Journal articles: 'Daughters of Jesus' – Grafiati (2024)

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Jacques De Vitry (c. 160-1240) was a most perceptive and sympathetic observer of all that the religious life meant to women at the beginning of the thirteenth century. He thus took care to address some of his preaching to particular groups of these women. In his Sermones vulgares, probably set down at some time after 1228, he put forward messages appropriate to each of these groups. He was uniquely qualified to do so.

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The Pentecostal sermon attributed to Peter in Acts announces Joel’s prophecy fulfilled: It shall happen in the last days, says God, that I will pour some of my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your youths shall see visions and your elders shall dream dreams; yes, even on my slaves and slavegirls in those days I will pour some of my Spirit, and they shall prophesy.The gift thus overrides sex, rank, and social status; it is often overlooked that the company on whom the Spirit falls in Acts 2 includes, beside the restored Twelve, ‘women and Mary the mother of Jesus and his brothers’, and Acts in this respect agrees with Paul that in Christ ‘there is no Jew nor Greek, there is no slave nor free man, there is no male and female; you are all one person in Christ Jesus.’

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One of the first longer letters of Pope John Paul II was addressed to the Hungarian Episcopacy and the Hungarian Catholics. Besides the traditional Polish-Hungarian friendship, he highlighted the person of Saint Stephen and the role of Hungary in the history of the Christian religion. “ […] the Catholic Church, which had such a significant role in the history of Hungary, can still pervade the spiritual image of your country, and can make the lightness of Jesus Christ’s gospel, that gave light to the sons of the Hungarian people during so many centuries, shine for your sons and daughters.”- wrote in his letter.

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AbstractThis essay is a comparison of the teachings of Socrates and Jesus on non-retaliation and love of enemies as they appear in Crito 47c-49d and Republic I, 331e-336a, and in Matthew 5:38-48 and Luke 6:27-36. It asks in each case precisely what the authors meant and how they grounded their conclusions.Socrates held that one must never do harm to another even in return for harm received. His arguments were based on his general theory of virtue and on certain ambiguities in Greek ethical language. Ultimately the arguments are based on a form of self-interest; retaliation is a form of injustice and hence harmful to the one who practices it. He does not propose a doctrine of general non-violence, nor does he ever say that one must actually love one's enemy.The gospel texts go beyond simple non-retaliation and make positive love of all enemies, inside and outside the community, an absolute command of Jesus. It is a positive attitude and is not based on hope of love in return. God will reward it, but the primary motive is imitation of the Heavenly Father, whose daughters and sons the disciples are. Enemy love does not give them this status; rather it flows from the fact of discipleship.

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Na celebração dos 350 anos do dies natalis de São Vicente de Paulo, fundador da Associação Internacional de Caridades, da Congregação da Missão e da Companhia das Filhas da Caridade, bem como inspirador de centenas de outras comunidades, associações e movimentos comprometidos com o serviço e a evangelização dos pobres, a REB se une às alegrias da Família Vicentina, presente e atuante no mundo inteiro, particularmente no Brasil. No artigo que segue, o autor se propõe apresentar as linhas mestras da experiência espiritual de São Vicente, evidenciando o modo concreto como este homem de Deus e dos pobres seguiu Jesus Cristo no âmago dos acontecimentos, em meio aos desafios do contexto sócio-religioso em que viveu e atuou.Abstract: In the celebration of the 350 years of the dies natalis of Saint Vincent de Paul, founder of the International Association of Charities, of the Congregation of the Mission and of the Company of the Daughters of Charity, as well as the inspirer of hundreds of other communities, associations and movements committed to the service and evangelization of the poor, REB shares the happiness of the Vincentine Family, present and active throughout the world, in particular in Brazil. In the article that follows, the Author proposed to present the main lines of St. Vincent’s spiritual experience, showing the concrete way in which this man of God and of the poor followed Jesus Christ to the heart of the events, amidst the challenges of the socio-religious context in which he lived and acted.

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Isidore’s treatise De ortu et obitu patrum (On the Lifes and Deathes of the Fathers) contains biographies of outstanding biblical figures from Adam to Titus. Among them there are four women, to which the bishop of Seville dedicates spe­cial chapters. These are Esther, Judith, John Baptist’s mother Elisabeth and Mary, Mother of Jesus. He also mentions 26 women while presenting famous biblical patriarchs, judges, kings and prophets. Mothers and grandmothers, sisters and daughters, wives and widows participate in different important biblical events, support men on their way to salvation, as well as lead them to the moral fall and suffer because of it. Except four above mentioned heroins, Isidore describes bibli­cal women very superficially, giving only those details of their lifes and characters that help him to introduce his male heroes. Although the erudite bishop admires the virtue both in men as well as in women and hates the sin regardless of the sin­ner’s sex, it seems that he considers the history of Salvation to be the history of relations between God and mankind represented first of all by a man. In Isidore’s feeling it is the latter who is responsible before the Lord not only for himself, but for the whole world and for a woman as well.

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Mark 7:24–30 tells the story of Jesus’ surprising encounter and sharp verbal exchange with a Syrophoenician woman who sought healing for her demon-oppressed daughter. The woman embodies otherness in many dimensions: religious, ethnic, status, and gender. Jesus’ initial response to her request, expressed in a harsh-sounding parabolic proverb, is resistance and reluctance. This article explores possible reasons for that reluctance and suggests that Jesus initially understood that the Reign of God would be realized first among Jews and only later among Gentiles. The woman’s clever response to Jesus, as well as her insistence on the inclusiveness of divine mercy, served to change Jesus’ mind about the order and timing of the fulfillment of God’s in-breaking rule and reign. This article takes the view that Jesus’ change of mind can serve as a model for contemporary followers of Jesus who sometimes struggle to receive the challenging gifts of otherness. It also affirms that “the others” often have both insights and courage which may be catalytic for the growth of those who encounter them.

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There is no doubt that in Jesus’ times the three ancient languages, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek were commonly spoken in Roman Palestine. It is also beyond discussion that Jesus’ mother tongue was Aramaic.There are many Aramaic wordings in the Greek New Testament that are hinting at the original language of Jesus’ sermons. The aim of this paper is to investigate three Aramaic phrases in the Greek Gospels: Jesus’ cry from the cross (Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?; Mt 27:46; Mk 15:34), his command to the daughter of Jairus (Talitha koum; Mk 5:41) and his allusion to Aramaic characters (iōta – keraia; Mt 5:18).Furthermore, there are also many Aramaic common words and proper names (personal and place names) in the Greek New Testament. They will require an extra future research.

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In May 1741, an anonymous Yorkshire Methodist sent George Whitefield a long letter in which he recorded the details of his nine-year-old daughter’s evangelical conversion. Within a fortnight the letter was printed in The Weekly History, the magazine which had become the official mouthpiece of the Calvinistic wing of the Evangelical Revival by this point. Here is how Whitefield began his account: We have a little daughter about nine years old; one Lord's Day in the last winter, when she staid at home, she read one of your journals, and afterwards some sermons of yours we had got from London. It pleased God by his Holy Spirit so to impress her mind as is very remarkable. She desires me to tell Mr Whitefield (that sweet minister of Jesus Christ) what she has met with in reading his book, she says, such a change of Heart, that she can now pray to God, and converse with his people in such a manner as she could never do before that day. She is of a sprightly brisk temper, yet if she be never so much engaged in work or play, if she hears any body talk of you, or things relating to religion, she will come and hear, and put in her word about it.

