MO3351 Doing and Practicing Transnational and Global History

Two weeks ago Bernhard and Milinda opened class with a discussion of the transnationality of nudism and ‘the global naturist movement’. While this light-hearted conversation was clearly meant to be only a quirky way to pass the time until everyone had joined the call, I can’t help but see this as a challenge to write a blog post on the movement—especially after listening to an episode about it on my favourite history podcast, The Dollop. In this episode, the podcast presenters open with a wonderful quotation on the ever idiosyncratic American founding father, Benjamin Franklin, that serves as what I agree is a good introduction to this topic.

But I’ve found it much more agreeable to my constitution to bath in another element, cold air. With this in view I rise every morning and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatsoever—half an hour to an hour reading or writing.” — Benjamin Franklin, 1750.

In fact, nudism (also known as naturism) has a long history in America, especially with those in the political and social elite. There were also many other famous American men who enjoyed nude activities. John Quincy Adams, Walt Whitman, Thomas Jefferson, and later Henry David Thoreau and Theodore Roosevelt.

While these persons may all have been men of influence, their penchant for bareness was more of an personal ritual and cannot be considered part of a movement and was still considered radical in early America. And though the word naturism would be coined in 1778 by the Belgian Jean Baptiste Luc Planchon as a term to describe healthy living, it would not be until the end of the 19^th century that it would become synonymous with nakedness.

The first documented naturist club, the ‘Fellowship of the Naked Trust’, was established in British India in 1891 by Charles Edward Gordon Crawford, an English judge for the Bombay Civil Service. But the commune struggled to find members and dissolved upon Crawford’s death in 1894.

In 1902, a German philosopher named Henrich Pudor published a set of articles and later a book promoting the social and practical benefits of nudity in education and sports, namely in body/class image and mobility. Though naturism, termed Nacktkultur, borrowed from the contemporary Lebensreform and Wandervogel movements which promoted athletics and healthy living, it more than anything took hold as a reaction to rapid industrialization and urbanization. By spending time in nature, getting exercise, and eating a plant based diet—all while naked of course—naturists hoped to counteract what they saw as negative aspects of urban life like disease and pollution. At this same time, many more liberal doctors were also prescribing fresh air and sunlight (or heliopathy) as treatment for Tuberculosis, Rheumatism, Scrofula, and Rickets. In 1921, the Frisian island of Sylt opened its first official nudist beach as a getaway destination and in 1930 the Berlin School of Nudism opened—though this was less of a school and more of an advocacy group. From 1902-1932, many of these early German naturists read and participated in the publication of the first journal of nudism. Initially, the naturist movement was associated with left wing political movements, pacifists, and homosexuals. For this reason, restrictions were placed on naturists in Germany when Hitler’s regime took power. As Germans fled for America in the late 1920s, they often found themselves living in cities even larger and more urbanized than their German counterparts. Soon, dozens of naturist camps began to pop up in the areas surrounding American cities and became a regular destination for more than just German immigrants, especially in summer months.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, naturism as a movement, like other organizations of the time, began to lose its universalist identity as certain clubs became open only to members of the landed class or certain ethnic/religious groups. In 1951, several national European and American nudist groups came together to form the International Naturist Federation or INF. But, since this type of organization and politicization of nudity was in conflict with its grass roots origins, many naturists preferred not to join. Thus, while historians can trace networks of naturists using data from groups like the INF, they are unable to account for the many who existed outside.

Through the second half of the 20^th century and up to today, naturism has found its niche within the hospitality industry as many resorts and clubs have begun to offer the same types of amenities as their clothed counterparts. Today there even exist nudist cruises and five start hotels, while in Croatia up to 15% of their tourism sector can be attributed to nudist retreats. This new nakedness, however, cannot perhaps be referred to as naturism even if it is nudism, as it has become out of touch with its countercultural origins. Still, there are countless less formal nude beaches and parks in operation worldwide as many people continue to advocate the naturist lifestyle. One such advocate is Dame Helen Mirren, who once said, ‘I do believe in naturism and am my happiest on a nude beach with people of all ages and races.’ Some of these modern naturists even continue the movements political traditions, like those who practice the lifestyle in Indonesia, defying the country’s strict laws against public nudity. Other groups like the Young Naturists and Nudists America have sought to bring nakedness and healthy outdoor living to young people as a mean of coping with a society that is so plagued by issues of body image, substance abuse, and a lack of exercise.

“By being unencumbered by clothing,” argues a writer for menswear magazine The Rake, “we reconnect with a state of pre-Judeo/Christian guilt, one of utter innocence and joyful embracement [of nature and humanity].”

Coming from Hungary, ‘revisionism’ (well… the Hungarian equivalent per se) was one of the earliest words in my historical political vocabulary. Indeed, in a very Hungarian context revisionism refers with near exclusivity to the rejection of the Treaty of Trianon, and the corresponding downfall of the nation in its direct wake. Thus, the revisionism of Hungarian revisionists consists in advocating for the redrawing of the current borders, which were established in 1920, and for the revival of medieval and Habsburgist social structures. To this end, it is a worthwhile endeavour to enumerate some of the groups of interest belonging to this colourful bunch. From absolute monarchists and traditionalists (advocates of the supposedly legitimate Habsburg monarchy), the list goes on to neo-fascists and Hungarists (paramilitary groups, who are advocates of the post-Habsburg, crypto-fascist establishment), tribal anarchists (claiming monopoly over the Turanic heritage and pre-Christian traditions revolving around the right of conquest), as well as hardline communists, who idolise Béla Kun, and his Red Army, which took back Slovakia in the immediate wake of World War I. Perhaps the above-detailed circus is a fitting illustration of the multifarious and all-encompassing nature of revisionist notions in Hungary.

For the above reasons many Hungarians – which I admit, at various points in the past included yours truly – when they hear the word ‘revisionism’ immediately associate to the political fallacy, that is the strict revisionism of Trianon, as opposed to the teleological fallacy, which revisionism is in more general terms.

Why is that the case? If one attempts to embark on a journey to take a transnational survey of revisionism in Eastern Europe, he will find that much of the suffering in the short 20th century was rooted in a rejection of the current status quo, and the revision of current identities in favour of supposed former ones. Slovakian nationalism for example derived its legitimacy from a forged continuity with the Teutonic tribes, who populated the Northern Carpathians under late Rome. Albania engaged in the same operation, tracing back their origin to the Illyrians. Romania went so far as to adopt Rome into the very nation of their name, based on a much debated theory of continuity between them and the Dacians. The list goes on. If we believe all revisionists, then we would have to accept that indeed, nearly all countries in the region are rightful heirs of Rome, and Rome never really fell to begin with.

