreign researchers.The young Ulf von Euler made the most of this opportunity. He spent six months in Hampstead at Sir Henry Dale’s laboratory, two months in Birmingham with I. de Burgh Daly, eight months in Ghent with C. Heymans, and three months in Frankfurt with G. Embden. Later, in 1934, he returned to London for six months to work with A. Hill, primarily because Liljestrand advised him instead of pharmacology, rather to devote to physiology because at that time in Sweden this scientific discipline was more appreciated. Towards the end of 1937, he went back to Hampstead for five months to work again with Sir Henry Dale.

O orçamento é o ato jurídico em que se faz a previsão da receita, autorizando a sua arrecadação, e a fixação da despesa, autorizando, outrossim, a sua execução, relativas a determinado exercício financeiro. Embora o conteúdo do orçamento diga respeito à matéria de Direito Financeiro, pertinente à disciplina da receita e da despesa, a natureza jurídica da fiscalização da execução do orçamento se mantém no campo do Direito Administrativo, não obstante se utilize das normas de contabilidade pública e de técnica econômico-financeira para levá-la a cabo. Destarte, permanece no Direito Administrativo o estudo dos órgãos de controle do Estado quanto a atividade dos ordenadores da despesa e pagadores de contas, e os atos jurídicos de efetivação desse controle. Esse controle da execução do orçamento se faz através do Poder Executivo, por órgão do Ministério da Fazenda ou das Finanças, que acompanham a gestão financeira dos diferentes órgãos do Estado, e se denomina fiscalização interna; e, através do Poder Legislativo, valendo-se de pareceres de suas Comissões de Finanças ou Tomadas de Contas, e, especialmente, de órgão administrativo, autônomo, de cúpula colegiada ou individual, seu delegado, e auxiliar, ou melhor, colaborador, na verificação das contas dos órgãos do Estado, independente do Poder Executivo, e esse controle se denomina fiscalização externa. Ao Legislativo compete não só a aprovação do orçamento como a fiscalização última da sua fiel execução. Objetiva garantir o efetivo cumprimento do orçamento, quanto a receita e despesa. Sem a devida tomada de contas, os orçamentos se constituiriam em formalidades inúteis e seria impossível a apuração de responsabilidade dos agentes ordenadores e pagadores da despesa. Como órgão auxiliar do Legislativo nessa tarefa de controle de contas do Executivo se cogitou, nos países latinos da Europa, do Tribunal de Contas, também denominado Conselho de Contas ou Corte de Contas, cujos membros, chamados Ministros ou Conselheiros, gozam de imunidades que asseguram a sua independência. Esse órgão, apesar de exercer uma função administrativa, repita-se, a efetiva em caráter autônomo, e sem qualquer liame com o Chefe do Executivo. Já na Inglaterra e nos Estados Unidos da América do Norte, dito controle se faz através de Auditoria, General Accounting Office superintendida por Auditor-Geral, General Comptroller and Auditor, com garantias equivalentes às que se atribuem à magistratura, e, outrossim, em posição de absoluta independência dos órgãos governamentais controlados, inclusive do Chefe do Executivo. O exame das contas pode ser feito através de três processos diferentes que originaram os sistemas de exame prévio absoluto ou relativo, e do exame posterior. O exame prévio absoluto é aquele em que o veto do órgão fiscalizador externo impede os órgãos executivos e ativos a efetuarem a despesa em negando o seu registro, e, então, não pode ser feita. Esse veto absoluto é utilizado nos casos de falta de verba para essa despesa ou ter sido cogitada por verba imprópria. É o sistema acolhido pelo Tribunal de Contas da Itália, e, por isso, denominado de tipo italiano. Já o exame prévio relativo é aquele em que o veto do órgão fiscalizador externo, em considerada ilegal a despesa, nega-lhe o registro, e devolve a documentação aos órgãos executivos ativos com as razões do veto. Se os órgãos superiores do Executivo não se conformarem com o veto, solicitam ao órgão fiscalizador externo que faça o registro sob protesto. Após essa formalidade, ele dá ciência ao Legislativo do ocorrido, para que apure a responsabilidade dos órgãos executivos ativos, que levaram a efeito a despesa. Foi o sistema escolhido pelo Tribunal de Contas da Bélgica, e, por isso denominado de tipo belga. O exame posterior é o que a verificação da despesa se faz ao depois de efetuada. Elas não são evitadas pelo órgão de fiscalização externa, a quem cabe apenas providenciar em última análise, a punição dos culpados. Foi o sistema escolhido pelo Tribunal de Contas da França, e, por isso, denominado de tipo francês. O sistema do exame prévio absoluto adotado é conciliável com os outros dois, conforme a legislação, com referência a ato da Administração Pública de que resulte obrigação de pagamento pelo Tesouro Nacional ou por conta deste. Isto se verifica quando a recusa de registro tiver outro fundamento que a falta de verba ou disser respeito a verba imprópria, e, então, a despesa pode efetuar-se sob reserva ou protesto do órgão controlador externo, em determinada pelo Executivo a sua realização. Outrossim, ocorre o controle posterior quando, nos termos da legislação, o órgão controlador externo tem o encargo de exame do orçamento, após a sua execução, na apreciação das contas do Executivo, mediante relatório a ser oferecido ao Legislativo. Por seu turno, o sistema do veto relativo adotado é conciliável com o do exame a posteriori dos atos da Administração Pública, como seja, valendo-se do mesmo exemplo acima, quando compete ao órgão controlador externo a apresentação de relatório das contas do Executivo, em apreciando a execução por ele do orçamento, a ser, depois do exercício financeiro, encaminhado ao Legislativo. Tem o Congresso Nacional a função de fiscalizar os atos do Poder Executivo, bem como da administração indireta, e com as prerrogativas que lhe reconheça e lhe dê a lei, consoante dispõe o art. 45, da Magna Carta de 69, e, destarte, a Câmara dos Deputados e o Senado ou o próprio Congresso Nacional podem criar comissões de inquérito para a devida fiscalização a respeito. O Tribunal de Contas nasceu, realmente, na ordem jurídica pátria, somente com o Dec. 966-A, de 7.9.1890, que adotara o modelo belga. Isso logo após a proclamação da República, por ato do Governo Provisório. Ao Tribunal fora atribuída não só a fiscalização das despesas e de outros atos que interessem às finanças da República, como o julgamento das contas de todos os responsáveis por dinheiros públicos de qualquer Ministério a que pertencessem, dando-lhes quitação, ou ordenando-os a pagar o devido e quando isso não cumprissem, mandava proceder na forma de direito. A Constituição de 1891, simplesmente previu, ao dispor, no art. 89, sobre a instituição de um Tribunal de Contas, para liquidar as contas de receita e despesa e verificar a sua legalidade, antes de serem prestadas ao Congresso. Relegou, porém, para a Legislação ordinária a sua inteira organização. Posteriormente, todas as Constituições Republicanas o inseriram entre os seus dispositivos. Já as demais estabeleceram as linhas fundamentais desse órgão governamental. Valendo-se de autorização que lhe dera o Congresso Nacional pela Lei 23, de 30.10.1891, para organizar os serviços dos Ministérios, e pela Lei 26, de 30.12.1891, para organizar as repartições da Fazenda, o Poder Executivo promulgou o Dec. 1.166, de 17.12.1892, em que cogitou o Tribunal de Contas previsto pelo texto constitucional citado. Deu-lhe a competência de exame prévio das contas do Executivo e poder de veto absoluto, quanto às despesas, e, outrossim, conferiu-lhe a atribuição de julgar as contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou valores públicos, emprestando às suas decisões força de sentença, uma vez lhe reconhecia nessa função atuava como Tribunal de Justiça. E essa situação não se alterou na legislação posterior, até a promulgação da Constituição de 1934. Porém, essa última competência, qual seja, de julgar as contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou valores públicos, consoante demonstração do Prof. Mário Masagão (cf. “Em face da Constituição Federal, não existe, no Brasil, o Contencioso Administrativo”, pp. 137 a 175, Seção de Obras do Estado de S. Paulo, S. Paulo, 1927), em completo estudo sobre o contencioso administrativo no Brasil, devia ser havida como inconstitucional, isso porque a Constituição de 1891 revogara, diretamente, esse instituto estabelecendo a jurisdição una, afeta, em exclusividade, ao Poder Judiciário, ex vi do seu art. 60, “b” e “c”. Aliás, nesse sentido, já haviam se manifestado Ruy Barbosa (cf. Comentários à Constituição, coligidos por Homero Pires, vol. IV, pp. 429 e ss) e Pedro Lessa (cf. Do Poder Judiciário, p. 149). Como órgão de função administrativa, preposto do Poder Legislativo, como seu auxiliar, na verificação da gestão financeira do Estado, na verdade, pela sua própria natureza, não podia ter funções jurisdicionais. Aliás, o art. 89, citado, da Constituição de 1891, só lhe confiara aquela atribuição administrativa. Inconstitucional seria, portanto, através de lei ordinária, não só diminuí-la, como, e, principalmente, aumentá-la, dando-lhe função jurisdicional. As Constituições que se seguiram à Constituição de 1891, como salientado, mantêm o Tribunal de Contas por esta instituído e lhe dão as linhas mestras da sua organização, especificam o sistema de controle das contas adotado, e definem as suas competências. As Constituições de 1934 (cf. §§ 1.º e 2.º do art. 101) e de 1946 (cf. §§2.º e 3.º do art. 77) adotaram o sistema italiano de controle da conta, ou melhor, do veto prévio absoluto, proibitivo, com referência às despesas pretendidas em que houvesse falta de saldo no crédito ou que tivessem sido imputadas a crédito impróprio, e do veto prévio relativo, quando diverso fosse o fundamento da recusa, quanto à despesa em causa, e, ainda, o controle a posteriori relativamente a outras obrigações de pagamento. No caso de veto prévio relativo a despesa poderia efetuar-se após despacho do Presidente da República, feito, então, o registro sob reserva, com recurso de ofício à Câmara dos Deputados, segundo a Constituição de 1934, e ao Congresso Nacional, conforme a Constituição de 1946. Já as Constituições de 1937, 1967 e 1969 silenciam a respeito. Mencionam apenas as atribuições do Tribunal de Contas sem cogitar do regime de controle. Contudo, dos termos das Constituição de 1967 (art. 71, e parágrafos, e §4.º do art. 73) e Magna Carta de 1969 (art. 70 e parágrafos, e §4º do art. 72) se conclui que optaram, em princípio, pelo sistema francês, do controle a posteriori, com ligeiras restrições, ao admitirem a faculdade de o Tribunal, de ofício, ou mediante provocação do Ministério Público, ou das autoridades financeiras e orçamentárias, e demais órgãos auxiliares, verificar a ilegalidade de qualquer despesa, inclusive as decorrentes de contratos. A auditoria financeira e orçamentária será exercida sobre as contas das unidades administrativas dos três Poderes da União, que, para esse fim, deverão remeter demonstrações contábeis ao Tribunal de Contas, a que caberá realizar as inspeções que considerar necessárias (art. 79, §3.º de 69). Esses são os elementos necessários para as inspeções levadas a efeito pelo Tribunal de Contas, através dos seus órgãos de auditoria, e compreendem perícias, apuração de pagamento e de sua pontualidade, verificação do cumprimento das leis pertinentes à atividade orçamentária e financeira. Todas essas normas de fiscalização aplicam-se às autarquias, que consistem em pessoas jurídicas criadas pelo Estado, com capacidade específica de direito público na realização de objetivo administrativo (§5.º do art. 70 de 69). Por isso, como seus órgãos indiretos se acham enquadrados no todo estatal, embora seres distintos do Estado, ante a sua personalidade. Formam com ele uma unidade composta. Têm atributos de império, obrigação de agir, são criados por processo de direito público, sem objetivo de lucro e se sujeitam à fiscalização estatal. Distinguem-se em autarquias associativas e fundacionais (cf. Princípios Geral de Direito Administrativo, vol. II, p. 233). Deverá o Tribunal de Contas, em face da Constituição e no caso de concluir tenha havido qualquer irregularidade a respeito: a) assinar prazo razoável para que o órgão da administração pública adote as providências necessárias ao exato cumprimento da lei; b) sustar, se não atendido, a execução do ato impugnado, exceto em relação a contratos; c) solicitar ao Congresso Nacional, em caso de contrato, que determine a medida prevista na alínea anterior ou outras necessárias ao resguardo dos objetivos legais. Observe-se, a sustação do ato que refere a alínea “b” poderá ficar sem efeito se o Presidente da República determinar a execução, ad referendum do Congresso Nacional, sujeitando, portanto, essa ordenação apenas a controle a posteriori do Congresso Nacional (cf. Constituição de 1967, §8.º, do art. 73; de 1969, §8.º do art. 72). O Congresso Nacional deliberará sobre a solicitação de que cogita a alínea “c”, no prazo de 30 dias, findo o qual, sem pronunciamento do Poder Legislativo, será considerada insubsistente a impugnação (cf. Constituição de 1967, §5.º, “a”, “b” e “c”, e §6.º do art. 73; de 1969, §5.º, “a”, “b” e “c”, e §6.º do art. 72). Merece crítica as disposições que têm como insubsistente a falta de pronunciamento legislativo no prazo legal a ele cominado. A solução devia ser exatamente a outra, isto é, tornando a sustação definitiva, adotada, aliás, pela Constituição Paulista no seu art. 91, III. Igualmente, a orientação adotada em admitindo a possibilidade do Presidente da República de ordenar a execução do ato considerado pelo Tribunal de Contas ilegal, submetendo-o ao referendum do Congresso, mas só depois de perpetrada a ilegalidade, outrossim, merece crítica. Envolve, sem dúvida, completa falência do controle do Tribunal de Contas. Por outro lado, regulam a Constituição de 1967 e a Magna Carta de 69 do controle interno da execução do orçamento. Realmente, dispõem que o Poder Executivo manterá sistema de controle interno, a fim de: I – criar condições indispensáveis para assegurar eficácia ao controle externo e regularidade à realização da receita e da despesa; II – acompanhar a execução de programas de trabalho e a do orçamento; e III – avaliar os resultados alcançados pelos administradores e verificar a execução dos contratos (1967, art. 72; de 1969, art. 71). Mas, as censuras acima feitas mostram ser de nenhum efeito essas pretendidas cautelas, pois indiretamente com os textos anteriormente criticados, nulificam, como salientado, o real controle de resultados práticos do Tribunal de Contas. A respeito dos textos criticados, a Constituição de 1934 dispunha que os contratos que, por qualquer modo, interessassem imediatamente à receita ou à despesa, só se reputariam perfeitos e acabados, quando registrados pelo Tribunal de Contas, e que a recusa de registro suspendia a sua execução até o pronunciamento do Poder Legislativo (art. 100). Igual preceito constava na Constituição de 1946 (art. 77, §.1º). Texto semelhante impunha-se tivesse sido acolhido pela Constituição da República Federativa do Brasil e das Constituições dos Estados. Destarte, estariam libertas das críticas anteriormente feitas a respeito. Tendo a Carta de 1937 deixado a completa organização do Tribunal de Contas à lei ordinária (parágrafo único do art. 114) apenas dispôs que competiria a ele acompanhar, conforme já dispunha a de 1934, diretamente ou por delegações organizadas, de acordo com a lei, a execução orçamentária; julgar as contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou bens públicos; e da legalidade dos contratos celebrados pela União. Essa tríplice competência foi repetida pelas Constituições que se lhe sucederam de 1946 (art. 77, I, II e III), de 1967 (§1.º do art. 72, §§ 5.º e 8.º do art. 73), e de 1969 (§1.º do art. 71, §§5.º e 8.º do art. 73), e de 1969 (§1.º do art. 71, §§5.º e 8.º do art. 73). E a elas se acrescentou a de julgar a legalidade das aposentadorias, reformas e pensões. Salvo a Carta Magna de 37, todas elas cogitam do parecer prévio do Tribunal de Contas, no prazo de 30 dias, segundo a Constituição de 1934 (art. 102) e de 60 dias segundo as demais (de 1946, §4.º, do art. 77; de 1967, §2.º do art. 71; de 1969, §2.º do art. 70) sobre as contas que o Presidente da República deve prestar, anualmente, ao Congresso Nacional. E, se elas não lhe forem enviadas no prazo da lei, comunicará o fato ao Congresso Nacional, para os fins de direito, apresentando-lhe num e noutro caso, minucioso relatório do exercício financeiro encerrado. Sem dúvida a Constituição de 1967 e a Magna Carta de 1969 através dos seus textos retrogradaram quanto a fiscalização de maior relevo que deve caber ao Tribunal de Contas, qual seja a de fiscal da administração financeira, como preposto do Legislativo. Sem o veto absoluto nos casos de falta de saldo no crédito e nos de imputação a crédito impróprio, a atuação do Tribunal de Contas deixa de ter sua razão de ser. Sem sentido se nos afigura a opinião de alguns que declaram terem sido aumentados os poderes do Tribunal de Contas, pelos textos da Constituição de 67 e Magna Carta de 69, ante a possibilidade que lhe cabe hoje de acompanhamento do desenvolver do orçamento, mediante inspeções especiais, levantamentos contábeis, e representação, que lhe compete, ao Poder Executivo e Congresso Nacional, sobre irregularidades e abusos, inclusive as decorrentes de contrato, pois lhes falta a possibilidade de impedir, de forma coercitiva e absoluta, despesas irregulares. Disse com razão Ruy Barbosa: não basta julgar a administração, denunciar o excesso cometido, colher a exorbitância ou a permissão para punir. Circunscrita a estes limites essa função tutelar dos dinheiros públicos será, muitas vezes, inútil por omissa, tardia ou impotente. Não é de outro sentir Dídimo da Veiga quando afirmou: “O exame a posteriori ou sucessivo deixa consumar-se a despesa para depois fiscalizar a legalidade da mesma, sendo de todo o ponto ilusória a responsabilidade do ordenador, que nunca se torna efetiva, e a do pagador, sempre que a despesa paga for de cifra tão elevada que exceda o valor da caução prestada e dos bens do responsável; a fazenda pública vê-se lesada, fica a descoberto de qualquer garantia, o que, de per si só, é suficiente para coordenar o regimem da contrasteação ex post facto”. (Relatório do Tribunal de Contas de 1899, p. 13). É de lamentar-se essa restrição aos poderes do Tribunal de Contas, muito ao gosto das ditaduras e dos governos de fato. É de lamentar-se, mais ainda, que as Constituições estaduais tenham seguido essa mesma orientação. Vale a pena recordar-se que quando se quis extinguir a fiscalização prévia, com veto absoluto, no Governo Floriano Peixoto, seu Ministro da Fazenda, Seserdelo Correia, pediu exoneração do cargo, e teve oportunidade de dizer em carta ao Presidente a respeito do veto impeditivo. “Longe de considerá-lo um embaraço à administração, eu o considerava o maior fiscal da boa execução do orçamento”. E prosseguia acertadamente: “Se a despesa está dentro do orçamento, se existe verba ou se tem recurso a verba, o Tribunal não pode deixar de registrá-la. Se não existe ou está esgotada, é o caso dos créditos extraordinários ou suplementares”. O registro sob protesto, isto é, do veto relativo não basta para essas hipóteses retro apontadas, para conter os abusos dos governantes e evitar desmandos financeiros. Claro, quando a recusa do registro tiver outro fundamento ele se explica, e então o registro se faz sob reserva. O controle posterior se tem aplicado como elemento complementar, na apreciação de comportamento dos ordenadores e pagadores de despesa para efeito de parecer sobre as contas ao Congresso, e consequente apuração de responsabilidade. Em que pese opiniões em contrário, se nos afigura perfeitamente possível, sem que ocorra a pecha de inconstitucionalidade, adotem os Estados federados e os Municípios, o veto absoluto e o relativo, conforme as hipóteses, na organização dos seus Tribunais de Contas, no exercício das respectivas autonomias, asseguradas pelos arts. 13 e 15, respectivamente, da Emenda 1/1969. As matérias pertinentes aos Tribunais de Contas se enfocam em dois ramos jurídicos: o Direito Financeiro e o Direito Administrativo. As matérias de Direito Financeiro, na verdade, são de competência prevalente da União, ex vi do art. 8.º, XVIII, “c”, da Magna Carta de 69, ou seja, de estabelecer, através de textos legislativos, normas gerais sobre orçamento, despesa e gestão patrimonial e financeira de natureza pública, e, pois aos Estados compete apenas legislar, supletivamente, sobre elas, segundo o parágrafo único do citado art. 8.º, XVII, “c”. Já as matérias de Direito Administrativo, em especial sobre a organização dos seus órgãos, cabem aos Estados pois assistem-lhes todos os poderes que não lhes foram vedados, por texto constitucional. Incumbe-lhes, então, e tão-somente, respeitar os princípios constitucionais, na Magna Carta de 69. Por conseguinte, afora as competências que lhes foram proibidas, hão de obedecer apenas as limitações que defluem dos princípios estruturais do regime pátrio, constantes da Constituição Federal. Portanto, cumpre aos Estados federados, ao organizarem o respectivo Tribunal de Contas, a observância do princípio de prestação de contas da administração, segundo art. 10, VII, “f” e mais elaboração do orçamento, bem como a fiscalização orçamentária, conforme o art. 13, IV. A conjugação desses dois princípios faz com que para efetivá-los devam instituir Tribunais de Contas, com as restrições expressas de que os seus membros não poderão exercer, ainda que em disponibilidade, qualquer outra função pública, salvo um cargo de magistério e nos casos previstos nesta Constituição; receber, a qualquer título e sob qualquer pretexto, percentagens nos processos sujeitos a seu despacho e julgamento, e não deverão exceder de sete, em consonância com o art. 13, IX da CF. Afora essas delimitações aos poderes dos Estados Federados, constantes dos textos suprarreferidos, nenhuma outra foi prevista, e como a eles são conferidos todos os poderes que, explícita ou implicitamente, não lhes tenham sido vedados pela Constituição Federal, como dispõe o §1.º do art. 13, é indiscutível, a nosso ver, ao organizarem os seus Tribunais de Contas, podem fazê-lo com liberdade, em escolhendo para efeito do controle financeiro o sistema que mais lhes convenha. Assim o de veto prévio absoluto quanto as despesas em que inexista verba ou esta seja imprópria. Certo, o art. 188 da Constituição de 67, reproduzido no art. 200 da Carta de 69, invocado pelos que negam essa possibilidade, não configura o referido impedimento. Realmente, os artigos em apreço dispõem que as disposições nela constantes ficam incorporadas, no que couber, ao direito constitucional legislado pelos Estados. Com isso se pretendeu, na melhor das hipóteses, que os Estados devem adotar, no mínimo, o modelo imposto pela Carta Federal, com referência ao controle financeiro, os princípios básicos constantes dessas Constituições em referência. Eles constituem o paradigma mínimo a serem obedecidos pelos Estados, tendo em atenção o modelo federal. Mas, nada impedem melhorem o sistema federal de controle das contas estaduais e o torne mais severo. Não lhe impuseram completa simetria de organização, o que seria absurdo em um Estado federal, de grande extensão territorial, e em que as unidades federativas são de áreas díspares e com diversidade de população, e de civilização e cultura distintas. Assim sendo, deverá o Tribunal de Contas do Estado, como mínimo tão-somente: I – exercer o controle externo da administração financeira do Poder Executivo e entes autárquicos, como colaborador da Assembleia Legislativo neste mister; II – apreciar, em parecer, as contas anuais da Administração Pública, e elaborar relatório quanto ao exercício financeiro, mediante a ajuda de auditoria, tomar as contas dos administradores e outros responsáveis pelo dinheiro público, e verificar da legalidade das aposentadorias, reformas e pensões; III – gozar de autonomia interna corporis dos Tribunais Judiciários e desfrutar os seus membros de situação equiparável aos magistrados dos Tribunais de Justiça; IV – satisfazer a nomeação dos seus membros os requisitos previstos para nomeação dos magistrados; V – representar ao Poder Executivo e à Assembleia Legislativa dando notícia de atos irregulares ou abusos verificados quanto a administração financeira e orçamentária; VI – sustar os atos da administração financeira quando exaurido o prazo a ela assinado para sua regularização, bem como solicitar à Assembleia Legislativa, em casos de contratos firmados pela administração, as medidas para resguardo da regularidade dos objetivos legais, acaso desrespeitados. Aliás, se realmente fosse negado aos Tribunais de Contas Estaduais ampliar e melhorar o sistema adotado pela União, a fim de torna-los mais aptos, à consecução da sua função, quanto a organização do próprio órgão e a sua ação fiscal, seria praticamente anular a autonomia dos Estados, assegurada pelo art. 13 da Magna Carta de 69, e, consequentemente, ter como revogada a Federação, firmada no art. 1.