This study examines English Medium Instruction (EMI) teacher identities in two Colombian universities within the context of the country's linguistic diversity and sociopolitical shifts. It highlights the educational preference for English over indigenous languages and the contentious introduction of EMI and Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL). The research focuses on the identity (re)configurations of EMI educators within this evolving landscape, influenced by both personal and broader sociopolitical factors. Utilizing a qualitative approach, the study examines seven professors across disciplines to capture their experiences with EMI. The findings underscore the complexity of EMI teacher identity (EMITI), which intersects language, discipline, context, and pedagogy. The ROAD-MAPPING framework facilitates an exploration of these identities, highlighting the critical role of teacher agency in EMI settings. The research illuminates how EMI teachers navigate their roles amid global and local pressures, disciplinary demands, and the linguistic aspects of EMI. This study enriches the understanding of language policy, teacher identity, and educational practices in multilingual higher education contexts.

To most contributors in this volume, international organizations (IOs) act both as agents of, and inhibitors of peaceful change. This leaves the task of identifying exactly how and why they foster or inhibit peaceful change to empirical analysis and mid-level theorizing. Yet, as Ian Hurd points out in his chapter, understanding the deep power politics at play in institutionalized peaceful change requires a higher level of theorizing. This concluding chapter takes stock of the collective findings in light of Hurd’s cautionary tale and suggests future avenues of research engaging with postpositivist, relational, and critical theories. It identifies three main areas in need of further theorizing: the agents, the stakes, and the processes of peaceful change. It argues that such further theorizing would not only shed light on transformative processes of maximalist peaceful change which are yet to be fully explored in this volume, but it would also help develop a more pluralistic research agenda.

This chapter reviews ways of analyzing interactional and grammatical regularities of spoken, dialogically organized language in a constructional framework. The basic tenet is that grammatical constructions, when used in talk-in-interaction, are housed in interactional sequences, and it is the constructions’ positions in certain sequential locations that motivates their use and shapes their form. Therefore, aspects of sequence and discourse organization are potentially distinctive features of constructions, and reflections of the interactional contingencies that generate them. Four types of construction are examined: receipt questions, second assessments, a construction of meaning negotiation, and pseudo-clefts. All these patterns can be said to be responsive in one way or another, thus lending themselves well to a dialogically sensitive analysis. The analytic examples highlight the necessity of abstracted interactional information for a fuller understanding of the workings of grammatical constructions in talk-in-interaction and for how an interactional perspective can enrich constructional approaches to analyzing linguistic structure.

Women’s agency was contingent on the multiple parties concerned with it, and they formed its gendered understandings and practices. This chapter traces those understandings and practices in the courtroom, where Taiwanese women in premarital sexual relationships expressed their interests. From the early 1920s, more women made their voices heard in civil cases on marital affairs and divorce, which revealed changing attitudes toward marriage and premarital sexual relationships among themselves, their partners and family members, and Japanese judges. The judges joined the male litigants in highlighting the formal state of marriage and wifehood against women’s informal personal status and their sexual histories. Meanwhile, Taiwanese women continued to react against the discriminatory treatment of premarital sexual relationships and eventually won the more flexible treatment of premarital relationships as if they were formal marriages in the mid-1930s. However, this result was achieved only when those women agreed to be submissive to their male partners or otherwise considered promiscuous. Changing the direction of their sexual, marital, and family lives took on a gender-specific tone.

This chapter bridges environmental humanities and Black humanities by examining a figure largely, if curiously, excluded from the “ecocritical” canon: Charles Chesnutt, the first African American writer of commercially successful fiction. Reading literary environmentalism beyond the lenses of Romanticism or transcendentalism, Forbes finds in Chesnutt’s late nineteenth-century conjure tales a richly imagined Black environmental heritage that connected race and nature. Chesnutt’s short fiction featuring metamorphoses of humans into plants and animals represents a key node in an alternate, and nonlinear, Black environmentalist timeline. In contrast to environmentalisms that pit nature’s interests against humans’, the insights we see at flashpoints across this tradition, and crucially in Chesnutt’s conjure tales, belie narratives of human/nature separation that underpin most “white” environmentalisms. Moreover, his marshaling of racialized nonhuman agencies also helps us address persistent difficulties associated with new materialist theorizing. Fusing human/plant/animal agencies to frameworks of care and nurturance, characters in Chesnutt’s conjure tales weaponize “waste” against enslavement’s inhuman valuation systems.