This would have been all well as long as these forged identities, which were organically developed to empower those on the peripheries of Europe were not exploited by modern politicians to gain political capital, or by radical movements to rationalise one people’s superiority over the other. And as we all know, both of these options turned out to be the case – often in overlap – leading to some of the worst atrocities in the history of mankind.

Mazzini – someone not exempt from charges of revisionism – argued that belonging to a nation was like a daily plebiscite. In his interpretation, the troops that Garibaldi commanded on his conquest of unification had to choose to be Italian, and with each individual choice they made, they had to pick the Italian option. In his – in hindsight – extraordinarily romantic terms, it was the Italian identity succeeding in this daily struggle that paved the way for its manifestation on the map of Europe, namely a unified Italy. Anderson expands on Mazzini’s point insofar as he coined the term ‘imagined community’. Nations exist on a practical level per se, but they are quite hard to grasp in themselves. Are they the land enclosed by their borders? Are they the people making up its population? Or are they perhaps more than the sum of all of these? Anderson and Webber claim that nations are imagined communities in the sense that they are created from the narratives people tell about them. Having established national identities as the practical projections of narratives, it seems paramount that one remains conscious that as any narrative, a national identity is prone to revisionism.

Metternich famously said that ‘Paris sneezes, Europe catches a cold’. To this day, the statement seems to stand, albeit originally intended as a warning to the Holy Alliance between the remaining absolute monarchies of 19th century Europe. Indeed, amidst the romanticist breeze that swept through Europe at the time many national identities were formed across the continent, blossoming into the modern nation states we know and love today. However, not all of these states included both elements of the French revolution and the long 19th century in their respective formations, leading to massive atrocities. I’d argue that these atrocities happened because of varying degrees of revisionism across Central and Eastern Europe, which was much more prone to its negative effects.

The two above mentioned developments happened hand in hand in the archetypal French revolution, namely 1) civil social changes, and 2) national awakening. Yugoslavia after its dissolution for example suffered the consequences of each of its many demographics’ respective revisionism. They internalised civil society, which was coerced from the people by decades of assimilationist policies and suppression of regional identities, resulting in the most severe loss of life in Europe since World War II. In Yugoslavia thereby, it can be said that the proneness to revisionism happened because civil society was relatively well-developed when measured against the rest of the Eastern Block (ie the dictatorship of Belgrade was imposed instead of that of Moscow), but it was not accompanied by a healthy national awakening, thereby leading to accumulating social frustrations.

Coming back to the example of my ancestral homeland, Hungary, quite an opposite parable can be drawn in retrospect, in terms of the reasons behind revisionist tendencies. A national awakening did in fact take place, and many would argue that it even went too far. However, it was not accompanied by the foundations of a civil society, and instead aristocratic, feudal nationalism outlived the grassroots popular movement we know from Italy and France. Thus, when the first wave of transnationally present nationalist breeze hit Hungary – as paradoxical as that may sound – the seeds for the next wave of revisionist identitarianism were already sown.

What I seek with this

Is exploration of form

Style is crucial

We speak of transnationals

Historical links and flows

What do they all mean

All too often we

Posture and pose we obscure

Why they all should care

We study ideas

But why do they all matter

Is this relevant

My lessons are thus

Old sources merit review

Second looks tell much

Relate to today

Speak to the public interest

Descend from jargon

Clarify ideas

Define everything you mean

Purpose must be found

Reveal the hidden

Embrace emotion feeling

Say what you must say

This is the result

The ivory tower falls

All can think and know

Truth be told, I was quite excited to see the long-form presentation about transnational feminist movements in Latin America and the Iberian Peninsula in the early decades of the last century. After having gone through the finished presentation twice, I am elated to say that it did not disappoint!

I quite enjoyed Ana’s presentation on the subject, especially the underlying questions established in the beginning. Indubitably, these provided a balanced and intuitive framework of analysis for discussion, and also opened up four quite intriguing frontiers, which proved to be fruitful basis for a comprehensive introduction to the matter at hand. A clear-cut and articulate portrayal of the notion of Machismo was given, thereby establishing the historical pressures on women in the discussed regions, and how Machismo facilitated feminism at the time, and more precisely the need for it. Furthermore, it also inspired me to do more reading on the issue of Machismo, which is quite an achievement from Ana, given the gruelling workload this time of the year.

My mini research project led me down a rabbit hole of neologism and transnational thought. For example, having done reading on the matter both in English and in Hungarian, I noticed how the word ‘macho’ appears to this day in a wide array of literature and other media. I found this to be a convergent pattern between different cultures, in terms of the terminology, and its respective origins. While it is agreed on that in most Indo-European languages the word ”macho” first appears around the 1920s, originating from Mexican Spanish, and meaning ‘masculine’. This is quite neat so far, however, I found that the word “macsó” in Hungarian has a very similar meaning, but also a completely different origin. While English, German, French, and Castilian Spanish languages all borrowed the word from Latin America, in Hungarian “macsó” – with the exact same pronunciation as “macho” – originates from the name of an ethnic group of the same name in the Carpathian Basin. The “macsó” people of Southern Hungary found themselves on the frontier of multiple transnational conflicts, and as such got a reputation for being rough and stoic, a very similar pattern to what the word entails on the other side of the Atlantic. I am currently doing further research into cognitive linguistics, and learning more about how the same linguistic phenomenology appears across different languages independently from one another.

That said, this side project of mine is nowhere near the main point of the presentation, which adeptly showcases the early decades of first wave feminism in the regions discussed. Another interesting facet of this, which Ana elaborated on is the apparent colonial connotation of the subject. It is explained quite neatly that pre-colonial Spanish legal systems affected and inspired the way, in which feminism blossomed in the Ibero-American sphere. I found it especially fascinating that a major factor in this was Muslim law in medieval Spain.

While I find the questions raised at the end of the presentation rather insightful, I would also like to add three of mine, based on my interpretation of Ana’s precise and outstanding research:

1. How does Machismo contradict the – in regards to gender at least – egalitarian pre-colonial origins of Iberian law? Could it be due to a synthesis of pre-Colombian and Iberian cultures? Or could it be due to the absolutist tendencies under Charles V and Philip II, which in hindsight amplified the masculine elements of Iberian cultures?
2. How do second and third wave feminism manifest in Latin America and the Iberian Peninsula, given the different origins of the movement in the regions discussed? Do they manifest? And if so, do they retain their criticism of Machismo, which we know is prevalent to this day?
3. How does Machismo impact men? Is its effect fully assertive, or does it indoctrinate men to maintain a facade of stoicism and confidence, similar to the US, Canada, and Western Europe?