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Medieval Christians were fascinated by the character of the Samaritan woman, whose story is presented in the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John. Numerous legends celebrating her life history recounted in imaginative detail the heroic deeds of this convert to Christ. The Bible itself, of course, gives no information about her following her encounter with Jesus, nor does it even mention her name. But medieval hagiographers named her Photina and recounted her brave witness to the gospel, leading to her ultimate martyrdom. One legend reports that she converted the daughter of Nero and was martyred in Rome. Another places her in Carthage, where she preached the gospel and died in prison. Although ancient and medieval commentaries on the fourth Gospel do not commemorate these extracanonical accomplishments, they portray the Samaritan woman's personality and discipleship in equally flattering ways. Not only does she beautifully model the sinner's conversion to Christ, but she also demonstrates admirable zeal in bearing witness to Christ among her fellow Samaritans. On the basis of her testimony, a host of the citizens of Sychar come to faith in Christ, a feat matched by none of Jesus' disciples in the pages of the Gospels.

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AbstractIn a famous story in b. Šabb. 116a–b, Imma Shalom and her brother, Rabban Gamaliel, present to a philosopher a dispute concerning the inheritance of the daughter. The judge, having being bribed by Imma Shalom, rules in her favor, against the ruling of the Torah of Moses, arguing that the latter has been abrogated and replaced by the “Torah of the Gospel,” which states that “the son and the daughter inherit equally.” After being bribed by Rabban Gamaliel, the philosopher recants, citing Matt 5:17, where Jesus reaffirms the validity of the Mosaic Law.This article argues that the “Torah of the Gospel” actually refers to The Syro-Roman Lawbook, and that the story is constructed as a response to a radical and new legal supersessionist argument brought forth in this book which is directly linked to the Roman law of equal inheritance. This is the first clear evidence we have that, alongside the New Testament, the Babylonian rabbis also read and engaged directly with Christian books of their time written in Syriac. This has major ramifications on the way we perceive the textual culture of the Babylonian rabbis and their intellectual interactions with East Syrians.

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Unfaithful Bride The Matrimonial Practice of the Hellenistic Judaism in the Light of Sources from the Jewish Politeuma in Herakleopolis (144/3 – 133/2 BC)SummaryThe author is dealing with a Greek papyrus from Herakleopolis in Egypt where a Jewish politeuma is attested in the second half of the 2nd century BC (P.Polit.Iud. 4, 12 January 134 BC). This is a complaint by one Philotas, son of Philotas, a member of the politeuma, against Lysimachos, who had given his daughter Nikaia to him as a wife. After there Lysimachos changed his mind and gave his daughter to another man without receiving from Philotas the “customary bill of divorce” (to eithismenon tou apostasiou bublion). This document contributes to the discussion on the attitude of Hillel the Elder (Tosefta Ketubbot 4,9, and parallels) and Philo of Alexandria (De spec. leg. 3,72) concerning the legal situation of the spouses during the period separating the two stages of Jewish marriage, qiddushin and nissui’in. In the time of Philo and Hillel, the pregnancy of Mary (Matt. 1,18-25), the mother of Jesus, falls, from a judicial perspective, into the same category. Thanks to the Herakleopolis papyrus, the texts of Philo, Hillel and Matthew receive corroborating testimony from a source of unquestionable plausibility.

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A proposta deste artigo é sublinhar a antiga linhagem bíblica de Maria de Nazaré, a mulher histórica do Novo Testamento, a qual recebe o título de “filha predileta do Pai” no oitavo capítulo da Constituição Lumen gentium do Concílio Ecumênico Vaticano II. Este título não é só dado a Maria de Nazaré, mas a toda mulher que é chamada a anunciar a Boa Nova de Jesus Cristo Ressuscitado. A Autora coloca em evidência a missão que o Ressuscitado deu às mulheres na manhã da ressurreição e cunha esta missão como “mandato indicativo” dado a todas as mulheres que fazem a experiência do Ressuscitado: a de anunciar a todo o ser humano a Boa Notícia de que Jesus está vivo e que foi encontrado por seus discípulos na Galiléia. E conclui com o Documento de Aparecida que afirma: a fé de nossos povos se expressa numa espiritualidade trinitária, cristocêntrica e mariana. Os bispos falam desta piedade popular como de uma grande riqueza e de uma maneira legítima de nosso povo manifestar sua fé. Este é um dos desafios que teólogos e teólogas encontram na prática pastoral cotidiana.Abstract: The objective of this article is to highlight the old Biblical lineage of Mary of Nazareth, the historical woman of the New Testament, who receives the title of the “Father’s favourite daughter” in the eighth chapter of the Constitution Lumen gentium of the Ecumenical Council Vatican II. This title is given not only to Mary of Nazareth, but to every woman called to announce the Good Tidings of Jesus Christ Resuscitated. The Author brings to the fore the mission that the Resuscitated gave to the women in the morning of the resurrection and calls this mission an “indicative mandate” given to all women who live through the Resuscitated’s experience: that of announcing to every human being the Good Tidings that Jesus is alive and that he was found by his disciples in the Galilee. And it concludes with the Document of Aparecida that states: the faith of our peoples expresses itself in a Trinitarian, Christocentric and Marian spirituality.

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For many historians, the life and work of Foucauld are inseparable from France’s colonial conquest and Catholic missiology of the period. This article is not concerned with sainthood per se, but with mystical approaches to interfaith rapprochement. No doubt, the epistemic value of Foucauld’s life is a contested territory. The difficulty is to identify aspects of his mystical path as imitatio Christi among Muslims without overlooking his belief in the civilizing mission of France, dubbed the first daughter of the Roman Catholic Church. Though the sanctity of the former soldier turned hermit is debatable, his desire to sanctify the Tuaregs of the Hoggar is commendable. There are three points: (1) the hidden life of Jesus at Nazareth as a paradigm for mystical encounter, (2) prayer of intercession for the religious other as a locus for mystical rapprochement and (3) was Foucauld a colonial saint or a universal little brother?

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Interpreting the pericope about the resurrection of Lazarus, Augustine began his commentary with a reflection about three resurrection miracles described in the Gospels. Namely the raising to life Jairus’ daughter, young man of Nain and Lazarus. The latter seems to be the richest in theological meaning. Augustine compared these three dead with three types of sin (in the heart, in deed and out of habit). Those dead were raised to life by Jesus. He is the one who has the pow­er to do so. The forgiveness of sins is here presented as a spiritual resurrection. However in the most serious situation is Lazarus. It is a picture of the sinner, who not only commits sin, but is subjected to a habit. The forgiveness of sins is done by the power of Christ, but there is also the need for confession of sin, repentance, and the interference of Mother Church, which releases us from the bondage of sin.