º dela, e cuja abolição, mediante reforma constitucional, sequer pode ser objeto de deliberação proposta nesse sentido, ante o art. 47, §1.º. Em consequência, são livres de organizar o órgão e a sua ação desde que respeitem, no mínimo, quanto a organização as normas dispostas pela União e quanto a sua ação ao figurino mínimo pertinente ao controle fiscal estabelecido pela União. Parece absurdo sustentar-se que está o Estado, pela Carta de 69, impedido de melhorar a organização de seu Tribunal e de tornar mais efetiva a sua fiscalização financeira. Como já salientado, a Magna Carta de 69 assegurou no art. 15 a autonomia dos Municípios. Admitiu a intervenção do Estado nos seus negócios quando deixarem de respeitar princípios insertos no §3.ª desse artigo. E entre eles, está o de prestação das contas devidas nos termos da lei, conforme já previsto no inc. II do citado art. 15. Consequentemente, no art. 16 estabeleceu que a fiscalização financeira e orçamentária será exercida mediante controle externo da Câmara Municipal e controle interno do Executivo municipal, instituídos por lei. E no §1.º dispõe: “O controle externo da Câmara Municipal será exercido com o auxílio do Tribunal de Contas do Estado ou órgão estadual a que for atribuída essa incumbência”. Destarte, admitiu o Estado entregue tal encargo ao seu Tribunal de Contas ou a órgão estadual para tanto criado e a quem caberá essa competência. Embora em caráter de colaboração à Câmara Municipal, o parecer prévio desses órgãos estaduais só deixará de prevalecer, segundo o §2.º desse artigo, mediante decisão de 2/3 daquela. Dessa forma ficaram postas balizar aos abusos das Câmaras Municipais sob a força de pressão da política. Restrições maiores comprometeriam a autonomia do Município. Para evitar esses abusos dos governantes municipais, sem tolher a autonomia, está na adoção pelos Estados do veto prévio absoluto e relativo, com referência aos Municípios nos termos que devem ser preconizados para o Tribunal de Contas do próprio Estado, com referência ao seu controle financeiro. Discute-se sobre a possibilidade de, em existindo Tribunal de Contas nos Estados, haver possibilidade de ser por ele criado órgão estadual com o encargo de proceder a fiscalização financeira dos Municípios, como auxiliar do controle externo das Câmaras Municipais. Entendem uns a dejuntiva ou do texto constitucional faz com que só se possa admitir a criação desse órgão em inexistindo Tribunal de Contas do Estado. Já outros sustentam a permissibilidade da criação desse órgão para efeito de descongestionar os Tribunais estaduais. Estes restringiram o seu controle contábil financeiro às contas do Estado federado, e o outro órgão se destinaria a igual controle dos Municípios. Aliás, só desse sentido se pode compreender a palavra “ou” intercalada entre as duas hipóteses, isto é, uma “ou” outra. Afigura-se-nos mais consentânea com a verdade a tese da última corrente, não obstante tenha havido pronunciamento do Supremo Tribunal Federal em favor da outra. Aliás há também decisão desse Tribunal em outro sentido. A fiscalização se fará por um ou outro órgão pertinente. Adotada a primeira orientação, ainda há de ter-se como sem sentido a previsão constitucional de outro órgão, além do Tribunal de Contas, para o referido controle, porquanto todos os Estados, obrigatoriamente, devem ter Tribunais de Contas, ex vi do art. 13, IX, da CF, completado pelo art. 200 que determina a incorporação, no que couber, das disposições constantes da Carta Federal, ao direito constitucional dos Estados. Demais, o trabalho que fica a cargo dos Tribunais de Contas dos Estados, quanto ao controle fiscal da sua atuação, pode perturbar o serviço desse Tribunal para efetivar, realmente, o controle financeiro dos Municípios, e, então, se explica a criação desse órgão especial distinto dos Tribunais de Contas, a critério do legislador estadual. Esse órgão autônomo estadual, no entanto, deverá gozar de regalias que assegurem a sua independência quanto a força de pressão política, a fim de poder exercer, com absoluta isenção, a sua atividade de auditoria, seja ele colegiado ou sob a orientação singular de um auditor-chefe. Contudo, os municípios, ante o §3.º, do art. 16, da Magna Carta de 69, com população superior a dois milhões de habitantes e renda tributária acima de quinhentos milhões de cruzeiros novos, podem eles próprios instituir Tribunais de Contas. E estes devem respeitar, na sua organização e ação, os princípios mínimos adotados pela Constituição Federal nos arts. 72 e parágrafos e mais outras normas aperfeiçoando-os, como seja o veto absoluto nos casos de falta de verba ou de verba imprópria, e o veto relativo quanto a outras despesas. Já o Município de São Paulo, em virtude do art. 191, ficou assegurado, e tão-somente a ele, a continuidade do seu Tribunal de Contas, salvo deliberação em contrário da respectiva Câmara, enquanto os demais Tribunais de Contas Municipais foram declarados, por esse mesmo termo, extintos. O Tribunal de Contas do Município de São Paulo pode ser reorganizado, e quanto a sua ação, como os novos Tribunais de Contas em outros Estados, dos respectivos Municípios em que vierem a ser criados, satisfazendo as exigências do §3.º do art. 16. Além de obedecerem ao modelo federal, nos seus contornos mínimos, cumpre aos Tribunais Municipais obedecerem aos textos mínimos dispostos na Constituição Estadual e na Lei Orgânica dos Municípios. Mas podem estabelecer controle mais extenso a eles quanto ao orçamento, conforme salientado. Afinal, pondere-se: é incrível que a Constituição Paulista haja, no art. 75, disposto que nenhuma despesa será ordenada ou realizada sem que exista recurso orçamentário ou crédito votado pela Assembleia, e tenha deixado de, expressamente, prever o veto absoluto do Tribunal de Contas, tanto do Estado como do Município da Capital, ao dispor sobre as suas competências a respeito. A expressão julgar as contas dos responsáveis pelos dinheiros e bens públicos, bem como da legalidade dos contratos e das concessões iniciais de aposentadorias, reformas e pensões, ensejou dúvidas na doutrina e na jurisprudência, qual seja, se ao empregar a expressão “julgar” os constituintes cogitaram de atribuir ao Tribunal de Contas funções jurisdicionais ou não. Quanto à última, de julgar da legalidade dos contratos, firmou-se orientação de que se tratava de função administrativa, empregada impropriamente a palavra “julgar” no texto, porquanto a decisão do Tribunal de Contas só tinha o efeito de suspender a sua execução até que se pronunciasse a respeito o Congresso Nacional. Funcionava, destarte, como órgão auxiliar do Poder Legislativo, sem caráter jurisdicional, mas tão-somente administrativo. Já quanto à primeira, de julgar as contas, prevaleceu a orientação de que se tratava de função jurisdicional, atribuída ao Tribunal de Contas. Procurou-se distinguir a expressão “julgar da legalidade” da de “julgar as contas”, por empregado o verbo em regência diversa pelos constituintes. Ora, o “julgar” no sentido de lavrar ou pronunciar sentença não pede objeto direto, diz-se “julgar do direito de alguém”. Já o “julgar” no sentido de avaliar, entender, pede objeto direto, diz-se “julgo” que tem razão (cf. Cândido de Figueiredo, verbete “julgar”, in Novo Dicionário da Língua Portuguesa, 3.ª ed., vol. II, Portugal-Brasil, s/d). Por conseguinte, a alteração da regência prova contra a tese dos que pretendem a expressão “julgar as contas” corresponda à de sentenciar, ou seja, de exercício da função jurisdicional. Na verdade, essa regência do verbo, ao contrário da outra de “julgar da legalidade”, autoriza a conclusão de que a expressão “julgar as contas” se refere ao significado de avaliá-las, entendê-las, reputá-las bem ou mal prestadas, jamais no sentido de sentenciar, de decidir a respeito delas. Observe-se, as Constituições de 1967 e 1969 separaram em dispositivos diferentes as duas atividades quais sejam: de julgar da legalidade dos contratos; e de julgar da legalidade das concessões iniciais de aposentadoria, reformas e pensões, juntos no mesmo item da Constituição de 1945. Quanto à primeira, isto é, legalidade dos contratos estabeleceram o princípio do recurso de ofício ao Congresso Nacional da sua deliberação. Já relativamente à segunda, ou seja, legalidade da aposentadoria, reformas e pensões, nada dispuseram a respeito, com referência à sua deliberação. Entretanto, nesta última hipótese, também, não se teve como definitiva a decisão do Tribunal de Contas. Se deixada de ser registrada pelo Tribunal de Contas, isso não impediria a sua efetivação, em mantido o ato pelo Executivo. Então, far-se-ia o registro sob protesto desses atos. Poderia, ainda, sem dúvida, em face dos textos constitucionais (1946, art. 77, III, §3.º e art. 141, §4.º; 1967, art. 73, §5.º, “b”, e art. 151, §4.º; e 1969, art. 72, §§5.º, “b”, e 8.º) o interessado interpor recurso ao Judiciário para defesa de seu direito individual acaso desconhecido, se entendesse ter direito à aposentadoria ou reforma e a sua família, se negada a pensão. Os adeptos da competência jurisdicional do Tribunal de Contas, no caso de julgar as contas dos responsáveis pelos dinheiros e bens públicos, sustentam que o fato do reconhecimento do alcance pelo Tribunal de Contas há de ser aceito sem discussão pelo Poder Judiciário. Concordam, no entanto, que a recusa na aceitação das contas, envolve apenas o reconhecimento, pelo Tribunal de Contas, de alcance por parte do ordenador da despesa ou seu pagador, pois a condenação, por crime de peculato, depende de sentença judicial do Poder Judiciário, e a condenação cível do débito, para efeito de indenização ao Poder Público, depende, também, de sentença judicial do Poder Judiciário. Destarte, ao Tribunal de Contas cabe decisão prejudicial sobre o fato. Porém, a condenação, pela prática do ilícito penal ou civil, na verdade, cabe ao Poder Judiciário, e mais a execução da sentença. Data venia, desses mestres, há de entender-se que, em ambas as hipóteses, o Tribunal de Conta só possui função administrativa de acompanhar a execução orçamentária e apreciar as contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou bens públicos. Com isso se não diminui o relevo do Tribunal de Contas, ao contrário se projeta na sua específica função de implantar a moralidade pública, de ordem administrativa, na fiscalização do orçamento. Na organização jurídica do Estado todos os órgãos são de igual importância no exercício de suas respectivas funções, cada uma imprescindível ao Estado de Direito. E de tal realce é a do Tribunal de Contas, que se encontra fora da concepção tríplice dos três poderes, e a quem cabe a fiscalização econômico-financeira da atividade de todos eles. Não teve o texto em causa, no entanto, o objetivo de investi-lo no exercício de função judicante, quando se expressou que lhe caberia julgar as referidas contas. Visou apenas lhe conferir a competência final na ordem administrativa sobre o assunto. Se tida como bem prestadas, está encerrado o trabalho pertinente à sua apuração, com a quitação que mandaria passar a favor dos que as ofereceram. Ao contrário, se entender caracterizado alcance quanto a dinheiro ou bem público, no exercício dessa função, determinará que paguem o considerado devido, dentro do prazo fixado, e, não satisfeita a determinação, lhe caberá proceder contra eles na forma de direito. Argui-se que, em as considerando o Tribunal de Contas irregulares, essa questão não poderia ser reaberta pela Justiça Comum, a quem caberia o processamento e julgamento do crime, consequência do alcance verificado. Portanto, caracterizado pelo Tribunal de Contas o alcance, na ação de peculato, esse pronunciamento obrigaria a Justiça Criminal Comum. Então, esta, quer dizer, a Justiça Comum, terá de aceitar dito pronunciamento sobre as contas do réu, como apuração de fato necessária à integração do delito, isto é, como apuração preestabelecida e requisito da ação, sob pena de um novo Juiz rejulgar o que tinha sido julgado por outro, incorrendo em injustificável bis in idem, em inútil nova apreciação, que resultaria em mero formalismo. Igual consideração se faz quanto à Justiça Comum, em ação executiva proposta pelo Estado, para cobrança de alcance e haver a correspectiva reposição patrimonial. Não se trata de rejulgamento pela Justiça Comum, porque o Tribunal de Contas é órgão administrativo e não judicante, e sua denominação de Tribunal e a expressão julgar ambas são equívocas. Na verdade, é um Conselho de Contas e não as julga, sentenciando a respeito delas, mas apura da veracidade delas para dar quitação ao interessado, em tendo-as como bem prestadas, ou promover a condenação criminal e civil do responsável verificando o alcance. Apura fatos. Ora, apurar fatos não é julgar. Julgar é dizer do direito de alguém em face dos fatos e relações jurídicas, tendo em vista a ordem normativa vigente. Se simplesmente apura fatos, sob a imprópria cognominação de julgar, não exerce função jurisdicional. E essa apuração poderá ser objeto de prova contrária em Juízo. Não deve constituir por isso prejudicial a ser aceita pelo Poder Judiciário sem qualquer exame. A Justiça Comum não pode ficar presa a ela, uma vez a Constituição não atribui expressamente a força de sentença as conclusões do Tribunal de Contas sobre o fato. E a quem cabe dizer do direito de alguém, em princípio, cabe a verificação do fato, em última análise. Logo, a Justiça Comum, ao dizer daquele, deve poder apreciar este. Inexiste bis in idem, porquanto uma coisa é a apreciação administrativa e outra a judicial de dado fato. Sem dúvida, a apuração do fato do alcance pelo Tribunal de Contas será uma prejudicial necessária para a propositura da ação, civil ou penal, como pressuposição do ilícito civil ou penal. Essa apuração prévia sempre se faz necessária. E, em princípio, será aceita pelo Poder Judiciário, seja no executivo fiscal para reposição patrimonial, ou na ação criminal contra o agente público. Isso porque documentalmente comprovada no procedimento levado a efeito pelo Tribunal de Contas. Contudo, se o agente público, réu em uma dessas ações, arguir cerceamento da defesa nessa apuração e trouxer para os autos provas convincentes da improcedência da apuração de ilícito civil ou penal contra ele, não pode o Poder Judiciário, que vai condená-lo, e, em seguida, executar a sua sentença, deixar de examinar essa alegação e verificar da sua procedência, se no bojo dos autos constarem elementos para admitir-se a veracidade do alegado contra o pronunciamento do Tribunal de Contas. Se os constituintes tivessem atribuído ao Tribunal de Contas função jurisdicional, deveriam tê-lo integrado no Poder Judiciário. Isso não fizeram, e, ao contrário, o colocaram entre os órgãos de cooperação nas atividades governamentais, como auxiliar do Poder Legislativo. Por outro lado, a Constituição de 91 havia abolido o contencioso administrativo. Por conseguinte o seu restabelecimento só se poderá admiti-lo, mesmo parcial, para julgamento das contas, dos responsáveis por dinheiros e bens públicos, quando tal viesse dito no texto de modo indiscutível, o que se conseguiria declarando-se que a decisão do Tribunal de Contas nessa matéria teria força de sentença. Poder-se-á contra-argumentar que se dera o título de Ministro aos seus membros, e a sua nomeação se faz nos moldes das dos demais Ministros da Corte Suprema e gozam das mesmas garantias destes, de vitaliciedade, de irremovibilidade e irredutibilidade de vencimentos, bem como quanto à organização do Regimento Interno e da Secretaria, tem o Tribunal de Contas as mesmas atribuições dos Tribunais Judiciários. Ora, o argumento prova demais. Isso se fez para assegurar a independência dos seus membros perante o Executivo no fiscalizar a sua gestão financeira, jamais para julgar das suas contas com força de sentença, de modo a obrigar, por exemplo, o Poder Judiciário a considerar como caracterizado o alcance de alguém, sem poder reapreciar essa apuração, e dever, portanto, aceitar como definitivo o julgamento do Tribunal de Contas. Não parece razoável obrigar o juiz criminal ou civil, reduzido a uma função formal a condenar alguém por provas que não o convencem ou não puder verificar de sua procedência, quando nos autos há elementos que as contestam. As leis ordinárias, que, na vigência da Constituição de 91, embora devendo ser havidas como inconstitucionais, quiseram atribuir ao Tribunal de Contas competência jurisdicional, o fizeram de forma expressa. Deram às suas decisões força de sentença. Isso não fizeram os textos constitucionais. Portanto, os textos em causa, constitucionais, devem ser interpretados como tendo em mira usar a palavra julgar no sentido restrito, atrás sustentado, isto é, dentro da órbita administrativa, pois do contrário atribuiriam a esse julgamento a força de sentença. Aliás, não se compreende que se interprete a expressão “julgar da legalidade” como restrita à órbita administrativa e “julgar as contas” se estenda ao âmbito jurisdicional. A alteração de regência do verbo não muda o sentido da função, passando-a de administrativa para jurisdicional, e, ao contrário, a regência direta não é a própria para o emprego da palavra no sentido de sentenciar, como se viu. Ambos os textos devem ser entendidos em sentido estrito, embora ao “julgar da legalidade” haja apreciação de matéria de direito, porém sem caráter definitivo, mero exame administrativo, relegada ao Judiciário a função jurisdicional. Demais, dita interpretação amolda-se à natureza do Tribunal de Contas, Tribunal Administrativo, de verificação de contas, e jamais Tribunal de Justiça, de julgamento afinal dos agentes públicos pelas contas não prestadas ou malprestadas. Aliás, não se confunde o julgar das contas com o julgamento dos responsáveis por elas. A função de julgar, no seu verdadeiro sentido, de dizer do direito em face dos fatos, diz respeito a alguém, ou melhor, a uma pessoa de direito, natural ou jurídica. No caso, o agente público que ordenou ou fez a despesa, natural, relativa ao alcance, de natureza penal, e a reparação patrimonial, de natureza civil, ou melhor, o responsável pelas contas. Já a expressão “julgar as contas” não contém qualquer função jurisdicional de dizer do direito de alguém, mas administrativo-contábil de apreciação do fato da sua prestação. Julgamento se faz dos agentes responsáveis pelas contas, jamais das contas. Estas se apreciam, como se disse, sob o aspecto administrativo-contábil. São insuscetíveis de julgamento. O Tribunal de Contas julga as contas, ou melhor, aprecia a sua prestação em face de elemento administrativo-contábil, e, outrossim, a legalidade dos contratos feitos, bem como das aposentadorias e pensões. A Justiça Comum julga os agentes públicos ordenadores de despesas e dos seus pagadores. E ao julgar os atos destes, sob o aspecto do ilícito penal ou civil, há de apreciar, também, os fatos que se pretendam geraram esses ilícitos. Repita-se, a função jurisdicional é de dizer o direito em face dos fatos. Jamais de apreciar fatos simplesmente. Mesmo se aceitasse como definitiva essa apreciação, não corresponderia a uma função de julgar. A certidão do Tribunal de Contas em afirmando o alcance do agente público, como documento de instrução do processo judicial tem tão-somente a presunção de verdade juris tantum, ante o texto constitucional e não juris et juri. Isso porque não possui força de sentença judicial e isso não pode ter, a menos que lhe fosse atribuída a competência de julgar o próprio ilícito civil e penal, atribuído aos agentes ordenadores da despesa e seus pagadores, isto é, os agentes responsáveis pelas contas. As sucessivas Constituições pátrias, expressamente, conferiram aos Juízes da União (cf. 1934, art. 81, “a”, e parágrafo único; 1937, arts. 107, 108 e parágrafo único; 1946, art. 201 e §§1.º e 2.º; 1967, art. 119, I, e 1969, art. 125, I) competência para processar e julgar as causas em que a União for interessada como autora ou ré, assistente ou opoente, e só excepcionaram dessa competência a competência da Justiça local nos processos de falência e outros em que a Fazenda Nacional, embora interessada, não intervenha como autora, ré, assistente ou opoente, e ressalvaram, ainda, a competência da Justiça Eleitoral, Militar e do Trabalho. Nada disseram quanto às contas dos responsáveis por dinheiro ou bem público. Ao contrário, as Constituições de 34 (art. 81, “i”), de 46 (art. 104, II, “a”, art. 105, depois de promulgado o AI/2, art. 6º), de 67 (art. 119, I e IV), e 69 (art. 125, I e IV), sem qualquer ressalva em favor do Tribunal de Contas, atribuíram aos Juízes Federais competência para processar e julgar, em 1.ª instância, os crimes praticados em detrimento de bens, serviços ou interesse da União ou de entidades autárquicas ou empresas públicas, ressalvadas tão-somente a competência da Justiça Militar, do Trabalho e Eleitoral. Se pretendessem excluir da competência dos Juízes Federais o julgamento dos responsáveis por dinheiro ou bens públicos, dando força de sentença à decisão do Tribunal de Contas a respeito das suas contas, deveria ter isso dito, ou, ao menos, feito remissão a esse artigo. Ao contrário, silenciaram. Não tendo excluído essa matéria da competência dos Juízes federais, ela lhes deve caber, ex vi dos artigos das diferentes Constituições pátrias, e não só a competência formal de condenar os cujas contas forem rejeitadas e havidas como tendo cometido delito, ou civilmente responsáveis, como apreciar o mérito desse ilícito penal e civil, que lhe fosse imputado. E essa competência, ora foi conferida em grau de recurso, ao Supremo Tribunal Federal (Constituição de 34, art. 76, II, “a”, c/c art. 79, parágrafo único, §1.º, 101, II, 2.