Overall, I found the topic to be a multi-faceted and intriguing excursion, as well as a rather thought-provoking exploration of modern femininity and masculinity in Latin America and Iberia. I would be keen to learn more about how feminism manifests across different cultures, given the complexities provided by colonialism and transnational pressures. Thanks Ana for this very cool presentation!

            The thing I have appreciated most about this module is the space it has given us to form our own opinions and dig deeper into more diverse material than typical chronological modules do. Spending so many weeks dissecting what transnational history and global history are and in what capacity they can serve, I think, was a great way to open up our minds to the possibilities and the range and depth of places we could go. This is fully demonstrated by everyone’s projects, which span such a vast range of topic that no one is really overlapping in material. I really enjoyed listening to everyone’s presentations this past week; it was great to hear more in depth about what everyone has been doing, and to see how their projects have developed since our first initial meeting where we quickly covered everybody’s topics.

            What I think this module has done best more than anything, is expose us to areas that are not within the bounds of “mainstream” history, or history that is typically widely taught. From listening to everyone’s presentations, I realised how so much opportunity has been wasted through the teaching of “mainstream” or “typical” history. In particular, Charmaine and Timo’s presentations really struck this chord with me. They both covered topics which I either knew little-to-nothing about, or topics that I had touched upon in the past but not fully explored from a transnational perspective. In high school we briefly talked about the Cuban Missile Crisis in the context of John F. Kennedy’s presidency, and just last year I took a module at St Andrews about Cubans from an ethnomusicology perspective. However, in neither of these did I get exposure to the presence of Chinese in Cuba. I found Charmaine’s very comprehensive overview of how the Chinese fit into Cuban history fascinating, especially her explanation of how Chinese-Cubans occupy spaces in both Cuban and Chinese society, and how they see themselves as both and not one over the other.

            I really enjoyed Timo’s presentation because it opened my mind to a history that I knew very little about. I found it extremely informative and comprehensive, with his breakdown of regional identities and ethnic differences making me think deeper about my own project concerning whaling identities, which incorporates many ethnicities, and made me wonder if there was a place for regionalism within my own work.

            The range of presentations just demonstrates how multi-faceted the transnational and global approaches are to history, and how we should not limit ourselves by confining our thinking to pre-transnational frameworks. By utilising global and transnational frameworks, we are able to create a more comprehensive and deeper understanding regarding areas that have often been overlooked by more popular scholarship. Everyone has done amazing research on their respective topics, and it has been wonderful to see that research culminate in these presentations. I am sure that everyone’s essays will only continue to demonstrate our understandings, and I applaud everyone for their hard work thus far!

Its been a while since I’ve written a blog post, and between me working on other essays and researching for my final project, I’ve gone back to the very first question that we looked at this semester: what does it mean to do Transnational History? Transnational History, for me, is about ‘meeting people in the middle’. This is, of course, a question historians spend years pondering about. So, although I am not an expert, and it’s likely that my answer will change the more I sit and think about it, I’m still going to try and justify what I mean by this.

To illustrate what I mean by this, I touch on a tension that I feel like we’ve highlighted persistently as a class: ‘belonging’ and ‘foreign’, and ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’. We’ve mentioned this a lot in class. Owen and Izzy touched upon it in their blog posts. Quite a few of us are researching on identity formulation. Overall, this common thread means that I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to ‘belong’ to a place, and what it means to be a ‘foreigner’. In my own research (and from reflecting upon my own upbringing in Hong Kong), I’ve learned that you can occupy both positions simultaneously. Watching my classmates present this week helped fortify this thought.

Timo’s presentation, in particular, struck a chord with me. He highlighted how ‘regional identity was more powerful than racial or national distinctions’, even after a lot of ‘official’ national distinctions were demarcated by the Austro-Hungarian Empire and also at the 1919 Versailles Conference. These regions worked together because various ethnic groups bonded over their difference, sort of akin to the metaphor ‘separate but equal’ (though, of course, that represented something entirely different in the US’ context). By acknowledging ethnic diversity, i.e. mutual ‘outsiderness’, these people were able to form their own borders and distinctions, creating and constructing their own ‘belonging’ in the form of regional identities. Regional identities thus functioned as a middle-way between ethnic diversity and national integration. I found this idea incredibly thought-provoking, especially for my own research, as it seems to suggest that people-from-below have much more agency in the construction of transnational identities than we think. As such, our conceptions of ‘transnational’ and ‘international’ ought to not be defined solely by the actions of Big Men, or Diplomats in fancy suits. Ordinary people have the power to not only deconstruct the boundaries between ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’, but, in some cases, also play with and manipulate them from within by changing their positionality. So, ‘meeting people in the middle’. In Timo’s context, it means finding that happy middle-ground, that bit of a Venn diagram where different people can bond over similarities in spite of their differences. It is the simultaneous coexistence of multiple identities at once.

However, ‘meeting in the middle’ can also be used as a euphemism for ‘interrogating contradictions’. In the Met Gala example Izzy and Owen wrote about, it means negotiating between your own image and culture and the cultural construction others have created for you. This thought, I think, is best expressed in one of my favourite TV shows: ‘I’m surprised you think you can choose your own image’. Racist stereotyping and cultural appropriation is frustrating, and the world would be better off without it, but we can’t forget that it does define us to some degree. What people think and see of Asians like myself, for instance, defines our interactions with the world, the kinds of tips and strategies we put it place and pass down to defend ourselves against prejudice. In order to understand Asians – or, more specifically for this example, Asians in the West – we can’t simply look at the way Asians understand themselves. We need to also examine how their image is seen by others, and examine the ‘middle’, where those two intersect and contradict.

So, by ‘meeting people in the middle’, we are interrogating points of contact between different groups of people, different contexts, and thus different worldviews. It’s imperative, before we even get to the middle, that we understand the contexts within their own frameworks. Only then can we examine the way they intersect, and fish around for similarities and ruptures. In particular, this heuristic is conducive to examining social structures: race, identity formation, power. All together, then, these combine to form the backbone of Transnational History, at least in the way I understand it.

Now what? Bear with me whilst I get cheesy. I didn’t expect to come out of this semester armed with a heuristic that just clicks with me. MO3351 is, undoubtedly, my favourite module that I’ve done so far. It’s uniquely interdisciplinary, and has allowed me to sharpen my methodological toolbox by incorporating in Philosophical, Anthropological, and Geographical techniques into my research. It has given me the drive to keep up with my languages, no matter how much Duolingo frustrates me. All-in-all, I’ve come out this semester with a fresh, new perspective on how we ought to understand human interactions with one another.

