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| 1 |
ID:
187751
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| Summary/Abstract |
Historians of the modern United States have long debated the scope and significance of radical left activism in the aftermath of the uprisings of the 1960s. One common argument has been that the U.S. left experienced decline and even collapse in the 1970s and 1980s in the face of an ascendant conservative movement. A major casualty of the left’s political program, as this interpretation has often gone, was its revolutionary internationalism—the dream of building solidarity among radical and revolutionary movements across the world.1 This narrative, while certainly not without merit, has tended to overlook the degree of diversity, improvisation, and reinvention that took place on the U.S. left in these decades. Indeed, as scholars have shown, it was in this moment of challenge that radicals set to work refining their analyses and tactics. Taking stock of the successes and failures of the 1960s, they developed new forms of movement structure and direct action that would give shape to much of what came after, from the anti-globalization protests of the 1990s to the Occupy and Black Lives Matter Movements in the twenty-first century.2
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| 2 |
ID:
187747
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| Summary/Abstract |
On February 19, 1981, Shmuel Lahis, the general manager of the Jewish Agency for Israel (the organization coordinating immigration absorption in Israel) resigned at the culmination of a public scandal. Three years earlier, Lahis’s very appointment as the general manager had sparked public protests due to the fact that in 1948, then-First Lieutenant Lahis stood trial for killing thirty-three unarmed civilians in the village of Hula (three kilometers north of Israel) during the final campaign of the first Arab-Israeli war.1 Lahis had initially been convicted by a military court for killing fifteen people, and received a seven-year sentence. On appeal, the supreme military court commuted his punishment to one year, stating that in the context of the war “there is no wonder a great hatred of Arabs emerged.”2 Lahis was spared prison time, and spent a year in an open military base instead. In 1955 he received a presidential pardon.3 Lahis began working as a regional legal advisor for the Jewish Agency in 1961, moving up the ranks to the position of general manager in 1978. Arie Dulzin, the chairman of the Jewish Agency, rebuffed protests against Lahis’s appointment by saying that as Lahis had been pardoned, and his “was not an act which carries a stigma,” the appointment was conisdered unproblematic.4 Lahis’s military record did not keep him out of the job. Instead, Lahis would lose his job for an act Israeli officialdom could simply not pardon: authoring a report detailing the grievances of Israelis who chose to emigrate from Israel to the United States.
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| 3 |
ID:
187750
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Young Japanese people experienced the end of World War II in many ways. Twenty-two-year-old Yamada Taro returned to his home village in Hyogo prefecture in western Japan in the fall of 1945, after having been a Japanese Navy draftee for nearly two years. This must have been an unreal homecoming for him—the Navy had ordered him to go on a “suicide attack.” Before his scheduled last day of life, however, Japan surrendered to the Allied powers. Yamada, who passed away in 2011, left no written reminiscences of his wartime experiences. However, his neighbors and family members recollect him as someone who was never enthusiastic about the war. During a farewell ceremony held in his village for young local men being inducted into the military, all inductees—except for him—customarily performed the “banzai” shouts to show they were happy to fight and die for the emperor. Yamada, instead, looked straight ahead, poker-faced, quietly asking his fellow villagers to take care of the family he would leave behind—his mother and the seven siblings he had been supporting since losing his father during his last year of secondary school.1 While Yamada was adjusting back to civilian life during the U.S. occupation of Japan, Kanai Satoshi, another young man in the same prefecture, was pondering over the future of Seinendan, a youth organization of which he was part. Seinendan originated as a community youth group for men in their teens through mid-twenties but had been incorporated into militarist Japan’s war mobilization scheme. With the war’s end, Kanai was determined to reform and refresh the organization to meet the social needs of the new era.
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| 4 |
ID:
187748
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| Summary/Abstract |
On July 19, 1983, Berkeley, California’s City Council voted to create a sister city relationship with the village of San Antonio Los Ranchos, located in El Salvador’s rural department of Chalatenango. San Antonio Los Ranchos was not Berkeley’s first sister city. In the mid-1960s, the college town had established ties with Sakai, Japan, a rotary club-funded initiative that facilitated an exchange of high school students between the two cities.1 Yet, the relationship created between Berkeley and the Salvadoran hamlet remained of a fundamentally different character, perhaps unlike any other U.S. sister city in existence. The initiative was an explicit statement of political solidarity. According to a 1983 pamphlet distributed by the Berkeley-based non-profit New El Salvador Today (NEST), the group partially responsible for the creation of the sister city, “[i]n 1981 Salvadoran government troops were displaced from San Antonio Los Ranchos. In its wake the people have created a democratic self-government, a Local Popular Government.
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| 5 |
ID:
187749
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When the United States attacked the Kingdom of Korea in May and June 1871, it did so as part of its presence as a minor but ambitious power in the crowded Western Pacific. U.S. expansion had long revolved around ideas of maritime greatness and the dream of linking East Asian and Atlantic world commerce.1 Framing Western-Asian relations for three generations, a fast-multiplying set of unequal treaties opened ports, fixed tariffs, and forced legal exemptions. The United States never acquired possessions under the treaty system, but conquest or purchase was not the only way to make an “insular” empire. First introduced to East Asia in the U.S.-imposed Treaty of Wanghia in 1844, elastic extra-territoriality created a separate legal terrain under the jurisdiction of Western consular courts that “stretch[ed]” the borders of the home polities. By codifying the idea that only Western nations, including the junior United States, were civilized enough for full sovereignty, Americans embraced and advanced this quintessentially imperial order.2 Involvement in Asia was therefore also a device for U.S. recognition alongside globally-active European empires. The United States here engaged in “collaborative competition” with Great Britain, a “hitchhiking imperialism” merely obfuscated by the Monroe Doctrine’s rhetorical demarcations. Out of ambition as well as necessity, U.S. commercial and diplomatic exploits relied on the backing and emulation of the British Empire. In the 1860s and 1870s, the exigencies of the “Salt Water Civil War” and the enormous political-economic challenges of nation-building only reinforced the need for a pragmatic Asiatic presence.3 Americans in East Asia were very much part of what one historian has called “the ultimate test of Europe’s capacity to construct a stable and co-operative colonial order.” It is within this context of collective and cooperative Western imperialism in China and Japan that the U.S. military expedition to Korea has to be placed.
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| 6 |
ID:
187746
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| Summary/Abstract |
In April 1791, Captain Joseph Ingraham of the Boston brigantine Hope happened upon seven islands not found on any European charts of the Pacific. With patriotic fervor, he named them Washington, Adams, Federal, Lincoln, Hancock, Knox, and Franklin and in a “ceremony of taking possession” claimed them for the United States.1 Few Americans today, historians included, realize that many people in the first half of the nineteenth century believed that the United States did indeed have some kind of claim to these densely populated, Polynesian islands located more than 4000 miles west of Peru
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