ª letra “a” e art. 109 (parágrafo único); ora, aos Tribunais Federais para julgar privativa e definitivamente (Constituição de 1946, art. 104, II “a”; 67; art. 117, II, e parágrafo único; 69, art. 122, II, e parágrafo único), exceto as questões de falência, e as sujeitas à Justiça Eleitoral, à Militar e à do Trabalho. E nenhum Tribunal julga privativa e definitivamente uma questão se não puder apreciá-la, tanto no seu aspecto formal como material. Observe-se, considera-se como crime de responsabilidade dos Ministros de Estado não só os que praticarem ou ordenarem, como, ainda, os relativos a despesas do seu Ministério, a que lhes incumbe dirigir, como orientador, coordenador e supervisor dos seus órgãos, pois respondem por elas e o da Fazenda, além desses, como os pertinentes à arrecadação da receita, por lhe estar afeto ainda esse encargo. Portanto, como se poderá entender que a expressão constitucional “julgará as contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou bens públicos” equivale à outorga de função jurisdicional ao Tribunal de Contas? A que fica a mesma função entregue à Justiça Política e depois à Justiça Comum, nos casos de crimes de responsabilidade do Presidente da República e conexos dos Ministros de Estado, e à Corte Suprema, nos de responsabilidade dos Ministros, os quais respondem não só pelos atos que ordenarem ou praticarem, como pelas despesas do seu Ministério, e, o da Fazenda, além disso, pela arrecadação da receita? E como se processaria a responsabilidade posterior dessas autoridades, civil e criminal, perante a Justiça Comum, ao depois de condenados pela perda do cargo? Ora, nem uma palavra existe sobre o Tribunal de Contas. Considerado por este ato do Presidente da República e dos Ministros de Estado a ela conexos como tendo atentado contra a probidade administrativa ou a execução do orçamento, ficará o Tribunal Político preso aos pronunciamentos do Tribunal de Contas? Então, o órgão auxiliar do Congresso, de Fiscalização financeira e orçamentária, se sobreporá, nas suas conclusões, a ele? Não terá a Câmara dos Deputados a liberdade de apreciar da existência ou não do apontado atentado à probidade administrativa por parte do Presidente para apresentar a denúncia contra ele, e o Senado ficará obrigado a aceitar como provado esse atentado, objeto de denúncia, sem apurar a veracidade, formando por si próprio o Juízo a respeito? Consequência última a se tirar é a anteriormente preconizada, qual seja, a de que a expressão “julgar” as contas conferida ao Tribunal de Contas, aliás impropriamente, se restringe à órbita administrativa, com o objetivo de poder dar quitação ou mandar apurar a responsabilidade das contas dos responsáveis por dinheiros ou bens públicos. E, ainda, com esse mesmo sentido é dado à palavra julgar, como correspondendo a apreciar as contas tão-somente se encontra quando se atribui nas Constituições de 1934 (art. 40, “c”), 1946 (art. 65, VIII), 1967 (art. 47, VIII) e 1969 (art. 44, VIII) ao Congresso Nacional competência privativa para julgar as contas do Presidente da República. Isso porque o Presidente da República deverá apresentar ao Congresso Nacional dentro de 60 dias as suas contas relativas ao ano anterior, após a abertura da Assembleia Legislativa, ex vi do art. 81, XX, com parecer prévio do Tribunal de Contas, em 60 dias do seu recebimento. Como consideração última, pondere-se que em face das Constituições pátrias, desde a de 1946, sempre se assegurou, entre os direitos individuais dos cidadãos, e entre eles estão os agentes públicos, ordenadores de despesas e seus pagadores, que não poderia ficar excluída do Poder Judiciário qualquer lesão de direito individual, o que lhe seria assegurado por lei. Ora, em entendendo o agente público, cujas contas deixaram de ser aceitas pelo Tribunal de Contas, que com isso se acarretou lesão ao seu direito de defesa e de que a comprovação de fato arguido não é verdadeira, há de permitir-se ao Judiciário, sempre, o seu exame, sob pena de lesão desse direito individual deles, seja na arguição de ilícito civil ou criminal. Portanto, o Tribunal de Contas não exerce função jurisdicional e tão-somente administrativa de tomada de contas. Tal ponto de vista é igualmente defendido por Guimarães Menegale (cf. Direito Administrativo e Ciência da Administração, pp. 219-226, Borsói, Rio, 1957) e por José Afonso da Silva (cf. Do Recurso Extraordinário no Direito Processual Brasileiro, pp. 265-268, Livro 114, Ed. RT, 1963). Clenício da Silva Duarte (cf. Anais do VIII Congresso de Tribunais de Contas do Brasil, vol. II, pp. 441-477, João Pessoa, 1976). Em conclusão I – A função por excelência do Tribunal de Contas é o controle do orçamento, a fim de assegurar a moralidade pública. II – Os Tribunais de Contas não exercem, na verdade, função jurisdicional, mas de apreciação de contas apenas, cuja atividade a respeito é de especial relevo. III – O Tribunal de Contas na Constituição de 67 e Carta de 69 teve os seus reais poderes restringidos e assim prejudicado o exercício da sua precípua função. IV – Só o veto absoluto contra despesas sem verba ou verba imprópria permite o efetivo controle do orçamento, reservado o veto relativo para outras despesas e o controle a posteriori para a apuração final de responsabilidades dos seus ordenadores e pagadores. V – Os tribunais de Contas dos Estados e Municípios podem adotar, em face dos arts. 13 e 15 da Carta de 69 c/c o art. 1.º, o veto absoluto e relativo e o controle a posteriori nos termos acima enunciados, para garantia do cumprimento do cumprimento do orçamento. VI – Os Estados, nos Municípios em que inexiste Tribunal de Contas, podem exercer o controle dos orçamentos municipais, através dos seus Tribunais de Contas ou de órgão criado para esse fim.

In the heady expansion of capital’s productive capacity during the post-war period, E.P. Thompson wondered optimistically at potentials accruing to humanity by accelerating automation. He asked, “If we are to have enlarged leisure, in an automated future, the problem is not ‘how are men going to be able to consume all these additional time-units of leisure?’ but ‘what will be the capacity for experience of the men who have this undirected time to live?’” (Thompson 36). Indeed, linear and economistic variants of Marxian materialism have long emphasised that the socialisation of production by the use of machinery will eventually free us from work. At the very least, the underemployment produced by the automation of pivotal labour roles is supposed to create a political subject capable of agitating successfully against bourgeois and capitalist hegemony. But contrary to these prognostications, the worker of 2019 is caught up in a process of generalising work far beyond what is considered necessary by tradition, or at least the convention of what David Harvey calls “embedded liberalism” (11). As Anne Helen Peterson wrote in a recent Buzzfeed article,even the trends millennials have popularized — like athleisure — speak to our self-optimization. Yoga pants might look sloppy to your mom, but they’re efficient: you can transition seamlessly from an exercise class to a Skype meeting to child pickup. We use Fresh Direct and Amazon because the time they save allows us to do more work. (Peterson)For the work-martyr, activity in its broadest Aristotelian sense is evaluated by and subordinated to the question of efficiency and productivity. Occupations of time that were once considered external to “work” as matters of “life” (to use Kathi Weeks’s vocabulary) are reconceived as waste when not deployed in the service of value-generation (Weeks 15).The point here, then, is to provide some answers for why the decrease in socially-necessary labour time in an age of automation has not coincided with the Thompsonian expansion of free time. The current dilemma of the neoliberal “work-martyr” is traceable to the political responses generated by crises in production during the depression and the stagflationary disaccumulation of the 1960s-70s, and the major victory in the “battle for ideas” was the transformation of the political subject into human capital. This “intensely constructed and governed” suite of possible values is tasked, according to Wendy Brown, “with improving and leveraging its competitive positioning and with enhancing its (monetary and nonmonetary) portfolio value across all of its endeavours and ventures” (Brown 10). Connecting the creation of this subject in relation to personal or free time is important partly because of time’s longstanding importance to philosophies of subjectivity. But more to the point, the focus on time is important because it serves to demonstrate the economic foundations of the incursion of capitalist governance into the most private domains of existence. Against the criticism of Marx’s ‘abstract’ theory of value, one can see that the laws of capitalist accumulation make their mark in all parts of contemporary human being, including temporality. By tracing the emergence of afterwork as the unpaid continuation of the accumulation of value, one can show how each subject increasingly ‘lives’ capital. This marks a turning point in political economy. When work spills over a temporal limit, its relationship to reproduction is finally blurred to the point of indistinction. What this means for value-creation in 2019 is something in urgent need of critique.State ReproductionAccording to the Marxian theory, labour’s minimum cost is abstractly determined by the price of the labourer’s necessities. Once they have produced enough objects of value to cover these costs, the rest of their work is surplus value in the hands of the capitalist. The capitalist’s aim, then, is to extend the overall working-day for as long beyond the minimum as possible. Theoretically, the full 24 hours of the day may be used. The rise of machine production in the 19th century allowed the owners to make this theory a reality. The only thing that governed the extension of work-time was the physical minimum of labour-power’s reproduction (Marx 161). But this was on the provision that all the labourer’s “free” time was to be spent regrouping their energies. Anything in excess of this was a privilege: time wasted that could have been spent in the factory. “If the labourer consumes his disposable time for himself”, says Marx, “he robs the capitalist” (162).This began to change with the socialisation of the work process and the increase in technical proficiency that labour demanded in early 20th-century industry. With the changes in the sophistication of the manufacture process, the labourer came to be factored in the production process less as an “appendage of the machine” and more as a collection of decisive skills. Fordism based itself around the recognition that capital itself was “dependent on a family-based reproduction” (Weeks 27). In Ford’s America, the sense that work’s intensity might supplant losses in the working day propelled owners of production to recognise the economic need of ensuring a robust culture of social reproduction. In capital’s original New Deal, Ford provided an increase in wages (the Five Dollar Day) in exchange for a rise in productivity (Dalla Costa v). To preserve the increased rhythm of industrial production required more than a robust wage, however. It required “the formation of a physically efficient and psychologically disciplined working class” (Dalla Costa 2). Companies began to hire sociologists to investigate how workers spent their spare time (Dalla Costa 8). They led the charge in a what we might call the first “anthropological revolution” of the American 20th century, whereby the improved wage of the worker was underpinned by the economisation of their reproduction. This was enabled by the cheapening of social necessities (and thus a reduction in socially-necessary labour time) in profound connection to the development of household economy on the backs of unpaid female labour (Weeks 25).This arrangement between capital and labour persisted until 1929. When the inevitable crisis came, however, wages faltered, and many workers joined the ranks of the unemployed. Unable to afford even the basics of their own reproduction, the working-class looked to the state. They created political and social pressure through marches, demonstrations, attacks on shops and the looting of supply trucks (Dalla Costa 40). The state held out against them, but the crisis in production eventually reached such a point of intensity that the government was forced to intervene. Hoover instituted the Emergency Relief Act and Financial Reconstruction Corporation in 1932. This was expanded the following year by FDR’s New Deal, transforming Emergency Relief into a federal institution and creating the Civil Works Association to stimulate the job market (Dalla Costa 63). The security of the working class was decisively linked to the state through the wage guarantees, welfare measures and even the legal guarantee of collective bargaining.For the most part, the state’s intervention in social reproduction took the pressure off industry by ensuring that the workforce would remain able to handle its burdens and that the unemployed would remain employable. It guaranteed a minimum wage for the employed to ensure that demand didn’t collapse, and provided care outside the workforce to women, children and the elderly.Once the state took responsibility for reproduction, however, it immediately became interested in how free time could be made efficient and cost effective. Abroad, they noted the example of European statist and corporativist approaches. Roosevelt sent a delegation to Europe to study the various measures taken by fascist and United Front governments to curb the effects of economic crisis (Dogliani 247). Among these was Mussolini’s OND (Opera Nazionale Dopolavoro) which sought to accumulate the free time of workers to the ends of production. Part of this required the responsibilisation of the broader community not only for regeneration of labour-power but the formation of a truly fascist political subject.FDR’s social reform program was able to reproduce this at home by following the example of workers’ community organisation during the depression years. Throughout the early ‘30s, self-help cooperatives, complete with “their own systems of payment in goods or currency” emerged among the unemployed (Dalla Costa 61). Black markets in consumer goods and informal labour structures developed in all major cities (Dalla Costa 34). Subsistence goods were self-produced in a cottage industry of unpaid domestic labour by both men and women (Dalla Costa 71). The paragon of self-reproducing communities was urbanised black Americans, whose internal solidarity had saved lives throughout the depression. The state took notice of these informal economies of production and reproduction, and started to incorporate the possibility of community engineering into their national plan. Roosevelt convened the Civilian Conservation Corps to absorb underemployed elements of the American workforce and recover consumer demand through direct state sponsorship (wages) (Dogliani, 247). The Committee of Industrial Organisation was transformed into a “congress” linking workers directly to the state (Dalla Costa 74). Minium wages were secured in the supreme court in 1937, then hiked in 1938 (78). In all, the state emerged at this time as a truly corporativist entity- the guarantor of employment and of class stability. From Social Reproduction to Human Capital InvestmentSo how do we get from New Deal social engineering to yoga pants? The answer is deceptively simple. The state transformed social reproduction into a necessary part of the production process. But this also meant that it was instrumentalised. The state only had to fund its workforce’s reproduction so long as this guaranteed productivity. After the war, this was maintained by a form of “embedded liberalism” which sought to provide full employment, economic growth and welfare for its citizens while anchoring the international economy in the Dollar’s gold-value. However, by providing stable increases in “relative value” (wages), this form of state investment incentivised capital flight and its spectacular consequent: deindustrialisation. The “embedded liberalism” of the state-capital-labour compromise began to breakdown with a new crisis of accumulation (Harvey 11-12). The relocation of production to non-union states and decolonised globally-southern sites of hyper-exploitation led to an ‘urban crisis’ in the job market. But as capitalist expansion carried on abroad, inflation kept dangerous pace with the rate of unemployment. This “stagflation” put irresistible pressure on the post-war order. The Bretton-Woods policy of maintaining fixed interest rates while pinning the dollar to gold was abandoned in 1971 and exchange rates were floated all over the world (Harvey 12). The spectre of a new crisis loomed, but one which couldn’t be resolved by the simple state sponsorship of production and reproduction.While many solutions were offered in place of this, one political vision singled out the state’s intervention into reproduction as the cause of the crisis. The ‘neoliberal’ political revolution began at the level of individual groups of capitalist agitants seeking governmental influence in a crusade against communism. It was given its first run on the historical pitch in Chile as part of the CIA-sponsored Pinochet revanchism, and then imported to NYC to deal with the worsening urban crisis of the 1970s. Instead of focusing on production (which required state intervention to proceed without crisis), neoliberal theory promulgated a turn to monetisation and financialisation. The rule of the New York banks after they forced the City into near-bankruptcy in 1975 prescribed total austerity in order to make good on its debts. The government was forced by capital itself to withdraw from investment in the reproduction of its citizens and workers. This was generalised to a federal policy as Reagan sought to address the decades-long deficit during the early years of his presidential term. Facilitating the global flow of finance and the hegemony of supranational institutions like the IMF, the domestic labour force now became beholden to an international minimum of socially-necessary labour time. At the level of domestic labour, the reduction of labour’s possible cost to this minimum had dramatic consequences. International competition allowed the physical limitations of labour to, once again, vanish from sight. Removed from the discourse of reproduction rights, the capitalist edifice was able to focus on changing the ratio of socially necessary labour to surplus. The mechanism that enabled them to do so was competition among the workforce. With the opening of the world market, capital no longer had to worry about the maintenance of domestic demand.But competition was not sufficient to pull off so grand a feat. What was required was a broader “battle of ideas”; the second anthropological revolution of the American century. The protections that workers had relied upon since the Fordist compromise and the corporativist solution eroded as the new “class-power” of the bourgeoisie levelled neoliberal assaults against associated labour (Harvey 23). While unions were gradually disempowered to fight the inevitable tide of deindustrialisation and capital flight, individual workers were coddled by a stream of neoliberal propaganda promising “Freedom” to those who would leave the stifling atmosphere of collective association. The success of this double enervation crippled union power, and the capitalist could rely increasingly on internal workplace wage stratification to regulate labour at an enterprise level (Dalla Costa 25). Incentive structures transformed labour rights into privileges; imagining old entitlements as concessions from above. In the last thirty years, the foundation of worker protections at large has, according to Brown, become illegible (Brown 38).Time and ValueThe reduction of time needed to produce has not coincided with an expansion of free time. The neoliberal anthropological revolution has wormed its way into the depth of the individual subject’s temporalising through a dual assault on labour conditions and propaganda. The privatisation of reproduction means that its necessary minimum is once again the subject of class struggle. Time spent unproductively outside the workplace now not only robs the capitalist, but the worker. If an activity isn’t a means to increase one’s “experience” (the vector of employability), it is time poorly spent. The likelihood of being hired for a job, in professional industries especially, is dependent on your ability to outperform others not only in your talents and skills, but in your own exploitability. Brown points out that the groups traditionally defined by the “middle strata … works more hours for less pay, fewer benefits, less security, and less promise of retirement or upward mobility than at any time in the past century” (Brown 28-29).This is what is meant by the transformation of workers into ‘human capital’. As far as the worker is concerned, the capitalist no longer purchases their labour-power: they purchase the sum of their experiences and behaviours. A competitive market has emerged for these personality markers. As a piece of human capital, one must expend one’s time not only in reproduction, but the production of their own surplus value. Going to a play adds culture points to your brand; speaking a second language gives you a competitive edge; a robust Instagram following is the difference between getting or missing out on a job. For Jess Whyte, this means that the market is now able to govern in place of the state. It exercises a command over people’s lives in and out of the workplace “which many an old tyrannical state would have envied” (Whyte 20).There is a question here of change and continuity. A survey of the 20th century shows that the reduction of ‘socially necessary labour time’ does not necessarily mean a reduction in time spent at work. In fact, the minimum around which capitalist production circulates is not worktime but wages. It is only at the political level that the working class prevented capital from pursuing this minimum. With the political victory of neoliberalism as a “restoration of class power” to the bourgeoisie, however, this minimum becomes a factor at the heart of all negotiations between capital and labour. The individual labourer lying at the heart of the productive process is reduced to his most naked form: human capital. This capital must spend all its time productively for its own benefit. Mundane tasks are avoidable, as stipulated by the piece of human capital sometimes known as Anne Helen Peterson, if they “wouldn’t make my job easier or my work better”. People are never really after-work under neoliberalism; their spare time is structurally adjusted into auxiliary labour. Competition has achieved what the state could never have dreamed of: a total governance of spare hours. This governance unites journalists tweeting from bed with Amazon workers living where they work, not to mention early-career academics working over a weekend to publish an article in an online journal that is not even paying them. These are all ways in which the privatisation of social reproduction transforms afterwork into unpaid overtime.ReferencesBrown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution. New York: Zone Books, 2015.Dalla Costa, Maria. Family, Welfare, and the State: Between Progressivism and the New Deal. Brooklyn: Common Notions, 2015.Harvey, David. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005.Engels, Friedrich, and Karl Marx. The Marx-Engels Reader. Ed. R.C. Tucker. New York: Norton, 1978.Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critical Analysis of Capitalist Production. Vol. 1 and 2. Trans. E. Aveling and E. Untermann. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics of World Literature, 2013.Peterson, Anne Helen. “How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation.” Buzzfeed. 10 Oct. 2019 <https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/annehelenpetersen/millennials-burnout-generation-debt-work>.Postone, Moishe. Time, Labour and Social Domination. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993.Thompson, E.P. “Time, Work-Discipline, and Industrial Capitalism.” In Stanley Aronowitz and Michael J. Roberts, eds., Class: The Anthology. Hoboken: Wiley, 2018.Wang, Jackie. Carceral Capitalism. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2018.Weeks, Kathi. The Problem with Work: Feminism, Marxism, Antiwork Politics, and Postwork Imaginaries. Durham: Duke UP, 2011.Whyte, Jessica. “The Invisible Hand of Friedrich Hayek: Submission and Spontaneous Order.” Political Theory (2017): 1-29.