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The problem of the Beloved Disciple (BD) has come to seem virtually insoluble. It cannot be John bar-Zebedee: there would be no reason to suppress the name of so high an authority; striking events which he attended (Jairus' daughter, the Transfiguration) are passed over in silence; and anyhow the whole Gospel is antipathetic to the Jerusalem leadership (see below). It cannot be an anonymous jerusalem disciple: none such is mentioned in the Jerusalem events of 2–12; these latter seem to consist of elements also found in the synoptic tradition, given a Johannine slant; and why should his name be suppressed, if he were Jesus' favourite, and the Gospel community's hero? It cannot be a totally fictitious ‘symbolic’ figure: no proposed symbolism is clear or adequate; and it was rumoured in the Church that he would not die. No one believes that he was Lazarus or John Mark: so what are we left with? It is time to approach the question from a different angle.

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Synopsis The case is set in Northeast Wisconsin, where the two largest industries are dairy farming and papermaking. Dairy farms have a continual need for bedding material for cows, and Lynn Heemeyer recognized an opportunity for a new bedding material: a waste byproduct of recycled paper. The case includes the progression of Heemeyer’s venture – Alternative Animal Bedding (AAB) – from the idea phase, to initiation and growth, to near collapse, recovery, and renewed growth. By September 2015, AAB was at a turning point as the sales were increasing, and Jess, Lynn’s daughter, had joined the business. Jess’s challenge: how best to grow the business. Research methodology Information for the case was gathered via interviews with Jess Heemeyer; she also provided some supporting materials. Jess Heemeyer is a former student of the author and a graduate of the institution that employs the author. Additional information for the case was collected from publicly available sources, as referenced. The identification of the college was not included in the case. Relevant courses and levels The case is best suited for use in an undergraduate or graduate entrepreneurship course or courses that include entrepreneurship as a topic. The case fits well with the topics of alertness and opportunity identification, and the innovation process. It can also be used to illustrate critical factors for new-venture development and growth. In addition, the benefits and challenges related to family-based entrepreneurial ventures can be included as a learning objective. Theoretical bases This case draws upon and illustrates the concept of alertness (Kirzner, 1973) which was further developed by Tang et al. (2012) when they identified three dimensions of alertness: “scanning and searching for information, connecting previously disparate information, and making evaluations on the existence of profitable business opportunities” (p. 77). Also, the case follows the creativity-based model of opportunity recognition developed by Corbett (2005) that uses experiential learning theory. Finally, students are asked to apply Ansoff’s Growth Matrix (Ansoff, 1957) to identify and evaluate the growth options available to the business owners and managers. As an optional pasture for discussion, a stewardship theory perspective can be applied to examine the family business aspect of this case (see Eddleston and Kellermanns, 2007).

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AbstractPhilips Galle (1537-1612) is best known as a productive engraver and publisher of prints. I Iowever, scant attention has been paid to the fact that he himself often designed prints which he or others engraved. This disregard of Galle's role as inventor is unfair, for many of his representions are particularly interesting for their iconography: several of the themes are original, conceived either by Galle himself or inspired by literary sources and introduced to Netherlandish art for the first time. Only a couple of his designs have been preserved: the drawings Perseus and Andromeda (fig. 1) and Vulcan Vanquished by Pallas (fig. 2), neither of which is signed. There is no doubting Galle's authorship however, because his prints always bear his name as the inventor. In alba amicorum he also drew a Head of Christ (in 1577 and 1579) and a I lead of Hercules (1582), (fig. 3). Galle's first print after a design of his own, Hiernnymus in the Desert (1561), was published by Hieronymus co*ck. Despite the absence of the name of a publisher, Galle himself probably published the other prints which he made later, during his Haarlem period (from 1563 to ca. 1570). The verses on the prints are by Hadrianus Junius, the Haarlem humanist who was his friend. Galle's designs of this period are very similar in style to Maarren van Heemskerck's : from the late 1550s on, Galle made engravings of some hundred or so of van Heemskerck's drawings. Another evident influence is that of Frans Floris, whose work Galle also engraved during this period. Many designs from Galle's Haarlem period are highly original, in particular The Wretchedness of Human Existence (1563; figs.4-9) is exceptional for the total absence in the series of any religious allusion or eschatological prospect. The six prints depict man's life starting with his birth and going on to show how he has to learn everything, succumbs to his own failings and falls victim to sickness, poverty, imprisonment and death. The series ends with the lesson that man, unlike animals, is always out for his fellow-man's blood. Galle's Four Elemetns (15 64; figs. 10-13) marked the first appearance of the theme as a series in Netherlandish prints. Earth, Water, Air and Fire are not, as later became customary, represcnted as personifications with attributes, but as gods of Antiquity : Cybele, Neptune, Juno and Jupiter respectively. Galle based his depictions of them on 16th-century Italian mythographers : Cartari's Le Imagini de i Dei degli Anitichi (1556) and Giraldi's De Deis Gentium (1548). The Sluggard's Punishment (figs. 14 and 15) and The power of Women (fig. 16) act as moral examples from the bible. In the former series Galle resorts to passages from Proverbs for his inventive object lesson that the sluggard who refuses to work must suffer poverty and want. His prints of the guiles of women in the Old Testament (Adam and Eve, Lot and his daughters, Jael and Siscra, Samson and Delilah, Solomon and his concubines and Judith and Holofernes) illustrate how women gain ascendance over men by dint of cunning deception, flattery or passion. The Adoration of the Name of Jesus (fig. 17) is one of the first Netherlandish representations of the IHS monogram. We see it being worshipped by hierarchically arranged representatives of the spiritual and secular powers, by angels in heaven and souls in purgatory. Galle continued to design prints after he moved to Antwerp (1570/71). Other engravers usually incised them in copper now: Crispijn de Passe 1, Hieronymus Wierix, Johannes Collaert. Gallc's son-in-law Adriaan Collaert and his son Theodoor Galle. Henceforth the prints bore Galle's official address as publisher. During this period his style underwent a considerable change. The influence of Heemskerck and Floris was superseded by that of Anthonie Blocklandt and Johannes Stradanus, the most important artists of whose work Galle had been making prints since 1571. The South-Netherlandish humanists Cornelis Kilianus and Hugo Favolius replaced Junius as text-writers. Galle's iconography displayed a radical change too. Virtually all the figures in his prints were now elegant nudes. He pictured gods, goddesses, demigods (some of them published in books of prints (fig. 18), stories from classical mythology (Perseus and Andromeda, fig. 1; The Adultery of Venus and Mars, figs. 19-20; Psyche and Cupid, fig. 22), from classical history (Sophonisha's Suicide and Cleopatra's Suicide) and a Fortuna based on a composition by Melchior Lorck (fig. 21). Vulcan Vanquished by Pallas (figs. 2 and 23) is a most unusual print. The representation derives from the story in Hyginus' Fabulae of how Pallas Athena successfully defended her virginity against Vulcan's attempts to take her by force. The Latin verse and pictorial details (the burning torch, Cupid's broken bow and Pallas' owl, which has put one of his arrows out of action) leave the beholder in no doubt as to Galle's intention to convey the moral that chastity vanquishes voluptuous lust. The Four Winds (figs. 24-27), like the Four Elements, were the first independent representation in Netherlandish art. Galle again turned to Cartari's Le Inzagini de i Dei degli Antichi for his depictions of Eurus, Zephyr, Boreas and Auster as winged figures. His revived interest in the allegory is also reflected in the forty-three personifications (figs. 28-20;) in Prosopogruphia, a book of models intended for painters, engravers, poets and orators. Galle's merits as an inventor, then, are chiefly in the area of iconography: his originality is largely due to his depictions of themes without a pictorial tradition in his day. His activities as both a publisher and a draughtsman of edifying allegories and classical themes demonstrate his erudite and humanistically inclined personality.