In my last product I want to discuss Izzy’s excellent presentation on the influence of the Rhodes Scholarship on the academic study of race. I chose this presentation because I honestly didn’t even know what the Rhode’s scholarship was until I head Izzy bring it up during tutorial. I actually found having the presentations uploaded online was a very constructive way for me to learn and remember what was being said in each presentation.

What I found most interesting about the presentation, is that Izzy’s project heavily relies on lived experience and how the experiences of her two case studies (Locke and Hall) in being Rhode’s Scholars at Oxford, then shaped their academic work regarding race. Izzy outlines how initially, Locke and Hall’s approaches to race differ through their backgrounds. On one hand, Hall had always been involved in matters of race at Oxford and viewed race as a product of social behaviours. On the other hand, Locke, was initially resistant to being viewed as championing race matters. Eventually, Locke too begins to include racial matters in his academic writing. What is most interesting to me is the connection between Locke’s time at Oxford and this ‘switch’ in his mentality – it goes to show the importance of academic discourse and lived experience in shaping the political aims of scholars and activists, something which I am also looking into in my project. 

The contrast Locke draws between the experience of being black in the United Kingdom versus America (his home country) is also very interesting, and leads us to believe that perhaps if Locke had never been a Rhodes scholar, and thus never studied at Oxford, he would never have moved onto including race as an important matter of discussion in his academic work. This also led me to question the experience of race in St Andrews, and how that in itself is able to shape the way in which we view race in regards to our academic work. We do not have many black students at St Andrews, it is a fact but it is also a shame. Izzy’s presentation has greatly outlined this problem for me as it demonstrates how the lived experience of race in a university campus can lead to the shaping of both future academic work, journalism and even politics. 

All in all, i found the presentation to be very engaging, as I could draw parallels between Izzy’s project and the relevance of the questions regarding matters of race in academia today. I wish Izzy and everyone the best of luck finishing their projects and am excited to see what everyone comes up with !

In the spirit of collaboration, I want to pick up on Izzy’s post from Friday on the Met Gala and write a bit about the documentary The First Monday in May that some of us talked about at the unconference and what I got from it, particularly that which is relevant to our module.

I would definitely agree with Izzy that it is much more than a documentary about clothes, and deals with a number of issues on a range of topics – fashion as a form of fine art, its place inside and/or outside of the museum and as an expression of the social, cultural and political circumstances in which it is created (something apparent in the surge of face masks being marketed by fashion brands today and something also due to be explored in more detail in this year’s exhibition About Time: Fashion and Duration).

One of the key issues that the documentary deals with, which Izzy mentioned and that struck me most, in the context of an exhibition to which the Met Gala serves as the opening, entitled China: Through the Looking Glass, is the question of when cultural appreciation becomes cultural appropriation. For this event, accusations of the latter began almost immediately after the announcement of the theme, and throughout the documentary, the key figures involved in the curation of the exhibition withstand these suggestions of appropriating Chinese culture and history, as it comes to dominate external conversation in the build up to the event.

The practice of orientalism and cultural exploitation of ‘the East’ throughout history have been well documented and exposed in literature, both academic and popular, in recent years. Coincidentally, I’m reading a book just now called ‘Salaryman’ by Meg Pei, which tells the story of a Japanese businessman, Jun Shimada, transferred to work in America and details the complexities of the process in adapting to the different social and cultural climate, both in a personal and professional context. In the opening, Shimada addresses the reader directly and remarks on American understandings of Japanese culture saying ‘You may resent us, you may make fun of us; you may like our food and quaint customs, think of Mount Fuji and geisha girls, Toyotas, transistors, temples or perhaps World War II and Pearl Harbour’. Importantly, breaking the fourth wall, he says ‘Who are we? Do you care?’. Shimada, with these questions, suggests that the stereotypical characterisation of Japan is the extent to which ‘the West’ knows and cares to know about Japan, in this book, and ‘the East’, more broadly.

Although the book considers a different aspect of this transnational reception of culture from Asia to North America from the documentary, and each comes from a different point of view on the issue, both address many of the same concerns and issues regarding the recognition and contestation of cultural difference in a transnational setting. However, unlike many of the other characters in Pei’s book, who fail to recognise their preconceptions about Japan as such, Andrew Bolton, the chief curator of the exhibition, makes clear in the documentary and as is evident in the title of the exhibition China: Through the Looking Glass, the exhibition’s intention is to consider those Western perspectives of China as perspectives and their expressions in fashion throughout history; indeed, to confront those perhaps stereotypical and orientalist interpretations of Chinese culture and society in fashion, and consider the reasons for and implications of doing so. As Izzy said, ‘Every year the Met Gala has provided a snapshot of what is important to art, culture, fashion and more than just high society. Despite being decadent, it sheds light on important issues, taking a risk and a stand. It has adapted when called insular, Eurocentric and will only continue to do so’. The documentary reflects this mission particularly well, portrays fashion as an enlightening lens through which we can view such a transnational process and its history, and presents an interesting case study for many of the aspects of transnational history we have been considering this semester. 

——

Looking over my blog posts from across this semester, including this one, they appear quite sporadic, quite chaotic in terms of the range of content they’ve addressed, from the early days of the Coronavirus and the transnational movement of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex to more relevant material on the translation of transnational concepts and the model of feminism for the writing of transnational lives.  Perhaps this range is representative of the nature of this semester. But, more positively and constructively, I think they represent how applicable the methods we have learned in this module are both to the history we study and the world we live in today.

           There were a couple of weeks this semester where I neglected to write any blog posts, leaving me to write most of them within the last month or so. I have realised that I never gave any sort of project update, as many of my more recent blog posts have instead been about a project that I did last semester. When we were first set to choose our project topics this semester, I knew I wanted to explore a subject that touched on maritime history and travel. Whaling kind of came out of the blue – it was a last-minute topic that I came up with when I was brainstorming. When I was in high school, I did a project on whales for my marine biology class but focused more on the biology aspects and did not really look at the industry itself. Growing up in Massachusetts, whale insignia is quite prevalent, especially due to the popular (and very middle-class) brand, Vineyard Vines, whose logo is a whale. Vineyard Vines was created by a pair of brothers from Martha’s Vineyard, another hotspot for whaling during the industry’s height. However, the brand has no deeper connections to the industry itself, and it seems like the brothers who started the company are simply profiting off the popularity of whale image, without any regard for its historical connections.

            The only prior knowledge that I had on the industry was fringe information – not much more than knowing it existed, along with basic knowledge about Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. However, since engaging with material, both scholarship and whaleship logs and journals, I am surprised that teaching about the industry is not commonplace. Perhaps living in Cambridge is too far removed from the industry’s more crucial locations like New Bedford and Nantucket. I have never been to either location, both at one point the crux of New England whaling, but I have no doubt that the industry is probably more well known in those areas, as both sport their own museum dedicated to the industry, holding extensive archival collections.