Proponents of the free culture movement argue that contemporary, “over-zealous” copyright laws have an adverse affect on the freedoms of consumers and creators to make use of copyrighted materials. Lessig, McLeod, Vaidhyanathan, Demers, and Coombe, to name but a few, detail instances where creativity and consumer use have been hindered by copyright laws. The “intellectual land-grab” (Boyle, “Politics” 94), instigated by the increasing value of intangibles in the information age, has forced copyright owners to seek maximal protection for copyrighted materials. A propertarian approach seeks to imbue copyrighted materials with the same inalienable rights as real property, yet copyright is not a property right, because “the copyright owner … holds no ordinary chattel” (Dowling v. United States 473 US 207, 216 [1985]). A fundamental difference resides in the exclusivity of use: “If you eat my apple, then I cannot” but “if you “take” my idea, I still have it. If I tell you an idea, you have not deprived me of it. An unavoidable feature of intellectual property is that its consumption is non-rivalrous” (Lessig, Code 131). It is, as James Boyle notes, “different” to real property (Shamans 174). Vaidhyanathan observes, “copyright in the American tradition was not meant to be a “property right” as the public generally understands property. It was originally a narrow federal policy that granted a limited trade monopoly in exchange for universal use and access” (11). This paper explores the ways in which “property talk” has infiltrated copyright discourse and endangered the utility of the law in fostering free and diverse forms of creative expression. The possessiveness and exclusion that accompany “property talk” are difficult to reconcile with the utilitarian foundations of copyright. Transformative uses of copyrighted materials such as mashing, sampling and appropriative art are incompatible with a propertarian approach, subjecting freedom of creativity to arbitary licensing fees that often extend beyond the budget of creators (Collins). “Property talk” risks making transformative works an elitist form of creativity, available only to those with the financial resources necessary to meet the demands for licences. There is a wealth of decisions throughout American and English case law that sustain Vaidhyanathan’s argument (see for example, Donaldson v. Becket 17 Cobbett Parliamentary History, col. 953; Wheaton v. Peters 33 US 591 [1834]; Fox Film Corporation v. Doyal 286 US 123 [1932]; US v. Paramount Pictures 334 US 131 [1948]; Mazer v. Stein 347 US 201, 219 [1954]; Twentieth Century Music Corp. v. Aitken 422 U.S. 151 [1975]; Aronson v. Quick Point Pencil Co. 440 US 257 [1979]; Dowling v. United States 473 US 207 [1985]; Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc. v. Nation Enterprises 471 U.S. 539 [1985]; Luther R. Campbell a.k.a. Luke Skyywalker, et al. v. Acuff-Rose Music, Inc. 510 U.S 569 [1994].). As Lemley states, however, “Congress, the courts and commentators increasingly treat intellectual property as simply a species of real property rather than as a unique form of legal protection designed to deal with public goods problems” (1-2). Although section 106 of the Copyright Act 1976 grants exclusive rights, sections 107 to 112 provide freedoms beyond the control of the copyright owner, undermining the exclusivity of s.106. Australian law similarly grants exceptions to the exclusive rights granted in section 31. Exclusivity was a principal objective of the eighteenth century Stationers’ argument for a literary property right. Sir William Blackstone, largely responsible for many Anglo-American concepts concerning the construction of property law, defined property in absolutist terms as “that sole and despotic dominion which one man claims and exercises over the external things of the world, in total exclusion of the right of any other individual in the whole universe” (2). On the topic of reprints he staunchly argued an author “has clearly a right to dispose of that identical work as he pleases, and any attempt to take it from him, or vary the disposition he has made of it, is an invasion of his right of property” (405-6). Blackstonian copyright advanced an exclusive and perpetual property right. Blackstone’s interpretation of Lockean property theory argued for a copyright that extended beyond the author’s expression and encompassed the very “style” and “sentiments” held therein. (Tonson v. Collins [1760] 96 ER 189.) According to Locke, every Man has a Property in his own Person . . . The Labour of his Body and the Work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the State that Nature hath provided and left it in, he hath mixed his Labour with, and joyned to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his Property. (287-8) Blackstone’s inventive interpretation of Locke “analogised ideas, thoughts, and opinions with tangible objects to which title may be taken by occupancy under English common law” (Travis 783). Locke’s labour theory, however, is not easily applied to intangibles because occupancy or use is non-rivalrous. The appropriate extent of an author’s proprietary right in a work led Locke himself to a philosophical impasse (Bowrey 324). Although Blackstonian copyright was suppressed by the House of Lords in the eighteenth century (Donaldson v. Becket [1774] 17 Cobbett Parliamentary History, col. 953) and by the Supreme Court sixty years later (Wheaton v. Peters 33 US 591 [1834]), it has never wholly vacated copyright discourse. “Property talk” is undesirable in copyright discourse because it implicates totalitarian notions such as exclusion and inalienable private rights of ownership with no room for freedom of creativity or to use copyrighted materials for non-piracy related purposes. The notion that intellectual property is a species of property akin with real property is circulated by media companies seeking greater control over copyrighted materials, but the extent to which “property talk” has been adopted by the courts and scholars is troubling. Lemley (3-5) and Bell speculate whether the term “intellectual property” carries any responsibility for the propertisation of intangibles. A survey of federal court decisions between 1943 and 2003 reveals an exponential increase in the usage of the term. As noted by Samuelson (398) and Cohen (379), within the spheres of industry, culture, law, and politics the word “property” implies a broader scope of rights than those associated with a grant of limited monopoly. Music United claims “unauthorized reproduction and distribution of copyrighted music is JUST AS ILLEGAL AS SHOPLIFTING A CD”. James Brown argues sampling from his records is tantamount to theft: “Anything they take off my record is mine . . . Can I take a button off your shirt and put it on mine? Can I take a toenail off your foot – is that all right with you?” (Miller 1). Equating unauthorised copying with theft seeks to socially demonise activities occurring outside of the permission culture currently being fostered by inventive interpretations of the law. Increasing propagation of copyright as the personal property of the creator and/or copyright owner is instrumental in efforts to secure further legislative or judicial protection: Since 1909, courts and corporations have exploited public concern for rewarding established authors by steadily limiting the rights of readers, consumers, and emerging artists. All along, the author was deployed as a straw man in the debate. The unrewarded authorial genius was used as a rhetorical distraction that appealed to the American romantic individualism. (Vaidhyanathan 11) The “unrewarded authorial genius” was certainly tactically deployed in the eighteenth century in order to generate sympathy in pleas for further protection (Feather 71). Supporting the RIAA, artists including Britney Spears ask “Would you go into a CD store and steal a CD? It’s the same thing – people going into the computers and logging on and stealing our music”. The presence of a notable celebrity claiming file-sharing is equivalent to stealing their personal property is a more publicly acceptable spin on the major labels’ attempts to maintain a monopoly over music distribution. In 1997, Congress enacted the No Electronic Theft Act which extended copyright protection into the digital realm and introduced stricter penalties for electronic reproduction. The use of “theft” in the title clearly aligns the statute with a propertarian portrayal of intangibles. Most movie fans will have witnessed anti-piracy propaganda in the cinema and on DVDs. Analogies between stealing a bag and downloading movies blur fundamental distinctions in the rivalrous/non-rivalrous nature of tangibles and intangibles (Lessig Code, 131). Of critical significance is the infiltration of “property talk” into the courtrooms. In 1990 Judge Frank Easterbrook wrote: Patents give a right to exclude, just as the law of trespass does with real property … Old rhetoric about intellectual property equating to monopoly seemed to have vanished, replaced by a recognition that a right to exclude in intellectual property is no different in principle from the right to exclude in physical property … Except in the rarest case, we should treat intellectual and physical property identically in the law – which is where the broader currents are taking us. (109, 112, 118) Although Easterbrook refers to patents, his endorsement of “property talk” is cause for concern given the similarity with which patents and copyrights have been historically treated (Ou 41). In Grand Upright v. Warner Bros. Judge Kevin Duffy commenced his judgment with the admonishment “Thou shalt not steal”. Similarly, in Jarvis v. A&M Records the court stated “there can be no more brazen stealing of music than digital sampling”. This move towards a propertarian approach is misguided. It runs contrary to the utilitarian principles underpinning copyright ideology and marginalises freedoms protected by the fair use doctrine, hence Justice Blackman’s warning that “interference with copyright does not easily equate with” interference with real property (Dowling v. United States 473 US 207, 216 [1985]). The framing of copyright in terms of real property privileges private monopoly over, and to the detriment of, the public interest in free and diverse creativity as well as freedoms of personal use. It is paramount that when dealing with copyright cases, the courts remain aware that their decisions involve not pure economic regulation, but regulation of expression, and what may count as rational where economic regulation is at issue is not necessarily rational where we focus on expression – in a Nation constitutionally dedicated to the free dissemination of speech, information, learning and culture. (Eldred v. Ashcroft 537 US 186 [2003] [J. Breyer dissenting]). Copyright is the prize in a contest of property vs. policy. As Justice Blackman observed, an infringer invades a statutorily defined province guaranteed to the copyright holder alone. But he does not assume physical control over the copyright; nor does he wholly deprive its owner of its use. While one may colloquially link infringement with some general notion of wrongful appropriation, infringement plainly implicates a more complex set of property interests than does run-of-the-mill theft, conversion, or fraud. (Dowling v. United States 473 US 207, 217-218 [1985]). Copyright policy places a great deal of control and cultural determinism in the hands of the creative industries. Without balance, oppressive monopolies form on the back of rights granted for the welfare of society in general. If a society wants to be independent and rich in diverse forms of cultural production and free expression, then the courts cannot continue to apply the law from within a propertarian paradigm. The question of whether culture should be determined by control or freedom in the interests of a free society is one that rapidly requires close attention – “it’s no longer a philosophical question but a practical one”. References Bayat, Asef. “Un-Civil Society: The Politics of the ‘Informal People.’” Third World Quarterly 18.1 (1997): 53-72. Bell, T. W. “Author’s Welfare: Copyright as a Statutory Mechanism for Redistributing Rights.” Brooklyn Law Review 69 (2003): 229. Blackstone, W. Commentaries on the Laws of England: Volume II. New York: Garland Publishing, 1978. (Reprint of 1783 edition.) Boyle, J. Shamans, Software, and Spleens: Law and the Construction of the Information Society. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1996. Boyle, J. “A Politics of Intellectual Property: Environmentalism for the Net?” Duke Law Journal 47 (1997): 87. Bowrey, K. “Who’s Writing Copyright’s History?” European Intellectual Property Review 18.6 (1996): 322. Cohen, J. “Overcoming Property: Does Copyright Trump Privacy?” University of Illinois Journal of Law, Technology & Policy 375 (2002). Collins, S. “Good Copy, Bad Copy.” (2005) M/C Journal 8.3 (2006). http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0507/02-collins.php>. Coombe, R. The Cultural Life of Intellectual Properties. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998. Demers, J. Steal This Music. Athens, Georgia: U of Georgia P, 2006. Easterbrook, F. H. “Intellectual Property Is Still Property.” (1990) Harvard Journal of Law & Public Policy 13 (1990): 108. Feather, J. Publishing, Piracy and Politics: An Historical Study of Copyright in Britain. London: Mansell, 1994. Lemley, M. “Property, Intellectual Property, and Free Riding.” Texas Law Review 83 (2005): 1031. Lessig, L. Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace. New York: Basic Books, 1999. Lessing, L. The Future of Ideas. New York: Random House, 2001. Lessig, L. Free Culture. New York: The Penguin Press, 2004. Locke, J. Two Treatises of Government. Ed. Peter Laslett. Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1988. McLeod, K. “How Copyright Law Changed Hip Hop: An Interview with Public Enemy’s Chuck D and Hank Shocklee.” Stay Free (2002). 14 June 2006 http://www.stayfreemagazine.org/archives/20/public_enemy.html>. McLeod, K. “Confessions of an Intellectual (Property): Danger Mouse, Mickey Mouse, Sonny Bono, and My Long and Winding Path as a Copyright Activist-Academic.” Popular Music & Society 28 (2005): 79. McLeod, K. Freedom of Expression: Overzealous Copyright Bozos and Other Enemies of Creativity. United States: Doubleday Books, 2005. Miller, M.W. “Creativity Furor: High-Tech Alteration of Sights and Sounds Divides the Art World.” Wall Street Journal (1987): 1. Ou, T. “From Wheaton v. Peters to Eldred v. Reno: An Originalist Interpretation of the Copyright Clause.” Berkman Center for Internet & Society (2000). 14 June 2006 http://cyber.law.harvard.edu/openlaw/eldredvashcroft/cyber/OuEldred.pdf>. Samuelson, P. “Information as Property: Do Ruckelshaus and Carpenter Signal a Changing Direction in Intellectual Property Law?” Catholic University Law Review 38 (1989): 365. Travis, H. “Pirates of the Information Infrastructure: Blackstonian Copyright and the First Amendment.” Berkeley Technology Law Journal 15 (2000): 777. Vaidhyanathan, S. Copyrights and Copywrongs: The Rise of Intellectual Property and How It Threatens Creativity. New York: New York UP, 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Collins, Steve. "‘Property Talk’ and the Revival of Blackstonian Copyright." M/C Journal 9.4 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0609/5-collins.php>. APA Style Collins, S. (Sep. 2006) "‘Property Talk’ and the Revival of Blackstonian Copyright," M/C Journal, 9(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0609/5-collins.php>.

The Digital TurnMuch of the 19th century disappeared from public view during the 20th century. Historians recovered what they could from archives and libraries, with the easy pickings-the famous and the fortunate-coming first. Latterly, social and political historians of different hues determinedly sought out the more hidden, forgotten, and marginalised. However, there were always limitations to resources-time, money, location, as well as purpose, opportunity, and permission. 'History' was principally a professionalised and privileged activity dominated by academics who had preferential access to, and significant control over, the resources, technologies and skills required, as well as the social, economic and cultural framework within which history was recovered, interpreted, approved and disseminated.Digitisation and the broader development of new communication technologies has, however, transformed historical research processes and practice dramatically, removing many constraints, opening up many opportunities, and allowing many others than the professional historian to trace and track what would have remained hidden, forgotten, or difficult to find, as well as verify (or otherwise), what has already been claimed and concluded. In the 21st century, the SEARCH button has become a dominant tool of research. This, along with other technological and media developments, has altered the practice of historians-professional or 'public'-who can now range deep and wide in the collection, portrayal and dissemination of historical information, in and out of the confines of the traditional institutional walls of retained information, academia, location, and national boundaries.This incorporation of digital technologies into academic historical practice generally, has raised, as Cohen and Rosenzweig, in their book Digital History, identified a decade ago, not just promises, but perils. For the historian, there has been the move, through digitisation, from the relative scarcity and inaccessibility of historical material to its (over) abundance, but also the emerging acceptance that, out of both necessity and preference, a hybridity of sources will be the foreseeable way forward. There has also been a significant shift, as De Groot notes in his book Consuming History, in the often conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian. This has brought a potentially beneficial democratization of historical practice but also an associated set of concerns around the loss of control of both practice and product of the professional historian. Additionally, the development of digital tools for the collection and dissemination of 'history' has raised fears around the commercialised development of the subject's brand, products and commodities. This article considers the significance and implications of some of these changes through one protracted act of recovery and reclamation in which the digital made the difference: the life of a notorious 19th century professional agitator on both sides of the Atlantic, John De Morgan. A man thought lost, but now found."Who Is John De Morgan?" The search began in 1981, linked to the study of contemporary "race riots" in South East London. The initial purpose was to determine whether there was a history of rioting in the area. In the Local History Library, a calm and dusty backwater, an early find was a fading, but evocative and puzzling, photograph of "The Plumstead Common Riots" of 1876. It showed a group of men and women, posing for the photographer on a hillside-the technology required stillness, even in the middle of a riot-spades in hand, filling in a Mr. Jacob's sandpits, illegally dug from what was supposed to be common land. The leader of this, and other similar riots around England, was John De Morgan. A local journalist who covered the riots commented: "Of Mr. De Morgan little is known before or since the period in which he flashed meteorlike through our section of the atmosphere, but he was indisputably a remarkable man" (Vincent 588). Thus began a trek, much interrupted, sometimes unmapped and haphazard, to discover more about this 'remarkable man'. "Who is John De Morgan" was a question frequently asked by his many contemporary antagonists, and by subsequent historians, and one to which De Morgan deliberately gave few answers. The obvious place to start the search was the British Museum Reading Room, resplendent in its Victorian grandeur, the huge card catalogue still in the 1980s the dominating technology. Together with the Library's newspaper branch at Colindale, this was likely to be the repository of all that might then easily be known about De Morgan.From 1869, at the age of 21, it appeared that De Morgan had embarked on a life of radical politics that took him through the UK, made him notorious, lead to accusations of treasonable activities, sent him to jail twice, before he departed unexpectedly to the USA in 1880. During that period, he was involved with virtually every imaginable radical cause, at various times a temperance advocate, a spiritualist, a First Internationalist, a Republican, a Tichbornite, a Commoner, an anti-vaccinator, an advanced Liberal, a parliamentary candidate, a Home Ruler. As a radical, he, like many radicals of the period, "zigzagged nomadically through the mayhem of nineteenth century politics fighting various foes in the press, the clubs, the halls, the pulpit and on the street" (Kazin 202). He promoted himself as the "People's Advocate, Champion and Friend" (Allen). Never a joiner or follower, he established a variety of organizations, became a professional agitator and orator, and supported himself and his politics through lecturing and journalism. Able to attract huge crowds to "monster meetings", he achieved fame, or more correctly notoriety. And then, in 1880, broke and in despair, he disappeared from public view by emigrating to the USA.LostThe view of De Morgan as a "flashing meteor" was held by many in the 1870s. Historians of the 20th century took a similar position and, while considering him intriguing and culturally interesting, normally dispatched him to the footnotes. By the latter part of the 20th century, he was described as "one of the most notorious radicals of the 1870s yet remains a shadowy figure" and was generally dismissed as "a swashbuckling demagogue," a "democratic messiah," and" if not a bandit … at least an adventurer" (Allen 684). His politics were deemed to be reactionary, peripheral, and, worst of all, populist. He was certainly not of sufficient interest to pursue across the Atlantic. In this dismissal, he fell foul of the highly politicised professional culture of mid-to-late 20th-century academic historians. In particular, the lack of any significant direct linkage to the story of the rise of a working class, and specifically the British Labour party, left individuals like De Morgan in the margins and footnotes. However, in terms of historical practice, it was also the case that his mysterious entry into public life, his rapid rise to brief notability and notoriety, and his sudden disappearance, made the investigation of his career too technically difficult to be worthwhile.The footprints of the forgotten may occasionally turn up in the archived papers of the important, or in distant public archives and records, but the primary sources are the newspapers of the time. De Morgan was a regular, almost daily, visitor to the pages of the multitude of newspapers, local and national, that were published in Victorian Britain and Gilded Age USA. He also published his own, usually short-lived and sometimes eponymous, newspapers: De Morgan's Monthly and De Morgan's Weekly as well as the splendidly titled People's Advocate and National Vindicator of Right versus Wrong and the deceptively titled, highly radical, House and Home. He was highly mobile: he noted, without too much hyperbole, that in the 404 days between his English prison sentences in the mid-1870s, he had 465 meetings, travelled 32,000 miles, and addressed 500,000 people. Thus the newspapers of the time are littered with often detailed and vibrant accounts of his speeches, demonstrations, and riots.Nonetheless, the 20th-century technologies of access and retrieval continued to limit discovery. The white gloves, cradles, pencils and paper of the library or archive, sometimes supplemented by the century-old 'new' technology of the microfilm, all enveloped in a culture of hallowed (and pleasurable) silence, restricted the researcher looking to move into the lesser known and certainly the unknown. The fact that most of De Morgan's life was spent, it was thought, outside of England, and outside the purview of the British Library, only exacerbated the problem. At a time when a historian had to travel to the sources and then work directly on them, pencil in hand, it needed more than curiosity to keep searching. Even as many historians in the late part of the century shifted their centre of gravity from the known to the unknown and from the great to the ordinary, in any form of intellectual or resource cost-benefit analysis, De Morgan was a non-starter.UnknownOn the subject of his early life, De Morgan was tantalisingly and deliberately vague. In his speeches and newspapers, he often leaked his personal and emotional struggles as well as his political battles. However, when it came to his biographical story, he veered between the untruthful, the denial, and the obscure. To the twentieth century observer, his life began in 1869 at the age of 21 and ended at the age of 32. His various political campaign "biographies" gave some hints, but what little he did give away was often vague, coy and/or unlikely. His name was actually John Francis Morgan, but he never formally acknowledged it. He claimed, and was very proud, to be Irish and to have been educated in London and at Cambridge University (possible but untrue), and also to have been "for the first twenty years of his life directly or indirectly a railway servant," and to have been a "boy orator" from the age of ten (unlikely but true). He promised that "Some day-nay any day-that the public desire it, I am ready to tell the story of my strange life from earliest recollection to the present time" (St. Clair 4). He never did and the 20th century could unearth little evidence in relation to any of his claims.The blend of the vague, the unlikely and the unverifiable-combined with an inclination to self-glorification and hyperbole-surrounded De Morgan with an aura, for historians as well as contemporaries, of the self-seeking, untrustworthy charlatan with something to hide and little to say. Therefore, as the 20th century moved to closure, the search for John De Morgan did so as well. Though interesting, he