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About God’s Daughter in the Folk High SchoolMidt i Højskolen (In the Middle of the Folk High School). An anthology published on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the Association of Folk High Schools. Edited by Else Marie Boyhus. Gyldendal\ 1991. 269 pp.By William MichelsenThis beautiful book, introduced by the chairman of the Association, Ove Korsgaard, with a description of the development undergone by the folk high school movement since 1961, when the book »The Folk High School under Debate« was published, ends with an article by Ejvind Larsen, »The mysticism of popular democracy«, which has occasioned the present review of the book. Grundtvig’s ideas saturate the book, and it is illustrated with drawings from this century that all represent Grundtvig himself, combining to give a strong impression of the highly different ways in which this man has been perceived since his lifetime.The same is true of the many articles contained in the book, for example one by Henrik Yde about Martin Andersen Nexø and the Germany of the Weimar Republic. - There is hardly any doubt that among Grundtvig’s ideas the concept of the folk high school has been the most important in this century.However, Ejvind Larsen’s article does not deal so much with the cooperative movement or the folk high school as with those poems from Grundtvig’s late years where he speaks about .God’s daughter., and, in the final poems, about the wedding between God’s daughter and God’s Son. In a speech that he gave on his birthday in 1868 (and which is only known in the summary version that was published after that .Meeting of Friends.), he spoke about the »the Heavenly Father’s Daughter« who was to be raised in the North, »in another small holy land« - »as He raised His Son in the regions of Galilee«. Ejvind Larsen poses the question whether what Grundtvig had in mind may have been a »Wisdom«, corresponding to the »Sophia« that plays such an important role in the mysticism of the Byzantine Church, and after whom the main church in Constantinople was called. He confines himself to posing the question, and that is as it should be. For Grundtvig does not use the word or the name »Sophia« in any of the passages that he quotes from Grundtvig’s texts.According to Ejvind Larsen, Grundtvig, in his late work, comes closest to this Christian mysticism in the poem Dansk Ravnegalder (1860), which Grundtvig never had printed himself. It has been published by Holger Begtrup in Selected Works by Grundtvig, vol. X, pp. 363-484, without a commentary. Ejvind Larsen quotes some lines from it which say that metaphorically »Danish popular enlightenment« is a sister of »He who is the Light Himself«, and that it must have been created by God.The point of departure in Ejvind Larsen’s article is an emendation made by Grundtvig in 1861 in the second edition of »Scenes from Heroic Life in the North« in which the Christian Odinkar attempts unsuccessfully to convert the heathen Vagn Aagesen to Christianity. Vagn Aagesen refuses to believe that Jesus really did crush the head of the Evil One. Odinkar answers that by virtue of His victory the Christians are now able to vanquish the Subtil One »with Wisdom«. Ejvind Larsen theorizes that this »Wisdom« may be the Sophia of the Byzantine Church. The word »wisdom« does not occur in the original version from 1811. There is no doubt that Grundtvig emended the text so that it would agree with the stage in his view of Christianity that he had reached in 1861. But this does not necessarily mean that the word .wisdom. is identical with the Sophia of the Byzantine Church.It is a peculiar characteristic of Ejvind Larsen’s article that he does not emphasize the ecclesiastical side of Grundtvig’s Christian view of man, but rather the importance it has acquired for the concept of the folk high school and thus for popular democracy, in particular through Grundtvig’s idea of man as a »divine experiment« (Norse Mythology, 1832).

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Quando uma Cristã carismática tem uma experiência religiosa na qual ela encontra Jesus como seu marido/amante, muito dessa experiência é público em sua natureza.[1] Por exemplo, seu corpo se mantém em uma postura particular durante a experiência e esta postura é observável. Além disso, se ela relatar isso a alguém, seu depoimento, seja verbal ou escrito é de domínio público. E até mesmo os conceitos que ela traz consigo na experiência, como Jesus, Deus, amor e etc., são públicos enquanto são compartilhados e apreendidos através de processos sociais dos aprendizados de linguagem. Porém, além disso, parece que algo sobre a experiência é privado em sua natureza, experimentada por ela sozinha, distante da esfera pública. Apenas ela sabe realmente como sentiu-se durante o evento. Apenas ela tem a consciência se realmente teve uma experiência ou se ela está mentindo sobre o que ocorreu. Alguns aspectos da experiência ocorrem na privacidade da consciência subjetiva, aparentemente num reino invisível, inacessível.[1] Tais experiências são recontadas em: R. Marie GRIFFITH. God’s daughters: Evangelical Women and the Power of Submission. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1997.