            I have really enjoyed getting to engage with 19^th century whaling, as I have gotten the opportunity to read about a subject that had always existed on the periphery, and had always been one of those things I always hoped to get around to “eventually”. Much like the Spanish Flu, which had considerable impact on Massachusetts, I have been surprised that the topic of whaling in New England is not widely circulated in the state. It is easy to brush over or neglect topics that have not had direct impact on oneself or where one lives, but in this case, the whaling industry had a tremendous impact on the state, the effects of which are still seen now. Nantucket, as well as Martha’s Vineyard, are known for being extremely wealthy – popular summer destinations for those who can afford. Most of this wealth stems from the island’s early successes with whaling in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Many of Massachusetts’s coastal towns can be described in this same manner.

            It has been quite an eye-opening experience being able to engage with the concept of identity among the whalers in New England, the South Pacific, and around Alaska. I have found it fascinating to read about how extensive the network of the industry was. In New England, it had close ties to slavery as many slaves would escape North and join a whaling ship, either as refugees or as hired workers. In the South Pacific, considerable reliance was placed on Maori tribes and other local populations for trade for the sustaining of voyages. The Arctic had similar relationships, but also had the unique practice of “trade fairs”, where indigenous groups and traders from all over would gather together and barter. The dependency on minorities has not surprised me, but nevertheless it is quite interesting how when thinking of general assumptions and associations with the industry, more attention is directed to the white whalers or European whalers. In Moby Dick, although Melville does stress the multi-ethnic crew of Ishmael, the whole epic journey of the Pequod has had such a tremendous impact on the history of literature, that attention is taken away from the authenticity of the journey. Although many of the events and things that Melville alludes to do come from some basis of fact, much of what he has written is so overly dramatised, including characters whose characteristics and stereotypes have been so overly emphasised, that I would argue that reading the novel does not mean the reader has any greater knowledge of the industry over someone who has not. What Melville does offer is an insight to how people during the 19^th century perceived the industry, and in this sense it makes for a helpful resource, as the image that Melville depicts was perpetuated by Nantucket and the island’s efforts to market a particular vibe.

            I hope in my essay I can engage with all three of my contact zones to a reasonable extent. I am worried that I have chosen too many, and that I should cut it down to two. Whether or not I keep all three, I am very thankful to have chosen this topic, as although it was slow starting, I have found it to be very enjoyable so far.

I wasn’t sure if our last blog posts had to be particularly reflective. I’ve really enjoyed the process of simply writing every week, having to consider alternative views on a subject. In the process of writing many of these blogs I’ve figured out my views change halfway through, perhaps indicating that I don’t edit my work enough. At the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy, I’ve really enjoyed this module. It has given me insight into how academic collaboration works while remaining accessible. I’d like to preface the blog post that follows with the fact it is a ramble. I made a mood board, purely out of my own interest and boredom on this rainy Friday afternoon. Maybe through reading it you’ll learn something new- about Twitter, how I spend my time on Instagram or the workings of the Costume Institute. Maybe you’ll tell me what you favourite outfit is on Tuesday.

It really is a strange feeling not being in St Andrews for the start of May. Although this Monday marked the start of revision week, this year students will not be flocking to the pubs, enjoying the few days outdoors and on the grass in the quads basking in the sunshine at the end of classes for the year. I worry through my blog posts I’ve become to fixated on our current context, then having to remind myself that everything we write is dictated by the current state of affairs to some extent. This is central to historiography is it not? This concept has been the basis of my own project, the idea that background and upbringing can shape interests, identity and discussion.

Back to the point. I love the start of May. May Dip brings excitement and staying up all night, watching a pinky sunrise. I’m not ashamed to admit not much revision gets done in the first week (sorry dad), as everyone is still winding down into focus mode at the end of the semester. But my absolute favourite thing about May has to be the Met Gala. We discussed it a little during the Unconference, about the idea of modern museums, after Owen brought up that he had recently watched the First Monday in May (great documentary and if you haven’t seen it you really don’t have an excuse- it goes beyond being girly and only about fashion I promise), detailing how the 2015 incarnation of the Gala had come together. The Costume Institute Gala takes place every year at the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art in New York, and marks the opening of its annual exhibition. Since its conception in 1948, it has become a symbol of luxury, society and decadence. It is held every year on the first Monday of May, which this year would have taken place next week. It has been postponed due to the current circumstances, which raised questions but also gave me the chance to discuss one of my absolute favourite things. If the opening to the exhibition has been postponed, will the Gala follow suit? Does this in turn lose the allure of May as the opening to the summer season, are these all outdated concepts we should move past?

I was particularly excited for the Met Gala this year, as I was anxious to see who scored an invitation. Anna Wintour, the editor of American Vogue, chairs a committee and almost has final say on all the invitees. If you’ve ever seen the Devil Wears Prada, you’ll have some idea of this woman’s perceived persona. Yet the invitations to the Met Gala in past years have demonstrated more than just who has caught her eye. Wintour has frequently identified rising stars and given them legitimacy through their attendance of the Met Gala in ways that the conventional Award Season has failed. This has repeatedly been a common critique of shows like the Academy Awards, the Golden Globes etc. They do not recognise rising talent quickly enough, and in particular showcase diversity as willingly as they should. The notable example that comes to mind is Awkwafina, perhaps most well known for her role as Peik-Lin in 2018’s blockbuster Crazy Rich Asians. Last year she was nominated for categories like the Rising Star award, but left out of the heavyweight Supporting Actress of which many argue she was worthy. Since then, she starred in more serious roles, most notably Lulu Wang’s the Farewell, which garnered heavy praise for showcasing the cultural differences faced by many Asian-Americans, who often feel ostracised within both traditionally American and Asian communities. Through the Met Gala and their attendance, Awkwafina among other figures like Lupita Nyong’o have gained recognition and appreciation of their work through their attendance of this event rather than through an accolade.

This push for diversity within the entertainment industry and an understanding of ‘high society’ has also been promoted by the Costume Institute’s director, Andrew Bolton. His choice of themes over the last few years have moved away from traditional and often Eurocentric understandings of fashion to consider voices and viewpoints from farther afield. 2019 saw ‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’ which encouraged conversations about gender theory, the LGBTQ+ community and inclusion within the fashion industry. 2017 was ‘the Art of the Between’ and was the first time an Asian woman had been featured as the theme through the likes of Rei Kawakubo, the designer of Commes des Garçons. 2015’s ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ examined the influence of Chinese art, film and pop culture on Western fashion. The latter two years saw much criticism of the designers who dress celebrities, as many commentators argue they did not creatively interpret the themes in many cases. There were notable exceptions. In 2015, Rihanna wore little-known (then) designer Guo Pei’s yellow dress which instantly gain him notoriety and became one of the biggest memes of the year (yes, that omelette dress).