gave most value in contextualising the lives of Victorian radicals more generally. He headed back to the footnotes.Now FoundMeanwhile, the technologies underpinning academic practice generally, and history specifically, had changed. The photocopier, personal computer, Internet, and mobile device, had arrived. They formed the basis for both resistance and revolution in academic practices. For a while, the analytical skills of the academic community were concentrated on the perils as much as the promises of a "digital history" (Cohen and Rosenzweig Digital).But as the Millennium turned, and the academic community itself spawned, inter alia, Google, the practical advantages of digitisation for history forced themselves on people. Google enabled the confident searching from a neutral place for things known and unknown; information moved to the user more easily in both time and space. The culture and technologies of gathering, retrieval, analysis, presentation and preservation altered dramatically and, as a result, the traditional powers of gatekeepers, institutions and professional historians was redistributed (De Groot). Access and abundance, arguably over-abundance, became the platform for the management of historical information. For the search for De Morgan, the door reopened. The increased global electronic access to extensive databases, catalogues, archives, and public records, as well as people who knew, or wanted to know, something, opened up opportunities that have been rapidly utilised and expanded over the last decade. Both professional and "amateur" historians moved into a space that made the previously difficult to know or unknowable now accessible.Inevitably, the development of digital newspaper archives was particularly crucial to seeking and finding John De Morgan. After some faulty starts in the early 2000s, characterised as a "wild west" and a "gold rush" (Fyfe 566), comprehensive digitised newspaper archives became available. While still not perfect, in terms of coverage and quality, it is a transforming technology. In the UK, the British Newspaper Archive (BNA)-in pursuit of the goal of the digitising of all UK newspapers-now has over 20 million pages. Each month presents some more of De Morgan. Similarly, in the US, Fulton History, a free newspaper archive run by retired computer engineer Tom Tryniski, now has nearly 40 million pages of New York newspapers. The almost daily footprints of De Morgan's radical life can now be seen, and the lives of the social networks within which he worked on both sides of the Atlantic, come easily into view even from a desk in New Zealand.The Internet also allows connections between researchers, both academic and 'public', bringing into reach resources not otherwise knowable: a Scottish genealogist with a mass of data on De Morgan's family; a Californian with the historian's pot of gold, a collection of over 200 letters received by De Morgan over a 50 year period; a Leeds Public Library blogger uncovering spectacular, but rarely seen, Victorian electoral cartoons which explain De Morgan's precipitate departure to the USA. These discoveries would not have happened without the infrastructure of the Internet, web site, blog, and e-mail. Just how different searching is can be seen in the following recent scenario, one of many now occurring. An addition in 2017 to the BNA shows a Master J.F. Morgan, aged 13, giving lectures on temperance in Ledbury in 1861, luckily a census year. A check of the census through Ancestry shows that Master Morgan was born in Lincolnshire in England, and a quick look at the 1851 census shows him living on an isolated blustery hill in Yorkshire in a railway encampment, along with 250 navvies, as his father, James, works on the construction of a tunnel. Suddenly, literally within the hour, the 20-year search for the childhood of John De Morgan, the supposedly Irish-born "gentleman who repudiated his class," has taken a significant turn.At the end of the 20th century, despite many efforts, John De Morgan was therefore a partial character bounded by what he said and didn't say, what others believed, and the intellectual and historiographical priorities, technologies, tools and processes of that century. In effect, he "lived" historically for a less than a quarter of his life. Without digitisation, much would have remained hidden; with it there has been, and will still be, much to find. De Morgan hid himself and the 20th century forgot him. But as the technologies have changed, and with it the structures of historical practice, the question that even De Morgan himself posed – "Who is John De Morgan?" – can now be addressed.SearchingDigitisation brings undoubted benefits, but its impact goes a long way beyond the improved search and detection capabilities, into a range of technological developments of communication and media that impact on practice, practitioners, institutions, and 'history' itself. A dominant issue for the academic community is the control of "history." De Groot, in his book Consuming History, considers how history now works in contemporary popular culture and, in particular, examines the development of the sometimes conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian.The traditional legitimacy of professional historians has, many argue, been eroded by shifts in technology and access with the power of traditional cultural gatekeepers being undermined, bypassing the established control of institutions and professional historian. While most academics now embrace the primary tools of so-called "digital history," they remain, De Groot argues, worried that "history" is in danger of becoming part of a discourse of leisure, not a professionalized arena (18). An additional concern is the role of the global capitalist market, which is developing, or even taking over, 'history' as a brand, product and commodity with overt fiscal value. Here the huge impact of newspaper archives and genealogical software (sometimes owned in tandem) is of particular concern.There is also the new challenge of "navigating the chaos of abundance in online resources" (De Groot 68). By 2005, it had become clear that:the digital era seems likely to confront historians-who were more likely in the past to worry about the scarcity of surviving evidence from the past-with a new 'problem' of abundance. A much deeper and denser historical record, especially one in digital form seems like an incredible opportunity and a gift. But its overwhelming size means that we will have to spend a lot of time looking at this particular gift horse in mouth. (Cohen and Rosenzweig, Web).This easily accessible abundance imposes much higher standards of evidence on the historian. The acceptance within the traditional model that much could simply not be done or known with the resources available meant that there was a greater allowance for not knowing. But with a search button and public access, democratizing the process, the consumer as well as the producer can see, and find, for themselves.Taking on some of these challenges, Zaagsma, having reminded us that the history of digital humanities goes back at least 60 years, notes the need to get rid of the "myth that historical practice can be uncoupled from technological, and thus methodological developments, and that going digital is a choice, which, I cannot emphasis strongly enough, it is not" (14). There is no longer a digital history which is separate from history, and with digital technologies that are now ubiquitous and pervasive, historians have accepted or must quickly face a fundamental break with past practices. However, also noting that the great majority of archival material is not digitised and is unlikely to be so, Zaagsma concludes that hybridity will be the "new normal," combining "traditional/analogue and new/digital practices at least in information gathering" (17).ConclusionA decade on from Cohen and Rozenzweig's "Perils and Promises," the digital is a given. Both historical practice and historians have changed, though it is a work in progress. An early pioneer of the use of computers in the humanities, Robert Busa wrote in 1980 that "the principal aim is the enhancement of the quality, depth and extension of research and not merely the lessening of human effort and time" (89). Twenty years later, as Google was launched, Jordanov, taking on those who would dismiss public history as "mere" popularization, entertainment or propaganda, argued for the "need to develop coherent positions on the relationships between academic history, the media, institutions…and popular culture" (149). As the digital turn continues, and the SEARCH button is just one part of that, all historians-professional or "amateur"-will take advantage of opportunities that technologies have opened up. Looking across the whole range of transformations in recent decades, De Groot concludes: "Increasingly users of history are accessing the past through complex and innovative media and this is reconfiguring their sense of themselves, the world they live in and what history itself might be about" (310). ReferencesAllen, Rob. "'The People's Advocate, Champion and Friend': The Transatlantic Career of Citizen John De Morgan (1848-1926)." Historical Research 86.234 (2013): 684-711.Busa, Roberto. "The Annals of Humanities Computing: The Index Thomisticus." Computers and the Humanities 14.2 (1980): 83-90.Cohen, Daniel J., and Roy Rosenzweig. Digital History: A Guide to Gathering, Preserving, and Presenting the Past on the Web. Philadelphia, PA: U Pennsylvania P, 2005.———. "Web of Lies? Historical Knowledge on the Internet." First Monday 10.12 (2005).De Groot, Jerome. Consuming History: Historians and Heritage in Contemporary Popular Culture. 2nd ed. Abingdon: Routledge, 2016.De Morgan, John. Who Is John De Morgan? A Few Words of Explanation, with Portrait. By a Free and Independent Elector of Leicester. London, 1877.Fyfe, Paul. "An Archaeology of Victorian Newspapers." Victorian Periodicals Review 49.4 (2016): 546-77."Interchange: The Promise of Digital History." Journal of American History 95.2 (2008): 452-91.Johnston, Leslie. "Before You Were Born, We Were Digitizing Texts." The Signal 9 Dec. 2012, Library of Congress. <https://blogs.loc.gov/thesignal/292/12/before-you-were-born-we-were-digitizing-texts>.Jordanova, Ludmilla. History in Practice. 2nd ed. London: Arnold, 2000.Kazin, Michael. A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan. New York: Anchor Books, 2006.Saint-Clair, Sylvester. Sketch of the Life and Labours of J. De Morgan, Elocutionist, and Tribune of the People. Leeds: De Morgan & Co., 1880.Vincent, William T. The Records of the Woolwich District, Vol. II. Woolwich: J.P. Jackson, 1890.Zaagsma, Gerban. "On Digital History." BMGN-Low Countries Historical Review 128.4 (2013): 3-29.

In a media saturated world, doodles have recently received the kind of attention usually reserved for coverage of racy extra marital affairs, corrupt governance, and product malfunction. Former British Prime Minister Blair’s private doodling at a World Economic Forum meeting in 2005 raised suspicions that he, according to one keen graphologist, struggled “to maintain control in a confusing world," which infers he was attempting to cohere a scattershot, fragmentary series of events (Spiegel). However, placid-faced Microsoft CEO Bill Gates, who sat nearby, actually scrawled the doodles. In this case, perhaps the scrawls mimicked the ambience in the room: Gates might have been ‘tuning’–registering the ‘white noise’ of the participants, letting his unconscious dictate doodles as a way to cope with the dissonance trekking in with the officialspeak. The doodles may have documented and registered the space between words, acting like deposits from his gestalt.Sometimes the most intriguing doodles co-exist with printed texts. This includes common vernacular graffiti that lines public and private books and magazines. Such graffiti exposes tensions in the role of readers as well as horror vacui: a fear of unused, empty space. Yet, school children fingering fresh pages and stiff book spines for the first few times often consider their book pages as sanctioned, discreet, and inviolable. The book is an object of financial and cultural investment, or imbued both with mystique and ideologies. Yet, in the e-book era, the old-fashioned, physical page is a relic of sorts, a holdover from coarse papyrus culled from wetland sage, linking us to the First Dynasty in Egypt. Some might consider the page as a vessel for typography, a mere framing device for text. The margins may reflect a perimeter of nothingness, an invisible borderland that doodles render visible by inhabiting them. Perhaps the margins are a bare landscape, like unmarred flat sand in a black and white panchromatic photo with unique tonal signature and distinct grain. Perhaps the margins are a mute locality, a space where words have evaporated, or a yet-to-be-explored environment, or an ambient field. Then comes the doodle, an icon of vernacular art.As a modern folklorist, I have studied and explored vernacular art at length, especially forms that may challenge and fissure aesthetic, cultural, and social mores, even within my own field. For instance, I contend that Grandma Prisbrey’s “Bottle Village,” featuring millions of artfully arranged pencils, bottles, and dolls culled from dumps in Southern California, is a syncretic culturescape with underlying feminist symbolism, not merely the product of trauma and hoarding (Ensminger). Recently, I flew to Oregon to deliver a paper on Mexican-American gravesite traditions. In a quest for increased multicultural tolerance, I argued that inexpensive dimestore objects left on Catholic immigrant graves do not represent a messy landscape of trinkets but unique spiritual environments with links to customs 3,000 years old. For me, doodles represent a variation on graffiti-style art with cultural antecedents stretching back throughout history, ranging from ancient scrawls on Greek ruins to contemporary park benches (with chiseled names, dates, and symbols), public bathroom latrinalia, and spray can aerosol art, including ‘bombing’ and ‘tagging’ hailed as “Spectacular Vernaculars” by Russell Potter (1995). Noted folklorist Alan Dundes mused on the meaning of latrinalia in Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia (1966), which has inspired pop culture books and web pages for the preservation and discussion of such art (see for instance, www.itsallinthehead.com/gallery1.html). Older texts such as Classic American Graffiti by Allen Walker Read (1935), originally intended for “students of linguistics, folk-lore, abnormal psychology,” reveal the field’s longstanding interest in marginal, crude, and profane graffiti.Yet, to my knowledge, a monograph on doodles has yet to be published by a folklorist, perhaps because the art form is reconsidered too idiosyncratic, too private, the difference between jots and doodles too blurry for a taxonomy and not the domain of identifiable folk groups. In addition, the doodles in texts often remain hidden until single readers encounter them. No broad public interaction is likely, unless a library text circulates freely, which may not occur after doodles are discovered. In essence, the books become tainted, infected goods. Whereas latrinalia speaks openly and irreverently, doodles feature a different scale and audience.Doodles in texts may represent a kind of speaking from the ‘margin’s margins,’ revealing the reader-cum-writer’s idiosyncratic, self-meaningful, and stylised hieroglyphics from the ambient margins of one’s consciousness set forth in the ambient margins of the page. The original page itself is an ambient territory that allows the meaning of the text to take effect. When those liminal spaces (both between and betwixt, in which the rules of page format, design, style, and typography are abandoned) are altered by the presence of doodles, the formerly blank, surplus, and soft spaces of the page offer messages coterminous with the text, often allowing readers to speak, however haphazardly and unconsciously, with and against the triggering text. The bleached whiteness can become a crowded milieu in the hands of a reader re-scripting the ambient territory. If the book is borrowed, then the margins are also an intimate negotiation with shared or public space. The cryptic residue of the doodler now resides, waiting, for the city of eyes.Throughout history, both admired artists and Presidents regularly doodled. Famed Italian Renaissance painter Filippo Lippi avoided strenuous studying by doodling in his books (Van Cleave 44). Both sides of the American political spectrum have produced plentiful inky depictions as well: roughshod Democratic President Johnson drew flags and pagodas; former Hollywood fantasy fulfiller turned politician Republican President Reagan’s specialty was western themes, recalling tropes both from his actor period and his duration acting as President; meanwhile, former law student turned current President, Barack Obama, has sketched members of Congress and the Senate for charity auctions. These doodles are rich fodder for both psychologists and cross-discipline analysts that propose theories regarding the automatic writing and self-styled miniature pictures of civic leaders. Doodles allow graphologists to navigate and determine the internal, cognitive fabric of the maker. To critics, they exist as mere trifles and offer nothing more than an iota of insight; doodles are not uncanny offerings from the recesses of memory, like bite-sized Rorschach tests, but simply sloppy scrawls of the bored.Ambient music theory may shed some light. Timothy Morton argues that Brian Eno designed to make music that evoked “space whose quality had become minimally significant” and “deconstruct the opposition … between figure and ground.” In fact, doodles may yield the same attributes as well. After a doodle is inserted into texts, the typography loses its primacy. There is a merging of the horizons. The text of the author can conflate with the text of the reader in an uneasy dance of meaning: the page becomes an interface revealing a landscape of signs and symbols with multiple intelligences–one manufactured and condoned, the other vernacular and unsanctioned. A fixed end or beginning between the two no longer exists. The ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page. The blank spaces keep inviting responses. An emergent discourse is always in waiting, always threatening to overspill the text’s intended meaning. In fact, the doodles may carry more weight than the intended text: the hierarchy between authorship and readership may topple.Resistant reading may take shape during these bouts. The doodle is an invasion and signals the geography of disruption, even when innocuous. It is a leveling tool. As doodlers place it alongside official discourse, they move away from positions of passivity, being mere consumers, and claim their own autonomy and agency. The space becomes co-determinant as boundaries are blurred. The destiny of the original text’s meaning is deferred. The habitus of the reader becomes embodied in the scrawl, and the next reader must negotiate and navigate the cultural capital of this new author. As such, the doodle constitutes an alternative authority and economy of meaning within the text.Recent studies indicate doodling, often regarded as behavior that announces a person’s boredom and withdrawal, is actually a very special tool to prevent memory loss. Jackie Andrade, an expert from the School of Psychology at the University of Plymouth, maintains that doodling actually “offsets the effects of selective memory blockade,” which yields a surprising result (quoted in “Doodling Gets”). Doodlers exhibit 29% more memory recall than those who passively listen, frozen in an unequal bond with the speaker/lecturer. Students that doodle actually retain more information and are likely more productive due to their active listening. They adeptly absorb information while students who stare patiently or daydream falter.Furthermore, in a 2006 paper, Andrew Kear argues that “doodling is a way in which students, consciously or not, stake a claim of personal agency and challenge some the values inherent in the education system” (2). As a teacher concerned with the engagement of students, he asked for three classes to submit their doodles. Letting them submit any two-dimensional graphic or text made during a class (even if made from body fluid), he soon discovered examples of “acts of resistance” in “student-initiated effort[s] to carve out a sense of place within the educational institution” (6). Not simply an ennui-prone teenager or a proto-surrealist trying to render some automatic writing from the fringes of cognition, a student doodling may represent contested space both in terms of the page itself and the ambience of the environment. The doodle indicates tension, and according to Kear, reflects students reclaiming “their own self-recognized voice” (6).In a widely referenced 1966 article (known as the “doodle” article) intended to describe the paragraph organisational styles of different cultures, Robert Kaplan used five doodles to investigate a writer’s thought patterns, which are rooted in cultural values. Now considered rather problematic by some critics after being adopted by educators for teacher-training materials, Kaplan’s doodles-as-models suggest, “English speakers develop their ideas in a linear, hierarchal fashion and ‘Orientals’ in a non-liner, spiral fashion…” (Severino 45). In turn, when used as pedagogical tools, these graphics, intentionally or not, may lead an “ethnocentric, assimilationist stance” (45). In this case, doodles likely shape the discourse of English as Second Language instruction. Doodles also represent a unique kind of “finger trace,” not unlike prints from the tips of a person’s fingers and snowflakes. Such symbol systems might be used for “a means of lightweight authentication,” according to Christopher Varenhorst of MIT (1). Doodles, he posits, can be used as “passdoodles"–a means by which a program can “quickly identify users.” They are singular expressions that are quirky and hard to duplicate; thus, doodles could serve as substitute methods of verifying people who desire devices that can safeguard their privacy without users having to rely on an ever-increasing number of passwords. Doodles may represent one such key. For many years, psychologists and psychiatrists have used doodles as therapeutic tools in their treatment of children that have endured hardship, ailments, and assault. They may indicate conditions, explain various symptoms and pathologies, and reveal patterns that otherwise may go unnoticed. For instance, doodles may “reflect a specific physical illness and point to family stress, accidents, difficult sibling relationships, and trauma” (Lowe 307). Lowe reports that children who create a doodle featuring their own caricature on the far side of the page, distant from an image of parent figures on the same page, may be experiencing detachment, while the portrayal of a father figure with “jagged teeth” may indicate a menace. What may be difficult to investigate in a doctor’s office conversation or clinical overview may, in fact, be gleaned from “the evaluation of a child’s spontaneous doodle” (307). So, if children are suffering physically or psychologically and unable to express themselves in a fully conscious and articulate way, doodles may reveal their “self-concept” and how they feel about their bodies; therefore, such creative and descriptive inroads are important diagnostic tools (307). Austrian born researcher Erich Guttman and his cohort Walter MacLay both pioneered art therapy in England during the mid-twentieth century. They posited doodles might offer some insight into the condition of schizophrenics. Guttman was intrigued by both the paintings associated with the Surrealist movement and the pioneering, much-debated work of Sigmund Freud too. Although Guttman mostly studied professionally trained artists who suffered from delusions and other conditions, he also collected a variety of art from patients, including those undergoing mescaline therapy, which alters a person’s consciousness. In a stroke of luck, they were able to convince a newspaper editor at the Evening Standard to provide them over 9,000 doodles that were provided by readers for a contest, each coded with the person’s name, age, and occupation. This invaluable data let the academicians compare the work of those hospitalised with the larger population. Their results, released in 1938, contain several key declarations and remain significant contributions to the field. Subsequently, Francis Reitman recounted them in his own book Psychotic Art: Doodles “release the censor of the conscious mind,” allowing a person to “relax, which to creative people was indispensable to production.”No appropriate descriptive terminology could be agreed upon.