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/82/ IN The Name of God Amen I John Rastrick of Kings Lynn in the County of Norfolk Clerk being mindfull of my mortality and the uncertainty of this present Life and being Sommon'd by age and infirmities to bethink my Self of my Departure out of this world and having thro’ Gods mercy the free use of my reason and understanding Do make this my last Will and Testament, written all with my own hand in manner and form following first I Comitt my Soul into the hands of Jesus Christ my Glorified Redeemer and Intercessor and by his mediation into the hands of God my reconciled father with trust and hope of the heavenly felicity and my Body to be decently Interr'd without Unnecessary Expences at the Discretion of my Executrix in hopes of a glorious Resurrection to eternall Life thro’ the merits of Jesus Christ my Saviour and as Concerning that Earthly Estate wherewith God hath blessed me which I Shall leave behind me I dispose thereof as followeth Imprimis I doe hereby ratifye and confirm the Joynture that I have given to my dear wife Elizabeth by Indent bearing date the 29th day of May Anno Domini 1696 of my Estate in Heckington and Asgaby in the County of Lincoln willing that it goe according to the Tenor of the said Joynture and Settlement as also that Estate in Sutton St Marys and in Holland in Lincolnshire which Jane the quondam wife of James Horn Enjoyed as her Joynture by her said Husband and unto which my Son William Rastrick is heir at Law this (with the forementioned Estate at Heckington and Asgarby) I do hereby as far as I have power ratifye and confirm to the said my Son William as his Inheritance to be Enjoyed by him after the decease of his mother my present <dear> wife Elizabeth above mentioned Item I give and bequeath my now Dwelling house with the Gardens and appurtenances Situate lying and being in Spinner Lane in Kings Lynn in Norfolk aforesaid which I purchased of my good friend Mr John Williamson Deceased as also that Close or pasture conteining by Estimation four acres more or less lying in Kirkton near Boston in Lincolnshire near the gate called Forefen Stow which I bought of Gregory Mapleson late in the tenure of widow Lee of Brother Toft as also that three acres of pasture lying in Sutton St Marys in Holland in Lincolnshire aforesaid Given to my wife Elizabeth by her great uncle Mr John Horne /83/ of Lynn Regis in Norfolk aforesaid Unto my five Daughters Sarah Martha Hannah Ann and Deborah Willing and appointing that the said lands be sold and the money be Divided amongst them for their portions at the Discretion of their Mother my present dear wife Elizabeth aforesaid She having hereby bequeathed to her a power to Live in the said my mansion house in Spinner Lane in Lyn as long as She pleases and to retein or hold the other Lands in this paragraph bequeathed for her and her familys maintenance till her said Daughters Shall marry or be Some other honest way Disposed of by or with her their said Mothers liking and Consent and if any of them Dye before they be soe disposed of I will that the monys raised upon the said Lands be divided amongst the Survivors at her/their mothers Discretion Item my Will is that if my Son William Should Depart this Life having no family or heir of his own that then (after my wife Elizabeth's Decease) all my Estate and lands before mentioned or value of them when Sold (Excepting my four acres in Kirkton) shall be equally Divided amongst my Daughters aforesaid Share and Share like and if any of them die while Single her portion Shall be equally divided amongst her Surviving Sisters and my Will is that in case my Son William Should die without heir of his own Body that then the before Excepted four acres in Kirkton Shall be accounted no part of my Estate so Divided but it Shall be given and I hereby bequeath it in that case only to the Church of Kirkton in Holland aforesaid where I was Sometime Minister as an augmentation to the vicaridge there for Ever according to and by virtue of an act of parliament not Long Since made in such cases provided that is impowering and to make and so Setling such augmentactions and this Conditional provision I make partly in Consideration of a legacy once left me and given to me as minister there and partly also because my Daughters will in the said Case of their Brothers Death have Competent portions without the said pasture Item I give all my Books manuscripts mathematical Instruments Tellescopes Double Barometer and all other things whatsoever of that kind found in my study and parler adjoining Shelves Drawers Cases &c as also my picture done by Deconing To my Son William Rastrick provided and upon condition that he continue a minister and preacher of the Gospell whether in a Conforming or nonConforming Capacity But if he should not be a minister or Continue a preacher So that he shall have little occasion for them or Should depart this life in a Single State and leave no Son a Scholler to Enjoy them or capable of using them that my will is that if any pious learned Studious minister Conformist or non conformist Shall marry any of my Daughters he Shall have all my Books manuscripts &c before mentioned over and above what her portion as before provided or bequeathed Shall be But if that Should not be then my will is that yet my said Library shall not be auctioned out or Sold to any Booksellers but be disposed of to raise a publick Library for the use of the Dissenting Ministers in the City of Norwich leaving it to their liberty what (by Collection made) to give my Surviving Children for them or my Son William if he live and yet desist from preaching or the Dissenting ministers there for the time being may treat /84/ with the City and upon agreement for their own free use of it add my library to theirs selling the lesser of the Duplicates and with that mony buying Such Books as Shall yet be leanting to the whole and all to be managed at the Discretion of the said Dissenting ministers in Conjunction with an Equall number of the City Clergy whom they the Dissenting ministers shall chuse Item I give to my Son John Rastrick now or late in Carolina if he be yet living the Sum of five pounds of lawfull mony of England to be pay'd him within three months next after his return into England if he so return and also to his Children (if any such be prov'd to be) the Sum of twenty Shillings each to be paid them within the like terme after their arrival in England and if he or they Shall Settle and be diligent he in his Calling (which is that of a Stocking weaver) or they in any honest calling and Shall be of Sober life and Conversation then I hereby recommend to my Executrix to give him or them Such further Encouragement as She according to her ability and at her Discretion Shall think fitt Item I give unto my Son Samuel Rastrick at London Silk dyer the Sum of ten Shillings also to my Daughter Elizabeth the wife of Edmund Burton of Wisbich the Sum of five Shillings to be paid them within Six months after my Decease they having had their portions before Item I give to our maid Servant Susannah Hating (to be paid her within three months after my decease) the Sum of forty Shillings over and above her due wages Item all the rest of my goods and Chattles undisposed of I give and bequeath unto my said dear wife Elizabeth whom I do hereby constitute and appoint Sole Executrix of this my last Will and Testament to see my debts discharged and my legacys or childrens portions paid and my Body decently Interr'd at the least Expence posable and I do desire my good friend Mr Nathaniel Kinderley of Sechy Bridg to be Supervisor of this my last Will and Testament In witness whereof I have hereunto Set my hand and Seal the Twenty Sixth day of July in the year of our Lord one Thousand Seven Hundred twenty five John Rastrick Published and declared to be the last Will and Testament of John Rastrick the Testator and Signed and Sealed in the presence of us James Hackgill John Money Thomas Wilson

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Reading the Gospel of Matthew from the perspective of postcolonial theory means taking the context of the Gospel seriously. The political and religious circ*mstances of Palestine under Roman colonization influenced Matthean redaction. From a this perspective, it can be argued that Matthew presents Jesus as a revolutionary leader whose divine mission was to challenge and overthrow the Roman empire and its local collaborators on behalf of the poor, the powerless, the afflicted, the hungry and the outcasts. His mission was to replace existing power structures with the universal, just and powerful kingdom of heaven on earth. The article argues that the story of the Canaanite woman (Mt 15:21-28) falls into this reality. She negotiates justice and righteousness on behalf of her demon-possessed daughter. Seen from the perspective of Jesus’ Beatitudes in Matthew (5:3-6), her encounter with Jesus helps him discover the wider scope of his healing mission, beyond geopolitical and cultural boundaries.

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In the peasant sociey of Jesus' world the family revolved around the father. The father and the mother were the source of the family, not only in the biological sense, but because their interaction with their child rencreated the structures of society. In first-century Mediterranean culture, fatherlessness led to marginalization. Seen against the background of the patriarchal mind set of Israelites in the Second Temple period, a fatherless son would have been without social identiy. He would have been debarred from being called child of Abraham (that is child of God) and from the privilege of being given a daughter in marriage. He would be denied access to the court of the Israelites in the Temple. In this article, with the help of cross-cultural anthropology and cultural psychology, the life of the historical Jesus is explained in social-scientiic terms against the background of the mariage regulations determined by the Temple. The historical Jesus is seen as someone who sufered the stigma of being fatherless but who trusted God as father.