It seems easy from an outside perspective, of someone who will probably never attend the Met Gala to level a critique out the Best/Worst Dressed. Many stars and attendees do whole-heartedly accept the theme and go all out, yet so many outfits have fallen flat. Perhaps this blog post has become a long ramble, and this will seem trivial. It may not be the most important thing right now, to discuss the loss of this event amongst the chaos of what is going on. Yet I believe this year’s Met Gala would have been greatly significant in indicating where pop culture was headed for the year. Lizzo attended last year’s ball and soon after became the popstar of the summer/year and continues to find immense success. The Gala is not a Magic-8 ball for the next big thing, not by a long stretch. These figures are very much established by the time they set foot on those steps. Rather, what Wintour has been able to turn this event into is a recognition of the ‘Other’. Over the last few decades people of all colours, races, genders and sexualities have been invited. It has brought immense diversity and credibility to the event as it has continued to set the precedent. I’m sure this year the cast of Boon Joon-Ho’s Parasite, would have been in attendance, and probably the director himself.

I was reading about this year’s event for this blog entry, reminding myself of the some of the best outfits from the past few years, and my favourite red carpet moments. I cannot explain why this event brings me so much joy, but I think it has something to do with the juxtaposition of the seemingly superficial decadence of the event, and how intertwined it has become with culture, history and art. The designers spend months putting together cohesive looks that tell a story, the Gala becomes the culmination of Andrew Bolton’s year. The dialogue in the days following are articles dissecting hidden notes within looks, where artists and designers found their inspiration, which is an education in itself. There is so much scope to view the history of the Costume Institute Gala as postcolonial, considering spatial and material history, the intersections between fashion and art history in our globalised world. If you’re interested, and have nothing else to do on Monday, probably closer to Tuesday morning for most of us, have a look at #HFTMetGala. I only recently discovered the world of ‘High Fashion Twitter’ about a dozen or so girls my age who have created their own virtual Met Gala for Monday. Read about it here: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/29/fashion/coronavirus-met-gala-twitter.html. They have adapted this year’s theme of ‘About Time: Fashion and Duration’ to ‘Temporal Conflation’. They have created five challenges, mood boards, providing almost a whole world of interpretation of Bolton’s original ideas, which will hopefully be unveiled when the exhibition opens later this year. Vogue Magazine has piggy-backed the idea, hosting a competition to re-create your favourite look from the past at home rather than interpret this year’s theme. This demonstrates how we continue to adapt technology, fashion and art. This pandemic has proved useful as a lens to promote a shift in culture. Traditional celebrity/influencer status is diminishing, teenagers are taking over Twitter and High Fashion, and even Billy Porter can’t quite keep up. I’m not sure I’ve been able to get my point across here, in this very long organza-themed ramble. Every year the Met Gala has provided a snapshot of what is important to art, culture, fashion and more than just high society. Despite being decadent, it sheds light on important issues, taking a risk and a stand. It has adapted when called insular, Eurocentric and will only continue to do so. It has fared better than many of the other events in the entertainment industry, and I wonder what I’ll be doing on the first Monday in May next year.

Blog post number 8. This is it, final one. I’ve watched a couple of the presentations but will save my comments for our meeting next Tuesday. For now, since this is my last post, I’ll provide a few reflections on blog-writing itself. I thought it was a great way of providing us with a public platform for exploring topics we found interesting, expressing ideas, and practising the formulation of written arguments in an informal setting. The emphasis on regularity rather than quality took some pressure off my shoulders, allowing me to write more freely, in a manner less restrained by self-questioning. Interestingly, the informality didn’t necessarily draw away from the value of the thoughts and ideas that were expressed in this blog. OK, maybe they were a little less structured and analytically thorough, but there was a freshness to them born from the spontaneity of the exercise. I enjoyed this freshness in my writing, which is sometimes worn away by the liberties I (perhaps necessarily) deny myself in my academic writing.

I liked reading the posts of my peers, and wish I’d given myself more time to do so on a regular basis. As the weeks went by, I felt like people grew more willing to open themselves up in their posts, to give voice to their thoughts without fear of criticism. I found it interesting to discern patterns in the types of topics that different individuals chose to explore, which reflected their personal interests. Again, this semi-academic platform was a brilliant way to encourage us to engage with the various topics that interest us, and attempt to expand on them through the lens of transnational history. I’m aware, for example, that many of my posts ended up being related, in one way or another, to literature. The title of my first post, ‘Crossing disciplinary boundaries’, foregrounded what I have subsequently attempted, which has been to question the ways in which transnational themes appear in topics that I encountered in literature such as the fossil fuel industry and petro-cultures, Italo-American migrant experiences, or travel accounts of Eastern Europe. I didn’t set out to achieve this, but it’s where my writing led me.

I feel an unexpected nostalgia as I write these final lines. It’s probably the effect of the rain which I observe through my window as I marshal my thoughts. Or it could be an anticipatory nostalgia, imagining myself in 4th year gazing back in longing at this ripe 20, so painlessly achieved. It’s also the awareness that I’m contributing my last few words to this blog, which has been passed down, year after year, through generations of budding transnationalists, and will soon be inherited by a whole new cohort. They might scroll back through past posts, find this one, and laugh at its ridiculous sentimentality, unaware that a few months down the line they would be the ones trying to find the words for an adequate conclusion.

In my last blog post I introduced you all to Johann Reinhold Forster, a Prussian naturalist who sailed with Captain James Cook on Cook’s second voyage into the Pacific. When Forster moved from Prussia to England, not only did he move himself, but also his entire family. When Forster was offered the job of sailing with Captain Cook, he accepted on the condition that his eldest son Georg could join him. Georg was sixteen at the time of Cook’s voyage but had already proven himself to his father. When the Forsters still lived in Prussia, Johann Reinhold was constantly attempting to secure academic positions to teach about science and botany. While he was searching for positions however, he was constantly spending money on books about ancient history and geography; so much so, that he was almost constantly in debt. His unfortunate habit of always falling into debt would remain a major hamper for the rest of his life, as his debts followed him everywhere he went. Georg’s reputation was much higher than his father’s, especially during and after Cook’s voyage. He was highly intelligent, observational, loyal, and thoughtful, but most importantly, even tempered and easy to get along with. Johann Reinhold was the exact opposite – though he was intelligent and knew what he was doing, his horrendously unlikable personality was perhaps the most crucial aspect that prevented him from getting further recognition and success in the field.