“Doodles are not communications,” for the meaning is only apparent when analysed individually.Doodles are “self-meaningful.” (37) Doodles, the authors also established, could be divided into this taxonomy: “stereotypy, ornamental details, movements, figures, faces and animals” or those “depicting scenes, medley, and mixtures” (37). The authors also noted that practitioners from the Jungian school of psychology often used “spontaneously produced drawings” that were quite “doodle-like in nature” in their own discussions (37). As a modern folklorist, I venture that doodles offer rich potential for our discipline as well. At this stage, I am offering a series of dictums, especially in regards to doodles that are commonly found adjacent to text in books and magazines, notebooks and journals, that may be expanded upon and investigated further. Doodles allow the reader to repopulate the text with ideogram-like expressions that are highly personalised, even inscrutable, like ambient sounds.Doodles re-purpose the text. The text no longer is unidirectional. The text becomes a point of convergence between writer and reader. The doodling allows for such a conversation, bilateral flow, or “talking back” to the text.Doodles reveal a secret language–informal codes that hearken back to the “lively, spontaneous, and charged with feeling” works of child art or naïve art that Victor Sanua discusses as being replaced in a child’s later years by art that is “stilted, formal, and conforming” (62).Doodling animates blank margins, the dead space of the text adjacent to the script, making such places ripe for spontaneous, fertile, and exploratory markings.Doodling reveals a democratic, participatory ethos. No text is too sacred, no narrative too inviolable. Anything can be reworked by the intimate graffiti of the reader. The authority of the book is not fixed; readers negotiate and form a second intelligence imprinted over the top of the original text, blurring modes of power.Doodles reveal liminal moments. Since the reader in unmonitored, he or she can express thoughts that may be considered marginal or taboo by the next reader. The original subject of the book itself does not restrict the reader. Thus, within the margins of the page, a brief suspension of boundaries and borders, authority and power, occurs. The reader hides in anonymity, free to reroute the meaning of the book. Doodling may convey a reader’s infantalism. Every book can become a picture book. This art can be the route returning a reader to the ambience of childhood.Doodling may constitute Illuminated/Painted Texts in reverse, commemorating the significance of the object in hitherto unexpected forms and revealing the reader’s codex. William Blake adorned his own poems by illuminating the skin/page that held his living verse; common readers may do so too, in naïve, nomadic, and primitive forms. Doodling demarcates tension zones, yielding social-historical insights into eras while offering psychological glimpses and displaying aesthetic values of readers-cum-writers.Doodling reveals margins as inter-zones, replete with psychogeography. While the typography is sanctioned, legitimate, normalised, and official discourse (“chartered” and “manacled,” to hijack lines from William Blake), the margins are a vernacular depository, a terminus, allowing readers a sense of agency and autonomy. The doodled page becomes a visible reminder and signifier: all pages are potentially “contested” spaces. Whereas graffiti often allows a writer to hide anonymously in the light in a city besieged by multiple conflicting texts, doodles allow a reader-cum-writer’s imprint to live in the cocoon of a formerly fossilised text, waiting for the light. Upon being opened, the book, now a chimera, truly breathes. Further exploration and analysis should likely consider several issues. What truly constitutes and shapes the role of agent and reader? Is the reader an agent all the time, or only when offering resistant readings through doodles? How is a doodler’s agency mediated by the author or the format of texts in forms that I have to map? Lastly, if, as I have argued, the ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page, what occurs in the age of digital or e-books? Will these platforms signal an age of acquiescence to manufactured products or signal era of vernacular responses, somehow hitched to html code and PDF file infiltration? Will bytes totally replace type soon in the future, shaping unforeseen actions by doodlers? Attached Figures Figure One presents the intimate graffiti of my grandfather, found in the 1907 edition of his McGuffey’s Eclectic Spelling Book. The depiction is simple, even crude, revealing a figure found on the adjacent page to Lesson 248, “Of Characters Used in Punctuation,” which lists the perfunctory functions of commas, semicolons, periods, and so forth. This doodle may offset the routine, rote, and rather humdrum memorisation of such grammatical tools. The smiling figure may embody and signify joy on an otherwise machine-made bare page, a space where my grandfather illustrated his desires (to lighten a mood, to ease dissatisfaction?). Historians Joe Austin and Michael Willard examine how youth have been historically left without legitimate spaces in which to live out their autonomy outside of adult surveillance. For instance, graffiti often found on walls and trains may reflect a sad reality: young people are pushed to appropriate “nomadic, temporary, abandoned, illegal, or otherwise unwatched spaces within the landscape” (14). Indeed, book graffiti, like the graffiti found on surfaces throughout cities, may offer youth a sense of appropriation, authorship, agency, and autonomy: they take the page of the book, commit their writing or illustration to the page, discover some freedom, and feel temporarily independent even while they are young and disempowered. Figure Two depicts the doodles of experimental filmmaker Jim Fetterley (Animal Charm productions) during his tenure as a student at the Art Institute of Chicago in the early 1990s. His two doodles flank the text of “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath, regarded by most readers as an autobiographical poem that addresses her own suicide attempts. The story of Lazarus is grounded in the Biblical story of John Lazarus of Bethany, who was resurrected from the dead. The poem also alludes to the Holocaust (“Nazi Lampshades”), the folklore surrounding cats (“And like the cat I have nine times to die”), and impending omens of death (“eye pits “ … “sour breath”). The lower doodle seems to signify a motorised tank-like machine, replete with a furnace or engine compartment on top that bellows smoke. Such ominous images, saturated with potential cartoon-like violence, may link to the World War II references in the poem. Meanwhile, the upper doodle seems to be curiously insect-like, and Fetterley’s name can be found within the illustration, just like Plath’s poem is self-reflexive and addresses her own plight. Most viewers might find the image a bit more lighthearted than the poem, a caricature of something biomorphic and surreal, but not very lethal. Again, perhaps this is a counter-message to the weight of the poem, a way to balance the mood and tone, or it may well represent the larval-like apparition that haunts the very thoughts of Plath in the poem: the impending disease of her mind, as understood by the wary reader. References Austin, Joe, and Michael Willard. “Introduction: Angels of History, Demons of Culture.” Eds. Joe Austion and Michael Willard. Generations of Youth: Youth Cultures and History in Twentieth-Century America. New York: NYU Press, 1998. “Doodling Gets Its Due: Those Tiny Artworks May Aid Memory.” World Science 2 March 2009. 15 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.world-science.net/othernews/090302_doodle›. Dundes, Alan. “Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia.” Papers of the Kroeber Anthropological Society 34: 91-105. Ensminger, David. “All Bottle Up: Reinterpreting the Culturescape of Grandma Prisbey.” Adironack Review 9.3 (Fall 2008). ‹http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/ensminger2.html›. Kear, Andrew. “Drawings in the Margins: Doodling in Class an Act of Reclamation.” Graduate Student Conference. University of Toronto, 2006. ‹http://gradstudentconference.oise.utoronto.ca/documents/185/Drawing%20in%20the%20Margins.doc›. Lowe, Sheila R. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis. New York: Alpha Books, 1999. Morton, Timothy. “‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ as an Ambient Poem; a Study of Dialectical Image; with Some Remarks on Coleridge and Wordsworth.” Romantic Circles Praxis Series (2001). 6 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.rc.umd.edu/praxis/ecology/morton/morton.html›. Potter, Russell A. Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism. Albany: State University of New York, 1995. Read, Allen Walker. Classic American Graffiti: Lexical Evidence from Folk Epigraphy in Western North America. Waukesha, Wisconsin: Maledicta Press, 1997. Reitman, Francis. Psychotic Art. London: Routledge, 1999. Sanua, Victor. “The World of Mystery and Wonder of the Schizophrenic Patient.” International Journal of Social Psychiatry 8 (1961): 62-65. Severino, Carol. “The ‘Doodles’ in Context: Qualifying Claims about Contrastive Rhetoric.” The Writing Center Journal 14.1 (Fall 1993): 44-62. Van Cleave, Claire. Master Drawings of the Italian Rennaissance. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 2007. Varenhost, Christopher. Passdoodles: A Lightweight Authentication Method. Research Science Institute. Cambridge, Mass.: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2004.

Literature—at least serious literature—is something that we work at. This is especially true within the academy. Literature departments are places where workers labour over texts carefully extracting and sharing meanings, for which they receive monetary reward. Specialised languages are developed to describe professional concerns. Over the last thirty years, the productions of mass culture, once regarded as too slight to warrant laborious explication, have been admitted to the academic workroom. Gothic studies—the specialist area that treats fearful and horrifying texts —has embraced the growing acceptability of devoting academic effort to texts that would once have fallen outside of the remit of “serious” study. In the seventies, when Gothic studies was just beginning to establish itself, there was a perception that the Gothic was “merely a literature of surfaces and sensations”, and that any Gothic of substantial literary worth had transcended the genre (Thompson 1). Early specialists in the field noted this prejudice; David Punter wrote of the genre’s “difficulty in establishing respectable credentials” (403), while Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick hoped her work would “make it easier for the reader of ‘respectable’ nineteenth-century novels to write ‘Gothic’ in the margin” (4). Gothic studies has gathered a modicum of this longed-for respectability for the texts it treats by deploying the methodologies used within literature departments. This has yielded readings that are largely congruous with readings of other sorts of literature; the Gothic text tells us things about ourselves and the world we inhabit, about power, culture and history. Yet the Gothic remains a production of popular culture as much as it is of the valorised literary field. I do not wish to argue for a reintroduction of the great divide described by Andreas Huyssen, but instead to suggest that we have missed something important about the ways in which popular Gothics—and perhaps other sorts of popular text—function. What if the popular Gothic were not a type of work, but a kind of play? How might this change the way we read these texts? Johan Huizinga noted that “play is not ‘ordinary’ or ‘real’ life. It is rather a stepping out of ‘real’ life into a temporary sphere of activity with a disposition all of its own. Every child knows perfectly well he is ‘only pretending’, or that it was ‘only for fun’” (8). If the Gothic sometimes offers playful texts, then those texts might direct readers not primarily towards the real, but away from it, at least for a limited time. This might help to account for the wicked spectacle offered by Dennis Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out, and in particular, its presentation of the black mass. The black mass is the parody of the Christian mass thought to be performed by witches and diabolists. Although it has doubtless been performed on rare occasions since the Middle Ages, the first black mass for which we have substantial documentary evidence was celebrated in Hampstead on Boxing Day 1918, by Montague Summers; it is a satisfying coincidence that Summers was one of the Gothic’s earliest scholars. We have record of Summer’s mass because it was watched by a non-participant, Anatole James, who was “bored to tears” as Summers recited tracts of Latin and practiced homosexual acts with a youth named Sullivan while James looked on (Medway 382-3). Summers claimed to be a Catholic priest, although there is some doubt as to the legitimacy of his ordination. The black mass ought to be officiated by a Catholic clergyman so the host may be transubstantiated before it is blasphemed. In doing so, the mass de-emphasises interpretive meaning and is an assault on the body of Christ rather than a mutilation of the symbol of Christ’s love and sacrifice. Thus, it is not conceived of primarily as a representational act but as actual violence. Nevertheless, Summers’ black mass seems like an elaborate form of sexual play more than spiritual warfare; by asking an acquaintance to observe the mass, Summers formulated the ritual as an erotic performance. The black mass was a favourite trope of the English Gothic of the nineteen-sixties and seventies. Dennis Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out features an extended presentation of the mass; it was first published in 1934, but had achieved a kind of genre-specific canonicity by the nineteen-sixties, so that many Gothics produced and consumed in the sixties and seventies featured depictions of the black mass that drew from Wheatley’s original. Like Summers, Wheatley’s mass emphasised licentious sexual practice and, significantly, featured a voyeur or voyeurs watching the performance. Where James only wished Summers’ mass would end, Wheatley and his followers presented the mass as requiring interruption before it reaches a climax. This version of the mass recurs in most of Wheatley’s black magic novels, but it also appears in paperback romances, such as Susan Howatch’s 1973 The Devil on Lammas Night; it is reimagined in the literate and genuinely eerie short stories of Robert Aickman, which are just now thankfully coming back into print; it appears twice in Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast books. Nor was the black mass confined to the written Gothic, appearing in films of the period too; The Kiss of the Vampire (1963), The Witches (1966), Satan’s Skin, aka Blood on Satan’s Claw (1970), The Wicker Man (1973), and The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1974) all feature celebrations of the Sabbat, as, of course do the filmed adaptations of Wheatley’s novels, The Devil Rides Out (1967) and To the Devil a Daughter (1975). More than just a key trope, the black mass was a procedure characteristic of the English Gothic of the sixties; narratives were structured so as to lead towards its performance. All of the texts mentioned above repeat narrative and trope, but more importantly, they loosely repeat experience, both for readers and the characters depicted. While Summers’ black mass apparently made for tiresome viewing, textual representations of the black mass typically embrace the pageant and sensuality of the Catholic mass it perverts, involving music, incense and spectacle. Often animalistic sex, bestiality, infanticide or human sacrifice are staged, and are intended to fascinate rather than bore. Although far from canonical in a literary sense, by 1969 Wheatley was an institution. He had sold 27 million books worldwide and around 70 percent of those had been within the British market. All of his 55 books were in print. A new Wheatley in hardcover would typically sell 30,000 copies, and paperback sales of his back catalogue stood at more than a million books a year. While Wheatley wrote thrillers in a range of different subgenres, at the end of the sixties it was his ‘black magic’ stories that were far and away the most popular. While moderately successful when first published, they developed their most substantial audience in the sixties. When The Satanist was published in paperback in 1966, it sold more than 100,000 copies in the first ten days. By 1973, five of these eight black magic titles had sold more than a million copies. The first of these was The Devil Rides Out which, although originally published in 1934, by 1973, helped by the Hammer film of 1967, had sold more than one and a half million copies, making it the most successful of the group (“Pooter”; Hedman and Alexandersson 20, 73). Wheatley’s black magic stories provide a good example of the way that texts persist and accumulate influence in a genre field, gaining genre-specific canonicity. Wheatley’s apparent influence on Gothic texts and films that followed, coupled with the sheer number of his books sold, indicate that he occupied a central position in the field, and that his approach to the genre became, for a time, a defining one. Wheatley’s black magic stories apparently developed a new readership in the sixties. The black mass perhaps became legible as a salacious, nightmarish version of some imaginary hippy gathering. While Wheatley’s Satanists are villainous, there is a vaguely progressive air about them; they listen to unconventional music, dance in the nude, participate in unconventional sexual practice, and glut themselves on various intoxicants. This, after all, was the age of Hair, Oh! Calcutta! and Oz magazine, “an era of personal liberation, in the view of some critics, one of moral anarchy” (Morgan 149). Without suggesting that the Satanists represent hippies there is a contextual relevancy available to later readers that would have been missing in the thirties. The sexual zeitgeist would have allowed later readers to pornographically and pleasurably imagine the liberated sexuality of the era without having to approve of it. Wheatley’s work has since become deeply, embarrassingly unfashionable. The books are racist, sexist, homophobic and committed to a basically fascistic vision of an imperial England, all of which will repel most casual readers. Nor do his works provide an especially good venue for academic criticism; all surface, they do not reward the labour of careful, deep reading. The Devil Rides Out narrates the story of a group of friends locked in a battle with the wicked Satanist Mocata, “a pot-bellied, bald headed person of about sixty, with large, protuberant, fishy eyes, limp hands, and a most unattractive lisp” (11), based, apparently, on the notorious occultist Aleister Crowley (Ellis 145-6). Mocata hopes to start a conflict on the scale of the Great War by performing the appropriate devilish rituals. Led by the aged yet spry Duke de Richleau and garrulous American Rex van Ryn, the friends combat Mocata in three substantial set pieces, including their attempt to disrupt the black mass as it is performed in a secluded field in Wiltshire. The Devil Rides Out is a ripping story. Wheatley’s narrative is urgent, and his simple prose suggests that the book is meant to be read quickly. Likewise, Wheatley’s protagonists do not experience in any real way the crises and collapses that so frequently trouble characters who struggle against the forces of darkness in Gothic narratives. Even when de Richlieu’s courage fails as he observes the Wiltshire Sabbat, this failure is temporary; Rex simply treats him as if he has been physically wounded, and the Duke soon rallies. The Devil Rides Out is remarkably free of trauma and its sequelæ. The morbid psychological states which often interest the twentieth century Gothic are excluded here in favour of the kind of emotional fortitude found in adventure stories. The effect is remarkable. Wheatley retains a cheerful tone even as he depicts the appalling, and potentially repellent representations become entertainments. Wheatley describes in remarkable detail the actions that his protagonists witness from their hidden vantage point. If the Gothic reader looks forward to gleeful blasphemy, then this is amply provided, in the sort of sardonic style that Lewis’ The Monk manages so well. A cross is half stomped into matchwood and inverted in the ground, the Christian host is profaned in a way too dreadful to be narrated, and the Duke informs us that the satanic priests are eating “a stillborn baby or perhaps some unfortunate child that they have stolen and murdered”. Rex is chilled by the sound of a human skull rattling around in their cauldron (117-20). The mass offers a special quality of experience, distinct from the everyday texture of life represented in the text. Ostensibly waiting for their chance to liberate their friend Simon from the action, the Duke and Rex are voyeurs, and readers participate in this voyeurism too. The narrative focus shifts from Rex and de Richlieu’s observation of the mass, to the wayward medium Tanith’s independent, bespelled arrival at the ritual site, before returning to the two men. This arrangement allows Wheatley to extend his description of the gathering, reiterating the same events from different characters’ perspectives. This would be unusual if the text were simply a thriller, and relied on the ongoing release of new information to maintain narrative interest. Instead, readers have the opportunity to “view” the salacious activity of the Satanists a second time. This repetition delays the climactic action of the scene, where the Duke and Rex rescue Simon by driving a car into the midst of the ritual. Moreover, the repetition suggests that the “thrill” on offer is not necessarily related to plot —it offers us nothing new —but instead to simply seeing the rite performed. Tanith, although conveyed to the mass by some dark power, is delayed and she too becomes a part of the mass’ audience. She saw the Satanists… tumbling upon each other in the disgusting nudity of their ritual dance. Old Madame D’Urfé, huge-buttocked and swollen, prancing by some satanic power with all the vigour of a young girl who had only just reached maturity; the Babu, dark-skinned, fleshy, hideous; the American woman, scraggy, lean-flanked and hag-like with empty, hanging breasts; the Eurasian, waving the severed stump of his arm in the air as he gavotted beside the unwieldy figure of the Irish bard, whose paunch stood out like the grotesque belly of a Chinese god. (132) The reader will remember that Madame D’Urfé is French, and that the cultists are dancing before the Goat of Mendes, who masquerades as Malagasy, earlier described by de Richlieu as “a ‘bad black’ if ever I saw one” (11). The human body is obsessively and grotesquely racialized; Wheatley is simultaneously at his most politically vile and aesthetically Goya-like. The physically grotesque meshes with the crudely sexual and racist. The Irishman is typed as a “bard” and somehow acquires a second racial classification, the Indian is horrible seemingly because of his race, and Madame D’Urfé is repulsive because her sexuality is framed as inappropriate to her age. The dancing crone is defined in terms of a younger, presumably sexually appealing, woman; even as she is denigrated, the reader is presented with a contrary image. As the sexuality of the Satanists is excoriated, titillation is offered. Readers may take whatever pleasure they like from the representations while simultaneously condemning them, or even affecting revulsion. A binary opposition is set up between de Richlieu’s company, who are cultured and moneyed, and the Satanists, who might masquerade as civilised, but reveal their savagery at the Sabbat. Their race becomes a further symptom of their lack of civilised qualities. The Duke complains to Rex that “there is little difference between this modern Satanism and Voodoo… We might almost be witnessing some heathen ceremony in an African jungle!” (115). The Satanists become “a trampling mass of bestial animal figures” dancing to music where, “Instead of melody, it was a harsh, discordant jumble of notes and broken chords which beat into the head with a horrible nerve-racking intensity and set the teeth continually on edge” (121). Music and melody are cultural constructions as much as they are mathematical ones. The breakdown of music suggests a breakdown of culture, more specifically, of Western cultural norms. The Satanists feast, with no “knives, forks, spoons or glasses”, but instead drink straight from bottles and eat using their hands (118). This is hardly transgression on the scale of devouring an infant, but emphasises that Satanism is understood to represent the antithesis of civilization, specifically, of a conservative Englishness. Bad table manners are always a sign of wickedness. This sort of reading is useful in that it describes the prejudices and politics of the text. It allows us to see the black mass as meaningful and places it within a wider discursive tradition making sense of a grotesque dance that combines a variety of almost arbitrary transgressive actions, staged in a Wiltshire field. This style of reading seems to confirm the approach to genre text that Fredric Jameson has espoused (117-9), which understands the text as reinforcing a hegemonic worldview within its readership. This is the kind of reading the academy often works to produce; it recognises the mass as standing for something more than the simple fact of its performance, and develops a coherent account of what the mass represents. The labour of reading discerns the work the text does out in the world. Yet despite the good sense and political necessity of this approach, my suggestion is that these observations are secondary to the primary function of the text because they cannot account for the reading experience offered by the Sabbat and the rest of the text. Regardless of text’s prejudices, The Devil Rides Out is not a book about race. It is a book about Satanists. As Jo Walton has observed, competent genre readers effortlessly grasp this kind of distinction, prioritising certain readings and elements of the text over others (33-5). Failing to account for the reading strategy presumed by author and audience risks overemphasising what is less significant in a text while missing more important elements. Crucially, a reading that emphasises the political implications of the Sabbat attributes meaning to the ritual; yet the ritual’s ability to hold meaning is not what is most important about it. By attributing meaning to the Sabbat, we miss the fact of the Sabbat itself; it has become a metaphor rather than a thing unto itself, a demonstration of racist politics rather than one of the central necessities of a black magic story. Seligman, Weller, Puett and Simon claim that ritual is usually read as having a social purpose or a cultural meaning, but that these readings presume that ritual is interested in presenting the world truthfully, as it is. Seligman and his co-authors take exception to this, arguing that ritual does not represent society or culture as they are and that ritual is “a subjunctive—the creation of an order as if it were truly the case” (20). Rather than simply reflecting history, society and culture, ritual responds to the disappointment of the real; the