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This article examines the cameo appearance of an unnamed woman in the gospel of Mark, a member of a crowd following Jesus (Mk 5:24b–34). Chronically ill and probably dying, she thinks she is inconspicuous. The text identifies her in terms of her gender, illness, covenant status, prolonged suffering and penury. Yet, a careful reading reveals her stealth, desperation, courage and eloquence − all elements of character and, it turns out, of a faith focused on Jesus. Combining both literary and canonical insights, this article shows how the story of the anonymous woman, set within the larger context of the healing of Jairus’ daughter, sheds light on the developing concepts of faith, fear, purity, discipleship, confession and family matters in Mark. The woman’s interaction with Jesus adds depth to Mark’s portrait of him and contributes to the ongoing revelation in Mark that Jesus is indeed the Son of God (Mk 1:1).Hierdie artikel ondersoek die reliëfverskyning van ’n naamlose vrou in die evangelie van Markus. Sy was deel van die skare wat Jesus gevolg het (Mark 5:24b–34). Omdat sy kronies siek en moontlik sterwend was, het sy gedink sy is onopvallend in die skare. Sy word in die teks geïdentifiseer in terme van haar geslag, siekte, verbondstatus, langdurige lyding en armoedige voorkoms. ’n Noukeurige bestudering van die gedeelte openbaar ook haar heimlikheid, desperaatheid, moed en welsprekendheid – alles eienskappe van ’n sterk karakter en, soos dit later blyk, haar gefokusde geloof op Jesus. Deur die letterkundige en kanonieke insigte te kombineer, wys die artikel hoe die verhaal van die anonieme vrou, gesien teen die agtergrond van die genesing van Jaïrus se dogtertjie, lig werp op die ontwikkelende konsepte van geloof, vrees, suiwerheid, dissipelskap, belydenis en familie-aangeleenthede in die boek Markus. Die vrou se interaksie met Jesus verskaf diepte aan Markus se uitbeelding van Hom en maak ’n bydrae tot Markus se deurgaanse openbaring dat Jesus inderdaad die Seun van God is (Mark 1:1).

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This article examines a number of comparisons and contrasts in Mark 5:21–43, stories of two different kinds of healing that took place one morning when Jesus returned to Capernaum from the region of the Gerasenes (Mk 5:1, 21). The interlocking stories of the woman with the constant issue of haemorrhage and the restoration to life of the gravely ill and then dead daughter of Jairus, a synagogue ruler, invite literary and canonical examinations. The article also briefly discusses the significance of the unnamed groups of characters in the stories and compares the complementary versions of the stories amongst Matthew, Mark and Luke. The two miracles exhibit different aspects of Jesus’ amazing power and contribute to the ongoing portrayal of Jesus in Mark as the Son of God (Mk 1:1).Literêre vergelykings en kontraste in Markus 5:21−43. Hierdie artikel ondersoek ’n aantal vergelykings sowel as verskille in Markus 5:21−43 soos blyk uit die verhale van twee verskillende gevalle van genesing wat een oggend tydens Jesus se terugkeer uit die gebied van die Geraseners na Kapernaum plaasgevind het (Mark 5:1, 21). Die onderlinge verhale van die vrou wat aan bloedvloeiing gely het en van die genesing van die ernstige siek en later afgestorwe dogtertjie van Jaïrus, een van die raadslede van die sinagoge, leen dit tot’n literêre en kanonieke ondersoek. Die artikel bespreek ook kortliks die beduidende betekenis van die ongeïdentifiseerde groepe mense in albei verhale. Die verskillende weergawes van die verhale soos in Matteus, Markus en Lukas opgeteken, word ook bespreek. Hierdie twee wonderwerke openbaar die verskillende aspekte van Jesus se verstommende mag en dra by tot die volgehoue uitbeelding van Hom in Markus as die Seun van God (Mark 1:1).

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The paper aims to establish the semantic boundaries between the terms prayer and request, and implicitly the pragmatic meanings actualized by the two lexemes on different levels of language. Through prayers, a sender conveys a message to a referentially indeterminate receiver in the pragmatic context of the phenomenal world, but “identifiable” exclusively in the world of necessities. The author will adduce as an example a dialogue between the representatives of two spiritually delimited spaces (the Canaanite woman and Jesus Christ). The woman asks for her own mercy with the purpose of exorcising her daughter’s evil spirits. Due to the skilfulness with which she negotiates meanings while observing situation roles, the woman proves to be a good practitioner of the cooperative principle, in general, and of pragmatic politeness, in particular. The locutor uses devices to support the most appropriate discourse strategies which would lead her to obtain an optimum level of communication – more precisely, to accomplish the aim of her prayer: her daughter’s recovery.

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This article explores the four Matthean stories wherein an individual supplicant requests a healing on behalf of someone else: the centurion for his paralyzed servant, the ruler for his dead daughter, the Canaanite woman for her demon-possessed daughter, and the man for his epileptic son. The paper proposes a methodology of narrative microeconomic analysis. By applying the method to the stories, a pattern of three primary exchanges is observed: the locational, healing and conflict exchanges. By examining how the stories conform to and deviate from this pattern, a complex picture of the textual microeconomies emerges, one that contradicts the unitary macro-narrative of healing. The microeconomic analysis reveals Jesus to be a complex, ambivalent figure: He creates conflicts that hinder the healing process and invariably excludes someone or some group before completing any healing. The pedagogical, formational and theological implications of these omplexities are briefly considered in local and global contexts.

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Today, scholars employ the label ‘narrative Christology’ with relative frequency, though they mean different things when they do so. In this article, I argue that to date, narrative Christology has not yet fully explored the parameters of what it means to attend closely to the narrative form of the Gospels’ presentations of Jesus. I propose, further, that recent developments in literary theory’s so-called ‘New Formalism’ offer useful tools and concepts for moving in that direction. The first part of the article briefly outlines previous scholarship, identifying similarities and differences between various approaches labelled ‘narrative Christology’. The second section introduces the major concepts of New Formalism and how they might extend narrative Christology’s capacity to take narrative form seriously as an object of analysis. The third section of the article offers a case study of a passage that appears in the triple tradition – the intercalated healing stories of Jairus’ daughter and the haemorrhaging woman in Mark 5.21–43; Luke 8.40–56; and Matthew 9.18–26 – in order to explore narrative structure on the micro-level. My ultimate goal is to show how New Formalism can contribute to a more robust narrative Christology and, in so doing, advance our understanding of the distinctive ways in which the Synoptic Gospels construct the figure of Jesus.

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In his movie, The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928), the Danish director, Carl Theodor Dreyer, presents a powerful representation of the medieval martyr. Dreyer’s film is not about Joan’s life itself, only the trial and her execution, i.e. her passion-story. During the trial the main focus is on the question about the truth of her revelations and whether she really is the daughter of God, she claims to be. Despite her young age it is evident that she poses a significant threat to the spiritual as well as worldly authorities. Her threat to the spiritual authorities has to do with her doubting their monopoly on salvation. When she refuses to recant, and to stop dressing as a man (which she claims to be God’s will), her destiny is set. The soldiers mock her and put a crown (made out of straw) on her head, before she is sent to the stake. She is burned with a sign above her head with the words idolater, heretic and apostate written on it. The aim of this article is to explore Dreyer’s portrayal of Joan of Arc in his film as a female Christ-Figure. At the same time, I will argue that the film can serve as an important dialogue partner in ongoing Christological discourse. The conclusion is that Dreyer’s Joan provides a vivid image of Jesus Christ that challenges our fixation on Jesus’ maleness, and helps us to understand better what we really mean when we claim that God, dressed-in flesh, became human, like us, female or male.