            Before the Forsters relocated to England, Johann Reinhold was commissioned for an expedition to Russia in 1765. He brought Georg, who was then 10 years old, on this expedition, where they studied the geography, ethnology, and natural history of the region. Georg himself focused primarily on the botanical aspects. Johann Reinhold had hoped that his reports following the expedition would result in an academic post of some nature, which did not happen, as one of his reports did not fit the expectations held – an event of a similar nature happened on his return from Cook’s voyage, after it was deemed what he had planned to write was deemed by the Royal Society as unreadable, and would thus require heavy editing from an outside hire by the Society’s choosing. However, it was this Russian expedition that helped Forster get his letters of recommendation help his reputation enough to get him to England.[1]

            Georg himself did not write journals during Cook’s voyage but took some notes instead. During the publication crisis at the voyage’s completion, after much negotiation and arguments, it was decided that Johann Reinhold was not allowed to publish anything related to the voyage. However, this decree did not apply to Georg, and so Georg set to work compiling his father’s journals along with his own notes, rushing to beat Cook in publishing. The Forsters succeeded in publishing their own account roughly six weeks before Cook’s official account. Under Georg’s name, it was called: A Voyage Round the World (1777). However, in England the Forsters’ account did not sell as well as Cook’s account. Among many things, Cook’s account was complete with illustrations and woodcuts. Johann Reinhold published his scientific-focused Observations in 1778, and though it was well received and generally well regarded, was not enough to cover his continuous debts. With his reputation thoroughly slashed in England, the Forsters relocated back to Prussia once Johann Reinhold had paid off his debts and gotten enough money to make the move, a mere 3 years after the voyage had returned. Johann Reinhold managed to get a teaching position at his old university at Halle, due to Georg’s efforts in getting a post for his father.[2] Johann Reinhold taught natural history, but his classes were not popular, despite his unique exposure to the South Pacific. Again, his unfavourable personality was what hampered his success. Eventually, his classes were better attended, and he remained there until his death.[3]

            Georg, on the other hand, was offered several positions on the Forsters’ return to Prussia. His A Voyage Round the World was extremely well-received in Europe and especially in his home country. He was extremely popular in Europe and found fame as a writer and philosopher. In Paris, he crossed paths with Benjamin Franklin, and was regarded as a teacher of Alexander von Humboldt, also influencing Hegel, Goethe, and Friedrich Schlegel.[4] He went through numerous academic positions following Cook’s voyage, and continuously tried to get these positions for his father instead of himself. After multiple teaching jobs, in 1788 he accepted a position as a librarian at Mainz, where soon his life would take a dramatic turn. His wife had relationship with another man who also lived with them, and because of the ongoing French Revolution, they soon found Mainz occupied by the French. As a leader in the local Jacobin Club, Georg was, “an unofficial but trusted adviser to the French commander, a popular and successful agitator in the rural districts outside the town, and eventually the dominant voice in the National Convention that met in Mainz at the beginning of 1793”.[5] Johann Reinhold did not like Georg’s involvement with the Revolution and his radical views, and neither did many of Georg’s old friends and associates. His involvement led to the loss of many friends as well as the breakdown of his marriage.[6] In 1793, Georg went to Paris as one of three commissioners to request some of his proposed resolutions and degrees before the French National Assembly. However, when he was there, Mainz was re-occupied by allied powers. Georg found himself stranded in Paris where he worked for the republican government, remaining there until his early death in 1794 at the age of 39, having been plagued with ill health for much of his adult life.[7] So, from Prussia, to Russia, to England, to the South Pacific, back to England, back to Prussia/Germany, and then to France, Georg Forster lived a truly transnational life, where he established himself as an intellectual, writer, and scientist, all at a relatively young age.

            Despite the Forsters unique transnational experience, not a lot of attention has been paid to them. Work on Johann Reinhold Forster, in particular, pales in comparison to his counterpart on Cook’s first Endeavour voyage, Joseph Banks. Though there has been a little more work done on Georg, most of it is in relation to his dealings with the French Revolution. It is rather unfortunate that the Forsters are relatively unknown by most, as they truly do have a transnational story to tell.

            Georg’s, A Voyage Round the World, is available in ebook form from the university library. If you are interested in Johann Reinhold Forster’s handwritten journals, you can find them here: https://digital.staatsbibliothek-berlin.de/suche?results_on_page=20&current_page=1&sort_on=relevance&sort_direction=desc.

[1] John Dawson, ‘The Forsters, Father and Son, Naturalists on Cook’s Second Voyage’, New Zealand Slavonic Journal (1998), pp. 100-103.

[2] Dawson, ‘The Forsters, Father and Son’, p. 107.

[3] Ibid., p. 108.

[4] Gordon A. Craig, ‘Engagement and Neutrality in Germany: The Case of Georg Forster, 1754-94’, The Journal of Modern History 41:1 (1969), pp. 1-3.

[5] Craig, ‘Engagement and Neutrality’, p. 4.

[6] Ibid., p. 5. Dawson, ‘The Forsters, Father and Son’, p. 108.

[7] Craig, ‘Engagement and Neutrality’, pp. 4-5.

These past few weeks, I focused on working on a part of my project that I had yet to fully explore. As I mentioned before, most of my work had been focused on exploring transnational feminist first wave movements in Latin America. through my research for the short essay I began exploring the idea that the reason as to why Latin American feminists aimed to create a movement alongside Iberian women, and how this idea of a shared experience could have been influenced by the experience of colonisation of Latin America by Spain and Portugal.

I began by reading a book by Susan Midgen Scolow titled ‘The Women of Colonial Latin America”. This text focuses on exploring gendered relations in Colonial Latin America and the idea of the patriarchal family unit. Nonetheless, it also explores how the arrival of Iberian Women, who had begun to arrive as settlers in the 1560s fundamentally changed the experience of womanhood in the Americas. These women brought with them a culture deep rooted in Roman Catholicism, a culture in which both womanhood and masculinity were heavily tied to concepts of honour, and a deep attachment to the family unit, all values which I still see are very much interwoven in Latin American and Iberian culture today, even more so than I had when studying other Early Modern Gender histories. (Sidenote: the fact that I can form links with gendered attitude taking place in mid 16th century demonstrates that there is something fundamentally flawed with gender in Latin America in the 21st century… a bit concerning to be honest.) 

However, what was particularly interesting to me was how the author explored the experiences of Indigenous and African women who were also present during the colonisation. Although growing up I knew of the atrocities which Indigenous women in particular had suffered, from mass rape to their subjugation into prostitution, concubinage and even slavery by male Iberian colonisers had never been a secret. Yet, this chapter sort of made me question the history education which I had received in Spain – which in taking Spain’s role as the ‘Colonisers’ had failed to truly explore the atrocities suffered by Indigenous and African Women.