Here I defend the view that freedom requires more than merely opportunities to act but also the provision of resources needed for agents to enjoy capabilities to pursue valued activities and ways of life.

The border exists not only as a function of its physicality, but also of the way its discipline is internalized by migrants and asylum seekers. At the intersection of both, this chapter focuses on how asylum seekers are led to minimize the element of migrancy in their trajectories, making the reasons why they aspire to seek asylum in some countries than others invisible to international law. Contra this invisibility, it makes the case that asylum seekers, even as they flee persecution, are migrants too, drawn by certain countries rather than others on the basis of varying life projects and ongoing connections. The impossibility to normatively articulate such an ambition within the categories of international law must count as one of the considerable costs imposed by the border’s disciplining effect.

This chapter examines the popularity of Kinyarwanda-language rap and hip hop in urban Rwanda. It considers how it can be understood as a genre both of anger and sorrow, revealing Kigali as a site not of progress and modernity but rather of poverty and deception. The genre’s use and invention of Kinyarwanda slang is considered, as well as its politics. The chapter argues that a simple resistance–domination binary is unhelpful for truly understanding hip hop’s local complexities. Instead, it takes into account the carefully guarded silences that hip hop artists maintained, and the ways in which the performance of swaga was less available to young women than to young men.

This chapter introduces the main arguments of the book by exploring the case of Kizito Mihigo, a well-known popular singer who was imprisoned, was released, and later died while in police custody. It discusses the idiom of the heart – or, more particularly, the need to transform the heart – as key to understanding post-genocide social life and urban young people’s attempts to navigate a difficult political terrain. Instead of reproducing theoretical binaries – resistance–domination, sound–silence, past–present – this chapter proposes looking to popular culture and Pentecostalism in order to understand the different ways young people in Kigali attempt to assert agency and make ‘noise’ despite a wider context of silence.

The question of how should I live has special resonance in the Anthropocene, which threatens virtually everything we care about. This chapter answers this question by saying that I should live in a way that expresses my values, and that these values should be directed towards making the world better. In practice this means living car-free if possible, avoiding airplane travel, eating a plant-based diet, and having few, if any, children. In addition to living this way, we should try to change law and policy, and support individuals in their efforts to live in this way. Yet, no matter how much we may succeed, we will inevitably live with change and perhaps even disaster. These present threats to living a meaningful life, but they are also the elements from which meaning and joy must be forged.

This chapter studies global histories that consider aspects of the material world. It exposes the – often tacit – assumptions that guide these global material histories and holds them up for careful inspection. Its particular interest is in the grounds on which global material historians associate matter and material culture with a specific scale, context or level of observation: with world-making, the global scale and ‘connectivity’, but also with the concrete, the ‘micro’ and the intimate. In that context, the chapter discusses a wide range of themes, from the risk of fetishising material things – as in, reverencing them for properties, including ‘global’ ones, merely projected onto them – to the inevitability of canvassing some forms of materiality on a global scale: the pollution of air, for instance, or, for the post–Cold War era, the issue of resource shortages. The chapter argues that, like any form of historical writing, global material histories are under the influence of their practitioners’ own times’ socioreligious texture, global imaginary and discursive habits; mindful of the telos and conceptions that pervade their work, they will be better prepared to see the world of matter and material culture in all its changeability, elusiveness and polysemy.

This chapter comprehensively lays out all the possible ways that artificial intelligence (AI) might interact with Jewish sources as their relationship develops over the next many years. It divides the scope of the relationship into three parts. First, it engages with questions of moral agency and their potential interactions with Jewish law, and suggests that this path, while enticing, may not be particularly fruitful. Second, it suggests that Jewish historical sources generally distinguish human value from human uniqueness, and that there is therefore quite a bit of room to think of an AI as a person, if we so choose, without damaging the value of human beings. Finally, it considers how Jewish thought might respond to AI as a new height of human innovation, and how the human–AI relationship shares many characteristics with the God–human relationship as imagined in Jewish sources.

The child rights movement does not have a requirement of being built by children. When it speaks on behalf of children, where does its authority to represent children come from? Who has the legitimacy to demand major social change on behalf of children and between children? How can the child rights movement begin to open up to self-critique and discourse on how not to reproduce social inequalities of, for example, race, class, and gender? And when the child rights movement chooses the efficacy of the CRC over a democratic legal order, how is accountability for such decisions exercised?