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Introduction There has been a long history of contact between Indigenous and Chinese people in Australia. This is clearly evident within contemporary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities through the significant presence of individuals with Chinese ancestry. Early Indigenous-Chinese contact, however, was not sanctioned by White authorities: such contact was seen to contest White dominion and counter government anti-miscegenation policy. Through incorporating the voices of contemporary descendants of Indigenous-Chinese unions, this paper demonstrates how White authorities resorted to removal legislation to reassert their position within normative racial discourse. Contact "In these perilous times (1996), when race in Australia has suddenly become a respectable topic and there flows forth a plethora of words on and about Aborigines and Asians - the most visible, it seems, of the minorities in this land - it is perhaps pertinent to remember that, once, the two came together during those times when being descended from the Indigenous peoples of Australia was seen as a liability." (Mudrooroo 259) Contact between Indigenous and Chinese people in Australia has a history that dates back at least 150 years. Early Chinese immigration during the mid to late nineteenth century centred around regional Australia, away from areas highly populated by White colonists (Loh 3). Such regions had significant Indigenous populations, and the absence of White dominance allowed relatively frequent and free association between Indigenous people and the exclusively male Chinese immigrant (Anderson and Mitchell 32-33; Choi 13; Giese 39,46; Jack et al. 52; Keen 175; May 89; Trigger 216). Widespread hostility toward Chinese-White intercultural relationships and marriages throughout Australian society further facilitated more intimate Indigenous-Chinese relationships (May 209). Across Australia, the Indigenous and the Chinese communities suffered the common indignities of segregation from and rejection by White society. Members of both communities endured the regular embarrassment of a White Australian’s objections "to sitting amongst Chinese and aborigines watching manners which are certainly not attractive" (May 140). Newspapers of the time frequently scandalised "the many evils which were rampant among aboriginals and Chinese" ("Relief of Aboriginals" 5). The two cultures were drawn together by their common experience of marginalisation from White society: "The Chinese and the Aboriginals sort of come together You’ve only got to look at, read the history of Chinese and Aboriginal people, how they was, well, genocide too and they sort of come to live together as a people He [Chinese neighbour] didn’t know that we had Chinese in us or anything, he just treated us as, as any normal human being. It’s just that the White people didn’t like us that’s all, so he was sort of struggling through the same sort of thing." "It wasn’t, wasn’t strange to have a name like [Chinese family name]. But to be required to get passes because we were Aboriginal, we were treated as Aborigines I guess. In those early days it was like, in those developing towns, you found on the margins of those communities the Aboriginal community, the Chinese community." In general, relations between the Chinese and Indigenous communities were relatively harmonious with mutual tolerance commonplace, although isolated incidences of violence have been recorded (Anderson and Mitchell 27,36; Evans et al. 257-58; Fisher 88; Giese 25,39,48; Hornadge 21-22; Jones 59; May 209; Reynolds 41; Rolls, Sojourners: Flowers and the Wild Sea 97,194,205,289-90,487; Rolls, Citizens: Flowers and the Wild Sea 34-35,87,100,106-08,188,426). In North Queensland, Aborigines with Chinese language skills even served as translators for the Chinese in their dealings with White Australians (Anderson and Mitchell 31-32). Tensions between Indigenous and Chinese people, it seems, were of less consequence than those between Indigenous and White Australians, who at the time were actively engaged in state-sponsored cultural genocide (Tatz 49-50). Indigenous-Chinese contact led to an evolving social experience that entailed economic security and mutual benefit, including marriage and companionship, the exchange of commodities, opium and alcohol sales, and Indigenous labour for Chinese employers: "Everything was just chaos, messed up, and so I think, on Nana’s side, I can understand Nana, why she done it, because he probably had a future for her – Chinese – he just had a future for her. She knew that her family would be fed and back them days you only worried about a feed and a bed and how to survive. So I think it was a survival thing for her, because the Aboriginal nation was just chaotic and they just messed it right up, they took everybody away." "I know stories from old men from Thursday Island, actually, who used to come through Darwin in the merchant, merchant navy The Chinese and the Murris used to knock around together They’d get a chicken or something from the cargo, you know, and go offer that as a bribe to some of the Aunties to sniff around the daughters The young fellas would sniff around all the daughters, you know, so there was, you know, a very close-knit community, intermarriages all over the place." In Queensland, contact between Indigenous and Chinese people was especially widespread across the northern regions of the state, where there was a demand for rural labour, the allure of the gold rush, maritime trade, agricultural endeavours, and a steady stream of folk from the nearby Northern Territory. Chinese residents outnumbered White Australians by as much as seven to one during the late nineteenth century, as a large concentration of predominantly Chinese men was created in a region remote from the southern administrative centre and seat of government in Brisbane (Jones 56,59,69,72; Ling 19,21-22; Long 29). Challenge White dominion, however, was threatened by the growing alliances between Indigene and Chinese migrant. Indigenous-Chinese contact challenged the settler-colonised binary that had underpinned racial discourse to date, and White authorites sought to counter this threat through legislation. In Queensland, the "Aboriginals Protection and Restriction of the Sale of Opium Act 1897" rendered it illegal for Chinese men to cohabit with Aboriginal women, and forbade the employment of Indigenous people by Chinese (Evans et al. 310-11; May 293). Ganter (18) states that in the northern Burketown region, the association of resident Aborigines with local Chinese gardeners "was often a sufficient expression of immorality to warrant removal" to Mornington Island mission for the Aborigines involved. The 1897 Act had conferred regional ‘Protectors’ with peremptory powers over the lives of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders living in their jurisdiction (Blake, "A dumping ground" 1). The Protector had the authority to forcibly remove any Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person if he deemed it to be in his or her, or the local Indigenous or non-Indigenous community’s, best interest (Blake, "A dumping ground" 51, "Deported" 52-55, Guthrie 7). This authority constituted an arbitrary and absolute mechanism of control over the lives of Queensland Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders: "the threat of removal...was a salutary reminder of the necessity to respect the codes of behaviour and norms of the dominant white society the technique par excellence for maintaining and extending European hegemony" (Blake, "A dumping ground" 68, 83). The behavioural ‘codes’ and ‘norms’ of White society precluded Aboriginal contact with the Chinese; a separation constantly enforced with recourse to the act. Up to 1929, Queensland State Government removal records regularly cite reasons such as "in the habit of frequenting Chinese dens", "acting as spies for Chinese", "living an immoral life harboured by a Chinaman", "hang round Chinese farms and gardens", "frequents Chinese habitations", "frequenting Chinese quarters for opium and prostitution", and "assisting blacks to obtain drugs from Chinese" to vindicate a removal order (Queensland State Archives A/64785, A/69523). A gamut of vices, ranging from espionage, immorality, and substance abuse to drug trafficking, thus became the official pretence for separation of the subjugated groups. Anti-miscegenationist sentiment, too, saw the removal of Chinese-Aboriginal children (Ganter 13; May 210). In 1901 the Queensland Police Commissioner held that in regard to cohabitation between Chinese and Aborigines, "offspring resulting from such intercourse are by no means a desirable addition to the population" (May 210). Fear and Loss White dominion was to ultimately reassert its position at the hub of normative racial discourse, with little space available for Indigenous reflection on Chinese connections: "Dad never spoke about nothing We’re all born with all this long hair and Asian look about us, all of us in the family, and we’re trying to figure where it came from. We all look at each other and think there’s got to be some thing there I don’t know why he never spoke of it or told us about it. I couldn’t question that either, ‘cause I did ask my Grandmother but I suppose you’re to be seen and not heard in some things I probably’ll have questions on my lips for the rest of my life until I find out." "We didn’t sort of consciously grow up hearing a lot about anything Chinese, really. It’s just that we all sort of had some aspect of the look like really dark blue-black hair, slanty eyes and a couple of the family are very sort of small The stories were always censored and you only got little bits and pieces Like him being Chinese, well, I think that also you just didn’t mention We didn’t grow up hearing a lot about anything Chinese." Removal brought about disconnection and loss: "I’m only just finding it lately, the things that I didn’t know about, you know. Even me [Chinese] Granddad, I didn’t know his name until this year, really! [The mission staff] told ’em forget about your tribe, your language, everything. Think about Jesus." The historical backdrop presented above, in concert with the voices of contemporary descendants of Indigenous and Chinese unions, demonstrate how White authorities employed removal legislation to counter the challenge presented by Indigenous-Chinese contacts. For the members of these communities, who had come together under a climate of shared subjugation, this reassertion of White dominion came at great cost.