Although these gender-race interactions are not the main focus of my Project, I am almost angry at myself for failing to ‘keep it in mind’ even as I was doing most of my research. At the end of the day, although they experienced racist attitudes from North American women (and also the fact that the literature regarding early Latin American feminists is very scarce), the women with participated in Transnational feminist movements in the early 20th century were all white, and most if not all were a part of the upper and middle-upper classes. They are by no means the subaltern within Latin America, and I am starting to believe that it is a deserve on my part to write a gender history which fails to consider, or even keep in mind, Indigenous and African women in Latin America.

Although I do not want to expand the scope of my project project too much (we all know where that spiral leads to and I have deadlines to meet!) I am very glad that I came across this book. I hope that reading more about the colonial experiences of Latin American women will help me formulate better links between the roles of race and gender in defining these first wave transnational movements, and that I will develop and piece of work which is more conscious regarding these disparities even if they are not the main focus of my work. Perhaps this could be an interesting direction from which to take this work later on. This is after all, a work in progress. 

I am not sure if anyone else has found it tricky to find new topics of conversations with the people around them. We tend to gain our news from the same sources, leaving little for discussion at our collective mealtimes. My parents and I were discussing normality, and the potential return to it when this is all over. It further raised the question of whether it really come to an end as soon as we hope or can predict and plan for. It is difficult to imagine returning to life before in exactly the same way. My dad compared this to travelling in the United States, or anywhere in the world for that matter, before 9/11. Moving through an airport and the precautions taken would have been a very different experience, and one we have little to no recollection of. Yet these measures are just assumed, they are no longer questioned and taken to be the norm. What will we have to adapt in our lives over the next six months to a year that will be soon considered commonplace? It might be itchy and uncomfortable at first, like a new haircut you’re not quite used to (all the girls who have cut their own fringes or boys shaving their heads in isolation) but soon you get used to it.

There was an article in the New York Times a few weeks ago, titled “Celebrity Culture is Burning” https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/30/arts/virus-celebrities.html. There has been much criticism of certain celebrities as of late, almost preaching for people to stay home and donate despite themselves being in quite privileged situations. From Gal Gadot to Vanessa Hudgens, this has only reinforced the ‘cancelled culture’ we continue to live in and Owen rightly pointed out in his blog this week. Celebrities no longer have the same stature in our global society right now. They are not swanning around fashion weeks or award shows, on luxury island vacations, or getting ready to attend the Met Gala next Monday. They are stuck at home, much like everyone else who can afford to be, and the article highlights that this does not make them very interesting (One of the funniest things to come out of this celebrity push for solidarity is John Mayer singing the wrong version of Imagine for Gal Gadot’s rendition, I think you can find it on TikTok). This further reinforces the idea of the new normal. What new role will celebrities play, how will they fill new parameters?

What I think this time has highlighted is the power of community action, and looking within for inspiration. The power of single campaigns has captured the popular imagination. Tom Moore, the nearly 100 year-old man who has walked 100 laps of his garden for the NHS reached £1 million in donations just under a week ago. At the time of writing this blog, he has raised over £26.5 million for the NHS staff and volunteers. At a time when many charitable events have been cancelled, and conventional fundraising does not fit with social distancing, we are seeing how people adapt. Similarly, Olivia Strong’s Run for Heroes campaign which sees people run 5k and donate £5 has such a simple premise, but she has seen her initial goal of £5000 grow to over £3m. This time has not stopped people raising money, much the opposite. ‘Ordinary’ people have championed change, we have seen how local action has spread globally.   

While we could this period as one where countries are becoming increasingly insular, as borders close and politicians throw ugly comparisons to convince their critics they are doing a good job. It has also showcased empathetic leadership in many cases, it has brought local communities together, made people actually get to know their neighbours and forced a reconsideration of priorities. This will only continue, and further contribute to the new normal. How will this time be remembered? Will it be the frequent face-offs and name calling between Cuomo and Trump? Jacinda Ardern’s declaration that the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny are essential workers? Or will people like Tom Moore and the weekly 8pm clapping be written as triumphs through hardship, indicative of this British Keep Calm and Carry On mentality? It will be easy to write this pandemic through national histories, but when it is such a global issue, it will be so important to encapsulate the wider experience.  

I woke up yesterday morning to see ‘Rosa Parks’ trending on Twitter. When someone trends on Twitter these days, it is usually for one of four reasons: they’re dead (not possible in Parks’ case, since she passed away in 2005); they’ve been ‘cancelled’ (very very unlikely in Parks’ case); they’ve released new material: books, music, film etc. (again, not possible for Parks); or someone else has said something about them and sparked debate.

Indeed, Parks was trending as a result of this final category. Stephen Moore, an economic advisor to the White House, had suggested that those Americans protesting against the lockdown were ‘the modern day Rosa Parks’ because ‘they are protesting against injustice and a loss of liberties’.

Putting the context of the coronavirus aside (and trying to remain apolitical), I want to consider these remarks within the context of my project, considering the advent of the civil rights movement that Parks played such an influential role in and its global impact, particularly in the subsequent civil rights campaign in Northern Ireland.

Michael Farrell, one of the leaders of People’s Democracy, an organisation central to the Northern Irish civil rights movement, gave a speech at Queen’s University, Belfast in 2018 to commemorate 50 years since the first civil rights march in Northern Ireland in 1968. In this speech, he addressed the world in which Northern Ireland found itself in 2018 and sought to suggest a relationship, or lack thereof, between it and the world that fostered the civil rights movement. He suggested that the transnational movement of ideas from the US to Northern Ireland on civil rights brought a ‘strong current of anti-racism and international solidarity that permeated the movement [in Northern Ireland]. However, as he continues, ‘fifty years later, the situation is almost reversed. Today there is a growing threat from right wing populism, xenophobia, homophobia and downright racism that has been sweeping across Europe… while anti-immigrant hostility has been a leading factor in the pro-Brexit campaign in the UK’.

This reversal can also be seen as a transnational process and (irrespective of its origins) has been present in the US in recent years, and, through Moore’s hostile comments on the nature of the injustice fought by African Americans in their civil rights movement, it has been directly expressed and exposed. The fundamental difference between Parks and her ‘modern day contemporaries’ is that Parks was fighting for the liberties she and other African Americans had never had, and the injustice that had irreparably damaged and cost lives; these ‘modern day versions’ are fighting an ‘injustice’ designed to save them.

Perhaps back in 1968, if Twitter had existed, Rosa Parks might have been trending in Northern Ireland, but, by Michael Farrell’s word, it would have been for a very different reason to the ones that exist in today’s world.