farmer performs a rite to “ensure” the bounty of the harvest not because the rite symbolises the true order of things, but as a consolation because sometimes the harvest fails. Interestingly, the Duke’s analysis of the Satanists’ motivations closely accords with Seligman et al.’s understanding of the need for ritual to console our anxieties and disappointments. For the cultists, the mass is “a release of all their pent-up emotions, and suppressed complexes, engendered by brooding over imagined injustice, lust for power, bitter hatred of rivals in love or some other type of success or good fortune” (121). The Satanists perform the mass as a response to the disappointment of the participant’s lives; they are ugly, uncivil outsiders and according to the Duke, “probably epileptics… nearly all… abnormal” (121). The mass allows them to feel, at least for a limited time, as if they are genuinely powerful, people who ought to be feared rather than despised, able to command the interest and favour of their infernal lord, to receive sexual attention despite their uncomeliness. Seligman et al. go on to argue ritual “must be understood as inherently nondiscursive—semantic content is far secondary to subjunctive creation.” Ritual “cannot be analysed as a coherent system of beliefs” (26). If this is so, we cannot expect the black mass to necessarily say anything coherent about Satanism, let alone racism. In fact, The Devil Rides Out tends not to focus on the meaning of the black mass, but on its performance. The perceivable facts of the mass are given, often in instructional detail, but any sense of what they might stand for remains unexplicated in the text. Indeed, taken individually, it is hard to make sense or meaning out of each of the Sabbat’s components. Why must a skull rattle around a cauldron? Why must a child be killed and eaten? If communion forms the most significant part of the Christian mass, we could presume that the desecration of the host might be the most meaningful part of the rite, but given the extensive description accorded the mass as a whole, the parody of communion is dealt with surprisingly quickly, receiving only three sentences. The Duke describes the act as “the most appalling sacrilege”, but it is left at that as the celebrants stomp the host into the ground (120). The action itself is emphasised over anything it might mean. Most of Wheatley’s readers will, I think, be untroubled by this. As Pierre Bourdieu noted, “the regularities inherent in an arbitrary condition… tend to appear as necessary, even natural, since they are the basis of the schemes of perception and appreciation through which they are apprehended” (53-4). Rather than stretching towards an interpretation of the Sabbat, readers simply accept it a necessary condition of a “black magic story”. While the genre and its tropes are constructed, they tend to appear as “natural” to readers. The Satanists perform the black mass because that is what Satanists do. The representation does not even have to be compelling in literary terms; it simply has to be a “proper” black mass. Richard Schechner argues that, when we are concerned with ritual, “Propriety”, that is, seeing the ritual properly executed, “is more important than artistry in the Euro-American sense” (178). Rather than describing the meaning of the ritual, Wheatley prefers to linger over the Satanist’s actions, their gluttonous feasting and dancing, their nudity. Again, these are actions that hold sensual qualities for their performers that exceed the simply discursive. Through their ritual behaviour they enter into atavistic and ecstatic states beyond everyday human consciousness. They are “hardly human… Their brains are diseased and their mentality is that of the hags and the warlocks of the middle ages…” and are “governed apparently by a desire to throw themselves back into a state of bestiality…” (117-8). They finally reach a state of “maniacal exaltation” and participate in an “intoxicated nightmare” (135). While the mass is being celebrated, the Satanists become an undifferentiated mass, their everyday identities and individuality subsumed into the subjunctive world created by the ritual. Simon, a willing participant, becomes lost amongst them, his individual identity given over to the collective, subjunctive state created by the group. Rex and the Duke are outside of this subjunctive world, expressing revulsion, but voyeuristically looking on; they retain their individual identities. Tanith is caught between the role played by Simon, and the one played by the Duke and Rex, as she risks shifting from observer to participant, her journey to the Sabbat being driven on by “evil powers” (135). These three relationships to the Sabbat suggest some of the strategies available to its readers. Like Rex and the Duke, we seem to observe the black mass as voyeurs, and still have the option of disapproving of it, but like Simon, the act of continuing to read means that we are participating in the representation of this perversity. Having committed to reading a “black magic story”, the reader’s procession towards the black mass is inevitable, as with Tanith’s procession towards it. Yet, just as Tanith is compelled towards it, readers are allowed to experience the Sabbat without necessarily having to see themselves as wanting to experience it. This facilitates a ludic, undiscursive reading experience; readers are not encouraged to seriously reflect on what the Sabbat means or why it might be a source of vicarious pleasure. They do not have to take responsibility for it. As much as the Satanists create a subjunctive world for their own ends, readers are creating a similar world for themselves to participate in. The mass—an incoherent jumble of sex and violence—becomes an imaginative refuge from the everyday world which is too regulated, chaste and well-behaved. Despite having substantial precedent in folklore and Gothic literature (see Medway), the black mass as it is represented in The Devil Rides Out is largely an invention. The rituals performed by occultists like Crowley were never understood by their participants as being black masses, and it was not until the foundation of the Church of Satan in San Francisco in the later nineteen-sixties that it seems the black mass was performed with the regularity or uniformity characteristic of ritual. Instead, its celebration was limited to eccentrics and dabblers like Summers. Thus, as an imaginary ritual, the black mass can be whatever its writers and readers need it to be, providing the opportunity to stage those actions and experiences required by the kind of text in which it appears. Because it is the product of the requirements of the text, it becomes a venue in which those things crucial to the text are staged; forbidden sexual congress, macabre ceremony, violence, the appearance of intoxicating and noisome scents, weird violet lights, blue candle flames and the goat itself. As we observe the Sabbat, the subjunctive of the ritual aligns with the subjunctive of the text itself; the same ‘as if’ is experienced by both the represented worshippers and the readers. The black mass offers an analogue for the black magic story, providing, almost in digest form, the images and experiences associated with the genre at the time. Seligman et al. distinguish between modes that they term the sincere and the ritualistic. Sincerity describes an approach to reading the world that emphasises the individual subject, authenticity, and the need to get at “real” thought and feeling. Ritual, on the other hand, prefers community, convention and performance. The “sincere mode of behavior seeks to replace the ‘mere convention’ of ritual with a genuine and thoughtful state of internal conviction” (103). Where the sincere is meaningful, the ritualistic is practically oriented. In The Devil Rides Out, the black mass, a largely unreal practice, must be regarded as insincere. More important than any “meaning” we might extract from the rite is the simple fact of participation. The individuality and agency of the participants is apparently diminished in the mass, and their regular sense of themselves is recovered only as the Duke and Rex desperately drive the Duke’s Hispano into the ritual so as to halt it. The car’s lights dispel the subjunctive darkness and reduce the unified group to a gathering of confused individuals, breaking the spell of naughtily enabling darkness. Just as the meaningful aspect of the mass is de-emphasised for ritual participants, for readers, self and discursive ability are de-emphasised in favour of an immersive, involving reading experience; we keep reading the mass without pausing to really consider the mass itself. It would reduce our pleasure in and engagement with the text to do so; the mass would be revealed as obnoxious, unpleasant and nonsensical. When we read the black mass we tend to put our day-to-day values, both moral and aesthetic, to one side, bracketing our sincere individuality in favour of participation in the text. If there is little point in trying to interpret Wheatley’s black mass due to its weakly discursive nature, then this raises questions of how to approach the text. Simply, the “work” of interpretation seems unnecessary; Wheatley’s black mass asks to be regarded as a form of play. Simply, The Devil Rides Out is a venue for a particular kind of readerly play, apart from the more substantial, sincere concerns that occupy most literary criticism. As Huizinga argued that, “Play is distinct from ‘ordinary’ life both as to locality and duration… [A significant] characteristic of play [is] its secludedness, its limitedness” (9). Likewise, by seeing the mass as a kind of play, we can understand why, despite the provocative and transgressive acts it represents, it is not especially harrowing as a reading experience. Play “lies outside the antithesis of wisdom and folly, and equally outside those of truth and falsehood, good and evil…. The valuations of vice and virtue do not apply...” (Huizinga 6). The mass might well offer barbarism and infanticide, but it does not offer these to its readers “seriously”. The subjunctive created by the black mass for its participants on the page is approximately equivalent to the subjunctive Wheatley’s text proposes to his readers. The Sabbat offers a tawdry, intoxicated vision, full of strange performances, weird lights, queer music and druggy incenses, a darkened carnival apart from the real that is, despite its apparent transgressive qualities and wretchedness, “only playing”. References Bourdieu, Pierre. The Logic of Practice. Trans. Richard Nice. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1990. Ellis, Bill. Raising the Devil: Satanism, New Religions, and the Media. Lexington: The UP of Kentucky, 2000. Hedman, Iwan, and Jan Alexandersson. Four Decades with Dennis Wheatley. DAST Dossier 1. Köping 1973. Huyssen, Andreas. After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana UP, 1986. Jameson, Fredric. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. London: Routledge, 1989. Huizinga, J. Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture. International Library of Sociology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1949. Medway, Gareth J. The Lure of the Sinister: The Unnatural History of Satanism. New York: New York UP, 2001. “Pooter.” The Times 19 August 1969: 19. Punter, David. The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Day. London: Longman, 1980. Schechner, Richard. Performance Theory. Revised and Expanded ed. New York: Routledge, 1988. Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. The Coherence of Gothic Conventions. 1980. New York: Methuen, 1986. Seligman, Adam B, Robert P. Weller, Michael J. Puett and Bennett Simon. Ritual and Its Consequences: An Essay on the Limits of Sincerity. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. Thompson, G.R. Introduction. “Romanticism and the Gothic Imagination.” The Gothic Imagination: Essays in Dark Romanticism. Ed. G.R. Thompson. Pullman: Washington State UP, 1974. 1-10. Wheatley, Dennis. The Devil Rides Out. 1934. London: Mandarin, 1996.

Swine semantics erupted into a linguistic battle between the two U.S. presidential candidates in the 2008 campaign over a lesser-known colloquialism “lipstick on a pig” reference in a speech by then Democratic presidential candidate, Barack Obama. This resulted in the Republicans sparring with the Democrats over the identification of the “swine” in question, claiming “sexism” and demanding an apology on behalf of then Governor Sarah Palin, the first female Republican vice presidential candidate. The Republican Party, fearful of being criticised for its own sexist and racist views (Kuhn par. 1), seized the opportunity to attack the Democrats with a proactive media campaign that made the lipstick comment a lead story in the media during a critical time less than two months before the election, derailing more serious campaign issues and focusing attention on Palin, who had just made her national political debut and whose level of experience was widely debated. Leskovec, Backstrom, and Kleinberg conducted a meme-tracking study for analysing news-cycle phrases in approximately 90 million stories from 1.6 million online sites spanning mainstream news to blogs during the final three months of the U.S. presidential election (1). They discovered that “lipstick on a pig” was “stickier” than other phrases and received “unexpectedly high popularity” (4). A simple Google search of “lipstick on a pig” resulted in 244,000 results, with more than half originating in 2008. Obama’s “Lipstick on a Pig” Reference During the final rounds of the 2008 U.S. presidential campaign, Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama’s words at a widely televised campaign stop in Lebanon, Virginia, on 9 September, sparked a linguistic debate between the two major American political parties 56 days before Election Day. Obama attempted to debunk McCain’s strategy about change in the following statement:John McCain says he’s about change, too. [...] And so I guess his whole angle is, watch out, George Bush. Except for economic policy, healthcare policy, tax policy, education policy, foreign policy, and Karl Rove-style politics [...] That’s not change. That’s just calling some—the same thing, something different. But you know [...] you can put [...] lipstick on a pig. It’s still a pig (“Obama’s Take”).A reporter from The New York Times commented that it was clear to the audience that Obama’s “lipstick” phrase was a direct reference to McCain’s policies (Zeleny par. 5). Known as a well-educated, articulate speaker, perhaps one considered too professorial for mainstream America, Obama attempted to inject more folksy language and humour into his dialogue with the public. However, the Republicans interpreted the metaphor quite differently. Republicans Claim “Sexism” from a “Male Chauvinist Pig” The Republican contender John McCain and his entourage immediately took offence, claiming that the “pig” in question was a sexist comment referring to Palin, who was introduced on 29 August as the first female vice presidential candidate on the Republican ticket (“VP Pick”). A Republican National Committee spokeswoman quickly told the media, “Sarah Palin’s maverick record of reform doesn’t need any ‘dressing up,’ but the Obama campaign’s condescending commentary deserves some dressing down” (Chozick par. 8). McCain’s camp formed the Palin Truth Squad with 54 Republican women, primarily lawyers and politicians, on the same day as the metaphor was used, to counter negative media and Internet commentary about Palin (Harper A13). Almost immediately after Obama’s “lipstick” comment, McCain’s camp conducted a conference call with journalists and former Massachusetts Governor Jane Swift, a Republican and chair of the Palin Truth Squad, who stated the lipstick comment referred to Palin, “the only one of the four—the presidential and vice presidential candidates—who wears lipstick” (Kornblut and Shear par. 12). Another member of the Squad, Thelma Drake, then a Republican Representative from Virginia, said that “it’s hard for Barack Obama to paint himself as the agent of change if he harbors the same mindset that Palin and millions of women just like her, have been fighting against their whole lives” (Applegate par. 8). Swift and others also claimed Obama was referring to Palin since she had herself used a lipstick metaphor during her Republican National Convention speech, 3 Sepember: “I love those hockey moms. You know, they say the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick” (“Palin’s Speech” par. 26). The Republicans also created an anti-Obama Web ad with the theme, “Ready to Lead? No. Ready to Smear? Yes,“ (Weisman and Slevin A01) with a compilation of video clips of Palin’s “lipstick” joke, followed by the latter part of Obama's “lipstick” speech, and CBS News anchorwoman, Katie Couric, talking about “sexism” in politics, that latter of which referred to an older clip referring to Hillary Clinton’s campaign for the White House. Both clips on Obama and Couric were taken out of context. CBS retaliated and released a statement that the network “does not endorse any candidate” and that “any use of CBS personnel in political advertising that suggests the contrary is misleading” (Silva par. 8). YouTube pulled the Republican Web ads stating that the cause was “due to a copyright claim” (Silva par. 7). Another porcine phrase became linked to Obama—“male chauvinist pig”—an expression that evolved as an outgrowth of the feminist movement in the 1960s and first appeared with the third word, “pig,” in the media in 1970 (Mansbridge and Flaster 261). BlogHer, a blog for women, posted “Liberal Chauvinist Pigs,” on the same day as Obama's speech, asking: “Does the expression male chauvinist pig come to mind?” (Leary par. 5) Other conservative blogs also reflected on this question, painting Obama as a male chauvinist pig, and chastising both the liberal media and the Democrats for questioning Palin’s credentials as a viable vice presidential candidate. Obama “Sexist Pig Gear” protest tee-shirts, buttons, and bumper stickers were sold online by Zazzle.com. Democratic Response to “Controversy” During a campaign stop in Norfolk, Virginia, the day after his “lipstick” comment, Obama called the Republican backlash the “latest made-up controversy by the John McCain campaign” and appealed for a return to more serious topics with “enough” of “foolish diversions” (“Obama Hits”). He stated that the Republicans “seize on an innocent remark, try to take it out of context, throw up an outrageous ad, because they know it’s catnip for the news media” (“Obama Hits”). Obama also referred to the situation as the “silly season of politics” in media interviews (James par. 8). Obama’s spokespeople rallied claiming that McCain played the “gender card about the use of a common analogy” (Kornblut and Shear par. 6). An Obama campaign spokesman distributed to the media copies of articles from a Chicago Tribune story in 2007 in which McCain applied the lipstick analogy about the healthcare strategy of Hillary Clinton, a previous female Democratic presidential contender (Chozick 11). Another Obama spokeswoman said that the porcine expression “was older than my grandfather’s grandfather,” (Zimmer par. 1) which also inspired the media and linguists to further investigate this claim. Evolution of “Lipstick on a Pig” This particular colloquial use of a “pig” evolved from a long history of porcine expressions in American politics. American political discourse has been rich with cultural references to porcine idioms with negative connotations. Pork barrels were common 19th-century household items used to store salt pork, and some plantation owners doled out the large barrels as rewards to slaves who then had to compete with each other to grab a portion (Maxey 693). In post-Civil War America, “pork barrel” became a political term for legislative bills “loaded with special projects for Members of Congress to distribute to their constituents back home as an act of largesse, courtesy of the federal taxpayer” (“Pork Barrel Legislation”). Today, “pork barrel” is widely used in the U.S., Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and other countries (“Definition Pork Barrel”) to refer to “government projects or appropriations yielding rich patronage benefits” (“Pork Barrel”). Conservative radio personality Rush Limbaugh coined the term, “porkulus,” as another expression for “pork barrel” by merging the words “pork and “stimulus,” while discussing President Obama’s economic stimulus package in January 2009 (Kuntz par. 1). Ben Zimmer, an American lexicologist, explained that “many porcine proverbs describe vain attempts at converting something from ugly to pretty, or from useless to useful” (par. 2). Zimmer and other writers investigated the heritage of “lipstick on a pig” over the past 500 years from “you can't make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” “a hog in armour is still a hog,” and “a hog in a silk waistcoat is still a hog.” Zimmer connected the dots between the words “lipstick,” a 19th-century invention, and “pig” to a Los Angeles Times editor in 1926 who wrote: “Most of us know as much of history as a pig does of lipsticks” (par. 3). American Politicians Who Have Smeared “Lipstick on a Pig” Which American politicians had used “lipstick on a pig” before Obama? Both Democrats and Republicans have coloured their speech with this colloquialism to refer to specific issues, not specific people. In 2008, Elizabeth Edwards, wife of presidential hopeful John Edwards, used the porcine expression about McCain’s healthcare proposals at a Democratic campaign event and House Minority Leader John Boehner, a Republican, about weak Republican fundraising efforts during the same month (Covington and Curry par. 7-8). McCain ironically used the term twice to criticise Hillary Clinton’s healthcare proposals as “lipstick on a pig,” while they were both campaigning in 2007 (Covington and Curry par. 6). His statement received limited attention at the time. During a telephone interview in 2007, Obama also had used the pig analogy when referring to an “impossible assignment” George W. Bush gave to General Petraeus, who was then serving as the Multinational Forces Iraq Commander (Tapper par. 15). In 2004, Republican Vice President Richard Cheney applied a regional slant: “As we like to say in Wyoming, you can put all the lipstick you want on a pig, but at the end of the day it's still a pig,” about the national defence record of John Kerry, then a Democratic presidential nominee (Covington and Curry par. 4). A few months earlier that year, John Edwards, Democratic vice presidential candidate, scolded the Bush administration for putting “lipstick on a pig” on “lackluster job-creation numbers” (Covington and Curry par. 3). Representative Charles Rangel, a Democrat, identified the “pig” as a tax bill the same year (Siegel par. 15-16). In 1992, the late Governor of Texas, Ann Richards, a Democrat, who was known for colourful phrases, gave the pig a name when she said: “You can put lipstick on a hog and call it Monique, but it is still a pig,” referring to the Republican administration for deploying warships to protect oil tankers in the Middle East, effectively subsidizing foreign oil (Zimmer par. 4). A year earlier, when she introduced her first budget for Texas, she said: “This is not another one of those deals where you put lipstick on a hog and call it a princess” (Zimmer par. 4). The earliest reputed recorded use of an American politician using the phrase was Texas Democrat Jim Hightower, who applied it to depict the reorganisation of Ronald Reagan's Cabinet in 1986 (Macintyre 16). Time magazine reporters (Covington and Curry par. 2) and Zimmer (par. 3) claimed that a San Francisco radio personality, Ron Lyons, was one of the earliest quoted in print with “lipstick on a pig” about renovation plans for a local park in November 1985 in the Washington Post. Author of the Double-Tongued Dictionary, Grant Barrett, uncovered a 1980 article from a small Washington state newspaper as the earliest written record with an article that stated: “You can clean up a pig, put a ribbon on it’s [sic] tail, spray it with perfume, but it is still a pig” (Guzman par. 7). A book on communication also adopted the pig metaphor in its title in 2006, Lipstick on a Pig: Winning in the No-Spin Era by Someone Who Knows the Game, by Torie Clarke, who previously served as Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs under Donald Rumsfield during the early years of the G.W. Bush Administration. Media Commentary According to The New York Times (Leibovich and Barrett), “lipstick on a pig” was one of the most popular political buzzwords and phrases of 2008, along with others directly referring to Palin, “Caribou Barbie” and “Hockey Mom,” as well as “Maverick,” a popular term used by both McCain and Palin. Many journalists played on the metaphor to express disdain for negative political campaigns. A Wall Street Journal article asked: “What's the difference between a more hopeful kind of politics and old-fashioned attacks? Lipstick” (Chozick par. 1). International media also covered the Obama-McCain lipstick wars. The Economist, for example, wrote that the “descent of American politics into pig wrestling has dismayed America’s best friends abroad” (“Endless Culture War” par. 6). Bloggers claimed that Obama’s “lipstick” speech was influenced by copy and imagery from two leading American cartoonists. The Free Republic, self-acclaimed to be “the premier online gathering place for independent, grass-roots conservatism” (Freerepublic.com), claimed that Obama plagiarized almost verbatim the language leading into the “pig” comment from a Tom Toles cartoon that ran in the Washington Post on 5 Sepember (see fig. 1).Fig. 1. Toles, Tom. Cartoon. Washington Post. 5 Sep. 2008. 30 July 2010 Another cartoon by R. J. Matson appeared in the St. Louis Post Dispatch (see fig. 2) four days before Obama’s speech that depicted Palin not just as a pig wearing lipstick, but as one using pork barrel funding. The cartoon’s caption provides an interpretation of Palin's lipstick analogy: “Question: What’s the Difference Between a Hockey Mom Reformer and a Business-As-Usual Pork Barrel-Spending Politician? Answer: Lipstick.” Newsbusters.org blogger stated: “It’s not too far-fetched to say Team Obama is cribbing his stump speech laugh lines from the liberal funnies” (Shepherd par. 3). Fig 2. Matson, R. J. Cartoon. St. Louis Post Dispatch. 5 Sep. 2008. 30 July 2010 . A porcine American character known for heavy makeup and a starring role as one of the Muppets created by puppeteer Jim Henson in the 1970s, Miss Piggy still remains an American icon. She commented on the situation during an interview on the set of “Today,” an American television program. When the interviewer asked, “Were you surprised by all the hubbub this election season over your lipstick practices?,” Miss Piggy’s response was “Moi will not dignify that with a response” (Raphael par. 6-7). Concluding Comments The 2008 U.S. presidential election presented new players in the arena: the first African-American in a leading party and the first female Republican. During a major election, words used by candidates are widely scrutinised and, in this case, the “lipstick on a pig” phrase was misconstrued by the opposing party, known for conservative values, that latched onto the opportunity to level a charge of sexism against the more liberal party. Vocabulary about gender, like language about race, can become a “minefield” (Givhan M01). With today’s 24/7 news cycle and the blogosphere, the perceived significance of a political comment, whether innocent or not, is magnified through repeated analysis and commentary. The meme-tracking study by Leskovec, Backstrom, and Kleinberg observed that 2.5 hours was the typical time lag between stories originating in mainstream media and reaching the blogosphere (8); whereas only 3.5 percent of the stories began in blogs and later permeated into traditional media (9). An English author of the history of clichés and language, Julia Cresswell, stated that the “lipstick” term “seems to be another candidate for clichéhood” (61). Although usage of clichés can prove to cause complications as in the case of Obama’s lipstick reference, Obama was able to diffuse the Republican backlash quickly and make a plea to return to serious issues affecting voters. David Greenberg analysed Obama’s presidential win and explained: And although other factors, especially the tanking economy, obviously contributed more directly to his November victory, it would be a mistake to overlook the importance of his skill at mastering the politics of negative attacks. When Obama went negative against others, he carefully singled out aspects of his opponents’ characters that, he argued, American politics itself had to transcend; he associated his foes with the worst of the old politics and himself with the best of the new. When others fired at him, in contrast, he was almost always able to turn the criticisms back upon them—through feigned outrage, among other tactics—as perpetuating those selfsame blights on our politics (70). References Applegate, Aaron. “Rep. Drake Criticizes Obama for ‘Lipstick on a Pig’ Remark.” Virginia Pilot 10 Sep. 2008. 28 Jul. 2010. Chozick, Amy. “Obama Puts Different Twist on Lipstick.” Wall Street Journal 9 Sep. 2008. 30 Jul. 2010. Covington, Marti, and Maya Curry. “A Brief History of: ‘Putting Lipstick on a Pig.’” Time 11 Sep. 2008. 17 May 2010. Cresswell, Julia. “Let’s Hear it for the Cliché.” British Journalism Review 19.57 (2008): 57-61. “Endless Culture War.” The Economist 4 Oct. 2008: ABI/INFORM Global, ProQuest. 30 Jul. 2010. “Definition Pork Barrel.” Webster’s Online Dictionary. 30 Jul. 2010. freerepublic.com. “Welcome to Free Republic.” Free Republic 2009. 30 Jul. 2010. Givhan, Robin. “On the Subject of Race, Words Get in the Way.” Washington Post 20 Jan. 2008: M01. Greenberg, David. “Accentuating the Negative.” Dissent 56.2 (2009): 70-75. Guzman, Monica. “‘Lipstick on a Pig’ Finds Origin in Tiny State Newspaper.” Seattlepi.com 10 Sep. 2008. 17 May 2010. Harper, Jennifer. “Obama Comment Offends GOP Women; ‘Palin Truth Squad’ Sent Out to Counter ‘Lipstick on a Pig’ Remark.” Washington Times 10 Sep. 2008: A13. Huston, Warner Todd. “Did Obama Steal His Lip Stick on a Pig From a Political Cartoon?” Newsbusters.org 10 Sep. 2008. 15 Jul. 2010 . James, Frank. “Barack Obama on David Letterman.” Chicago Tribune 11 Sep. 2008. 15 Jul. 2010 http://www.swamppolitics.com/news/politics/blog/2008/09/barack_obama_on_david_letterma.html>. Kornblut, Anne E., and Michael D. Shear. “McCain Camp Sees an Insult in a Saying.” Washington Post 10 Sep. 2008. 30 Jul. 2010 AR2008090903531.html>. Kuhn, David P. “GOP Fears Charges of Racism, Sexism.” Politico.com 23 Feb. 2008. 4 Oct. 2010. Kuntz, Tom. “Porkulus.” NYTimes.com 8 Feb. 2009. 30 Jul. 2010. Leary, Anne. “Liberal Chauvinist Pigs.” BlogHer 9 Sep. 2008. 2 Oct. 2010. Leibovich, Mark, and Grant Barrett. “The Buzzwords of 2008.” New York Times 21 Dec. 2008. 29 Jul. 2010 http://www.nytimes.com/ref/weekinreview/buzzwords2008.html>. Leskovec, Jure, Lars Backstrom, and Jon Kleinberg. “Meme-tracking and the Dynamics of the News Cycle.” ACM SIGKDD International Conference on Knowledge Discovery and Data Mining, Paris, 28 Jun. 2009. 30 Jul. 2010 . Macintyre, Ben. “US Politics is Littered with Dawgs, Crawdaddys and Pigs in Lipstick.” The Times [London] 27 Sep. 2008: 16. Mansbridge, Jane, and Katherine Flaster. “Male Chauvinist, Feminist, Sexist, and Sexual Harassment: Different Trajectories in Feminist Linguistic Innovation.” American Speech 80.3 (Fall 2005): 256-279. Maxey, Chester Collins. “A Little History of Pork.” National Municipal Review, Volume VIII. Concord: Rumford Press, 1919. Google Books. 30 Jul. 2010. “Obama Hits Back Against McCain Campaign.” MSNBC 10 Sep. 2008. Televised Speech. 18 May 2010. “Obama’s Take on McCain's Version of Change.” CNN 9 Sep. 2009. YouTube.com. 17 May 2010. “Palin’s Speech at the Republican National Convention.” New York Times 3 Sep. 2008. 17 May 2010. “Pork Barrel.” Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary 2010. 30 Jul. 2010. “Pork Barrel Legislation.” C-SPAN Congressional Glossary. c-span.org. 17 May 2010. Raphael, Rina. “Miss Piggy: Obama Should Make Poodle First Pet” Today 13 Nov. 2008. MSNBC.com. 29 Jul. 2010. Shepherd, Ken. “Palin Shown As Lipsticked Pig in Cartoon Days Before Obama Remark.” NewsBusters.org 11 Sep. 2008. 30 Jul. 2010 . Siegel, Robert. “Putting Lipstick on a Pig.” National Public Radio 10 Sep. 2008. 16 Jul. 2010. Silva, Mark. “Katie Couric's 'Lipstick' Rescue: CBS.” Chicago Tribune 11 Sep. 2008. 30 Jul. 2010. Tapper, Jack. “A Piggish Debate: Power, Pop, and Probings from ABC News Senior White House Correspondent Jake Tapper.” ABC News 9 Sep. 2008. 29 Jul. 2010. “VP Pick Palin Makes Appeal to Women Voters.” NBC News, msnbc.com, and Associated Press 28 Aug. 2008. 30 Jul. 2010. Weisman, Jonathan, and Peter Slevin. “McCain Camp Hits Obama on More Than One Front.” Washington Post 11 Sep. 2008: A04. Zeleny, Jeff. “Feeling a Challenge, Obama Sharpens His Silver Tongue.” New York Times 10 Sep. 2008. 27 Jul. 2010. Zimmer, Ben. “Who First Put ‘Lipstick on a Pig’?” The Slate 10 Sep. 2008. 17 May 2010.

While the television cooking genre has evolved in numerous ways to withstand competition and become a constant feature in television programming (Collins and College), it has been argued that audience demand for televisual cooking has always been high because of the daily importance of cooking (Hamada, “Multimedia Integration”). Early cooking shows were characterised by an instructional discourse, before quickly embracing an entertainment focus; modern cooking shows take on a more competitive, out of the kitchen focus (Collins and College). The genre has continued to evolve, with celebrity chefs and ordinary people embracing transmedia affordances to return to the instructional focus of the early cooking shows. While the television cooking show is recognised for its broad cultural impacts related to gender (Ouellette and Hay), cultural capital (Ibrahim; Oren), television formatting (Oren), and even communication itself (Matwick and Matwick), its role in the widespread adoption of television captions is significantly underexplored. Even the fact that a cooking show was the first ever program captioned on American television is almost completely unremarked within cooking show histories and literature.A Brief History of Captioning WorldwideWhen captions were first introduced on US television in the early 1970s, programmers were guided by the general principle to make the captioned program “accessible to every deaf viewer regardless of reading ability” (Jensema, McCann and Ramsey 284). However, there were no exact rules regarding captioning quality and captions did not reflect verbatim what was said onscreen. According to Jensema, McCann and Ramsey (285), less than verbatim captioning continued for many years because “deaf people were so delighted to have captions that they accepted almost anything thrown on the screen” (see also Newell 266 for a discussion of the UK context).While the benefits of captions for people who are D/deaf or hard of hearing were immediate, its commercial applications also became apparent. When the moral argument that people who were D/deaf or hard of hearing had a right to access television via captions proved unsuccessful in the fight for legislation, advocates lobbied the US Congress about the mainstream commercial benefits such as in education and the benefits for people learning English as a second language (Downey). Activist efforts and hard-won legal battles meant D/deaf and hard of hearing viewers can now expect closed captions on almost all television content. With legislation in place to determine the provision of captions, attention began to focus on their quality. D/deaf viewers are no longer just delighted to accept anything thrown on the screen and have begun to demand verbatim captioning. At the same time, market-based incentives are capturing the attention of television executives seeking to make money, and the widespread availability of verbatim captions has been recognised for its multimedia—and therefore commercial—applications. These include its capacity for information retrieval (Miura et al.; Agnihotri et al.) and for creative repurposing of television content (Blankinship et al.). Captions and transcripts have been identified as being of particular importance to augmenting the information provided in cooking shows (Miura et al.; Oh et al.).Early Captions in the US: Julia Child’s The French ChefJulia Child is indicative of the early period of the cooking genre (Collins and College)—she has been described as “the epitome of the TV chef” (ray 53) and is often credited for making cooking accessible to American audiences through her onscreen focus on normalising techniques that she promised could be mastered at home (ray). She is still recognised for her mastery of the genre, and for her capacity to entertain in a way that stood out from her contemporaries (Collins and College; ray).Julia Child’s The French Chef originally aired on the US publicly-funded Public Broadcasting System (PBS) affiliate WBGH from 1963–1973. The captioning of television also began in the 1960s, with educators creating the captions themselves, mainly for educational use in deaf schools (Downey 70). However, there soon came calls for public television to also be made accessible for the deaf and hard of hearing—the debate focused on equality and pushed for recognition that deaf people were culturally diverse (Downey 70).The PBS therefore began a trial of captioning programs (Downey 71). These would be “open captions”—characters which were positioned on the screen as part of the normal image for all viewers to see (Downey 71). The trial was designed to determine both the number of D/deaf and hard of hearing people viewing the program, as well as to test if non-D/deaf and hard of hearing viewers would watch a program which had captions (Downey 71). The French Chef was selected for captioning by WBGH because it was their most popular television show in the early 1970s and in 1972 eight episodes of The French Chef were aired using open—albeit inconsistent—captions (Downey 71; Jensema et al. 284).There were concerns from some broadcasters that openly captioned programs would drive away the “hearing majority” (Downey 71). However, there was no explicit study carried out in 1972 on the viewers of The French Chef to determine if this was the case because WBGH ran out of funds to research this further (Downey 71). Nevertheless, Jensema, McCann and Ramsey (284) note that WBGH did begin to re-broadcast ABC World News Tonight in the 1970s with open captions and that this was the only regularly captioned show at the time.Due to changes in technology and fears that not everyone wanted to see captions onscreen, television’s focus shifted from open captions to closed captioning in the 1980s. Captions became encoded, with viewers needing a decoder to be able to access them. However, the high cost of the decoders meant that many could not afford to buy them and adoption of the technology was slow (Youngblood and Lysaght 243; Downey 71). In 1979, the US government had set up the National Captioning Institute (NCI) with a mandate to develop and sell these decoders, and provide captioning services to the networks. This was initially government-funded but was designed to eventually be self-sufficient (Downey 73).PBS, ABC and NBC (but not CBS) had agreed to a trial (Downey 73). However, there was a reluctance on the part of broadcasters to pay to caption content when there was not enough evidence that the demand was high (Downey 73—74). The argument for the provision of captioned content therefore began to focus on the rights of all citizens to be able to access a public service. A complaint was lodged claiming that the Los Angeles station KCET, which was a PBS affiliate, did not provide captioned content that was available elsewhere (Downey 74). When Los Angeles PBS station KCET refused to air captioned episodes of The French Chef, the Greater Los Angeles Council on Deafness (GLAD) picketed the station until the decision was reversed. GLAD then focused on legislation and used the Rehabilitation Act to argue that television was federally assisted and, by not providing captioned content, broadcasters were in violation of the Act (Downey 74).GLAD also used the 1934 Communications Act in their argument. This Act had firstly established the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and then assigned them the right to grant and renew broadcast licenses as long as those broadcasters served the ‘‘public interest, convenience, and necessity’’ (Michalik, cited in Downey 74). The FCC could, argued GLAD, therefore refuse to renew the licenses of broadcasters who did not air captioned content. However, rather than this argument working in their favour, the FCC instead changed its own procedures to avoid such legal actions in the future (Downey 75). As a result, although some stations began to voluntarily caption more content, it was not until 1996 that it became a legally mandated requirement with the introduction of the Telecommunications Act (Youngblood and Lysaght 244)—too late for The French Chef.My Kitchen Rules: Captioning BreachWhereas The French Chef presented instructional cooking programming from a kitchen set, more recently the food genre has moved away from the staged domestic kitchen set as an instructional space to use real-life domestic kitchens and more competitive multi-bench spaces. The Australian program MKR straddles this shift in the cooking genre with the first half of each season occurring in domestic settings and the second half in Iron Chef style studio competition (see Oren for a discussion of the influence of Iron Chef on contemporary cooking shows).All broadcast channels in Australia are mandated to caption 100 per cent of programs aired between 6am and midnight. However, the 2013 MKR Grand Final broadcast by Channel Seven Brisbane Pty Ltd and Channel Seven Melbourne Pty Ltd (Seven) failed to transmit 10 minutes of captions some 30 minutes into the 2-hour program. The ACMA received two complaints relating to this. The first complaint, received on 27 April 2013, the same evening as the program was broadcast, noted ‘[the D/deaf community] … should not have to miss out’ (ACMA, Report No. 3046 3). The second complaint, received on 30 April 2013, identified the crucial nature of the missing segment and its effect on viewers’ overall enjoyment of the program (ACMA, Report No. 3046 3).Seven explained that the relevant segment (approximately 10 per cent of the program) was missing from the captioning file, but that it had not appeared to be missing when Seven completed its usual captioning checks prior to broadcast (ACMA, Report No. 3046 4). The ACMA found that Seven had breached the conditions of their commercial television broadcasting licence by “failing to provide a captioning service for the program” (ACMA, Report No. 3046 12). The interruption of captioning was serious enough to constitute a breach due, in part, to the nature and characteristic of the program:the viewer is engaged in the momentum of the competitive process by being provided with an understanding of each of the competition stages; how the judges, guests and contestants interact; and their commentaries of the food and the cooking processes during those stages. (ACMA, Report No. 3046 6)These interactions have become a crucial part of the cooking genre, a genre often described as offering a way to acquire cultural capital via instructions in both cooking and ideological food preferences (Oren 31). Further, in relation to the uncaptioned MKR segment, ACMA acknowledged it would have been difficult to follow both the cooking process and the exchanges taking place between contestants (ACMA, Report No. 3046 8). ACMA considered these exchanges crucial to ‘a viewer’s understanding of, and secondly to their engagement with the different inter-related stages of the program’ (ACMA, Report No. 3046 7).An additional complaint was made with regards to the same program broadcast on Prime Television (Northern) Pty Ltd (Prime), a Seven Network affiliate. The complaint stated that the lack of captions was “Not good enough in prime time and for a show that is non-live in nature” (ACMA, Report No. 3124 3). Despite the fact that the ACMA found that “the fault arose from the affiliate, Seven, rather than from the licensee [Prime]”, Prime was also found to also have breached their licence conditions by failing to provide a captioning service (ACMA, Report No. 3124 12).The following year, Seven launched captions for their online catch-up television platform. Although this was a result of discussions with a complainant over the broader lack of captioned online television content, it was also a step that re-established Seven’s credentials as a leader in commercial television access. The 2015 season of MKR also featured their first partially-deaf contestant, Emilie Biggar.Mainstreaming Captions — Inter-Platform CooperationOver time, cooking shows on television have evolved from an informative style (The French Chef) to become more entertaining in their approach (MKR). As Oren identifies, this has seen a shift in the food genre “away from the traditional, instructional format and towards professionalism and competition” (Oren 25). The affordances of television itself as a visual medium has also been recognised as crucial in the popularity of this genre and its more recent transmedia turn. That is, following Joshua Meyrowitz’s medium theory regarding how different media can afford us different messages, televised cooking shows offer audiences stylised knowledge about food and cooking beyond the traditional cookbook (Oren; ray). In addition, cooking shows are taking their product beyond just television and increasing their inter-platform cooperation (Oren)—for example, MKR has a comprehensive companion website that viewers can visit to watch whole episodes, obtain full recipes, and view shopping lists. While this can be viewed as a modern take on Julia Child’s cookbook success, it must also be considered in the context of the increasing focus on multimedia approaches to cooking instructions (Hamada et al., Multimedia Integration; Cooking Navi; Oh et al.). Audiences today are more likely to attempt a recipe if they have seen it on television, and will use transmedia to download the recipe. As Oren explains:foodism’s ascent to popular culture provides the backdrop and motivation for the current explosion of food-themed formats that encourages audiences’ investment in their own expertise as critics, diners, foodies and even wanna-be professional chefs. FoodTV, in turn, feeds back into a web-powered, gastro-culture and critique-economy where appraisal outranks delight. (Oren 33)This explosion in popularity of the web-powered gastro culture Oren refers to has led to an increase in appetite for step by step, easy to access instructions. These are being delivered using captions. As a result of the legislation and activism described throughout this paper, captions are more widely available and, in many cases, now describe what is said onscreen verbatim. In addition, the mainstream commercial benefits and uses of captions are being explored. Captions have therefore moved from a specialist assistive technology for people who are D/deaf or hard of hearing to become recognised as an important resource for creative television viewers regardless of their hearing (Blankinship et al.). With captions becoming more accessible, accurate, financially viable, and mainstreamed, their potential as an additional television resource is of interest. As outlined above, within the cooking show genre—especially with its current multimedia turn and the demand for captioned recipe instructions (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration”, “Cooking Navi”; Oh et al.)—this is particularly pertinent.Hamada et al. identify captions as a useful technology to use in the increasingly popular educational, yet entertaining, cooking show genre as the required information—ingredient lists, instructions, recipes—is in high demand (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration” 658). They note that cooking shows often present information out of order, making them difficult to follow, particularly if a recipe must be sourced later from a website (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration” 658-59; Oh et al.). Each step in a recipe must be navigated and coordinated, particularly if multiple recipes are being completed at the same times (Hamada, et al., Cooking Navi) as is often the case on cooking shows such as MKR. Using captions as part of a software program to index cooking videos facilitates a number of search affordances for people wishing to replicate the recipe themselves. As Kyeong-Jin et al. explain:if food and recipe information are published as linked data with the scheme, it enables to search food recipe and annotate certain recipe by communities (sic). In addition, because of characteristics of linked data, information on food recipes can be connected to additional data source such as products for ingredients, and recipe websites can support users’ decision making in the cooking domain. (Oh et al. 2)The advantages of such a software program are many. For the audience there is easy access to desired information. For the number of commercial entities involved, this consumer desire facilitates endless marketing opportunities including product placement, increased ratings, and software development. Interesting, all of this falls outside the “usual” parameters of captions as purely an assistive device for a few, and facilitates the mainstreaming—and perhaps beginnings of acceptance—of captions.ConclusionCaptions are a vital accessibility feature for television viewers who are D/deaf or hard of hearing, not just from an informative or entertainment perspective but also to facilitate social inclusion for this culturally diverse group. The availability and quality of television captions has moved through three stages. These can be broadly summarised as early yet inconsistent captions, captions becoming more widely available and accurate—often as a direct result of activism and legislation—but not yet fully verbatim, and verbatim captions as adopted within mainstream software applications. This paper has situated these stages within the television cooking genre, a genre often remarked for its appeal towards inclusion and cultural capital.If television facilitates social inclusion, then food television offers vital cultural capital. While Julia Child’s The French Chef offered the first example of television captions via open captions in 1972, a lack of funding means we do not know how viewers (both hearing and not) actually received the program. However, at the time, captions that would be considered unacceptable today were received favourably (Jensema, McCann and Ramsey; Newell)—anything was deemed better than nothing. Increasingly, as the focus shifted to closed captioning and the cooking genre embraced a more competitive approach, viewers who required captions were no longer happy with missing or inconsistent captioning quality. The was particularly significant in Australia in 2013 when several viewers complained to ACMA that captions were missing from the finale of MKR. These captions provided more than vital cooking instructions—their lack prevented viewers from understanding conflict within the program. Following this breach, Seven became the only Australian commercial television station to offer captions on their web based catch-up platform. While this may have gone a long way to rehabilitate Seven amongst D/deaf and hard of hearing audiences, there is the potential too for commercial benefits. Caption technology is now being mainstreamed for use in cooking software applications developed from televised cooking shows. These allow viewers—both D/deaf and hearing—to access information in a completely new, and inclusive, way.ReferencesAgnihotri, Lalitha, et al. “Summarization of Video Programs Based on Closed Captions.” 4315 (2001): 599–607.Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA). Investigation Report No. 3046. 2013. 26 Apr. 2017 <http://www.acma.gov.au/~/media/Diversity%20Localism%20and%20Accessibility/Investigation%20reports/Word%20document/3046%20My%20Kitchen%20Rules%20Grand%20Final%20docx.docx>.———. 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