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The article discusses the icon of the Hodegetria Mother of God, formerly placed in Vilnius.The currently missing piece of art was considered very important in the Vilnius spiritual life inthe 16th – early 20th centuries and was respected by Orthodox, Greek Catholic (Uniate) andRoman Catholic churches. A significant influence on the cult of icons was inspired by the au-thorship attributed to St. Lukas (later – only its prototype) and historical links with the familyof the Grand Duke of Lithuania Alexander Jagiellon (the icon was brought as a dowry in 1495by his wife Elena, the daughter of the Grand Duke of Moscow).In the 16th century, the icon was stored in the Orthodox Cathedral of the Blessed Mother ofGod. At that time it was possibly renewed (two side boards were replaced and the icon was re-painted with the egg-tempera technique). It is supposed that at that time the partial amendmentwas made in the oldest silver casings consisting of separate ornamented plates that were coveringthe background of the icon. Most of the knowledge about the existence of the icon exists fromthe beginning of the 17th century, when it was transferred into the church of the Vilnius Basilianmonastery of St. Trinity. There it became a major factor of Vilnius Latin and Greek Catholicreligious integration. The altar of The Mother of God in the church of St. Trinity was patronizedby the fraternity of the Immaculate Conception of Holy Mary.The image of the icons is known from the descriptions, lithographs, photographs and copiesof the 19th century. It should be noted that there are two different iconographic variations ofthe copies of the Vilnius Hodegetria (characterized by the different position of the feet of Jesus).The article raises an assumption that the icon could be repainted in the 17th century. The slightchange of the image or its iconography may have been adjusted with the silver casings made in1677. Once again the Vilnius icon was possibly renewed after the fire in 1706. In the middle ofthe 18th century, the head of Holy Mary was decorated with a new pure gold filigree crown. In1839, after the repeal of the union and the takeover of the St. Trinity‘s church by the Orthodox,the altar of Holy Mary was demolished and the icon was added to the new iconostasis. In 1866,the old artistic silver casings were melted and from the resulting material the new casing wasmade in St Petersburg, corresponding to the requirements of the Orthodox. In the same year,the icon was restored. Its oil paints were cleaned. The image unveiled at that time perhaps wasnot the first original image, but the one created after the icon base corrections, most likely inVilnius in the 16th century.

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The paper presents a transcription and Spanish translation of a folktale in Sierra Popoluca, a Mixe- Zoquean language spoken in Southern Veracruz, in the municipio of Soteapan. Published texts in this language are very scarce, so the text may serve as a resource for future studies. The text was dictated to Salomé Gutiérrez Morales, a trained linguist as well as native speaker, by his close relative Jesús Gutiérrez from the village of Amamaloya. It was subsequently checked for details in transcription and translation by both authors in collaboration with another member of the speech community, Nicasio Gutiérrez Juárez. Opting not to present a morphological analysis, the authors have chosen a very literal translation style which should make it simpler, with some help from a grammar such as Elson (1960), to work out an analysis. As is true of much of the lore of the Popolucas, the contents of the tale is predominately of European extraction, in part rather closely resembling the story of "Hansel and Gretel" from the collection of the German brothers Grimm, and similar stories known also from the oral traditions of Spain, among other European countries. It appears to be rather popular in most parts of southern Veracruz, and perhaps beyond, not only among other indigenous groups, such the Popolucas of Texistepec, but also in the general, rural Spanish-speaking population.The story may be summarized as follows. Two children, a boy and a girl, are left out in the country by their father because they are unwanted by their stepmother. They are adopted by an old, blind, wicked woman, the Tzitzimat (or Chichimeca, in Nahuatl-derived Spanish). However, managing to kill the Tzitzimat, the children make their escape. From the cauldron into which they have pushed her spring two dogs. When, later on, the girl h as plans to marry a giant whom they have met during their wanderings, the dogs help out the boy. After an unsuccessful attempt by the dogs to kill the giant, the girl takes revenge on them by hiding a bone in her brother's pillow to kill him. The boy is brought back to life by the dogs. Later follows an episode where the boy saves the life of a princess, killing a snake which had been a threat to her. A Negro, who falsely claims the honor of having saved the life of the princess, is shown to be a liar when the dogs bring the tongue of the serpent to the king as proof that the boy was the true savior of the king's daughter.

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Abstract:

Introduction The past decade has seen a burgeoning new field titled “night studies” or “darkness studies” (Gwiazdzinski, Maggioli, and Straw). Key theorists Straw, Shaw, Dunn, and Edensor have spearheaded this new field, publishing a recent flurry of books and other scholarly work dedicated to various aspects of the night. Topics range, for instance, from the history of artificial lighting (Shaw), atmospheres of urban light and darkness (Sumartojo, Edensor, and Pink), street music and public space at night (Reia), the experience of eating in the dark (Edensor and Falconer), walking at night (Morris; Dunn), gendered experiences of the city at night (Hardley; Hardley and Richardson “Mobile Media”, “Mistrust”), and women’s solo experiences of the wilderness at night. Contributing to this new field, this article considers some of the embodied ways mobile media have been deployed in the urban night. To date, this topic has not received much attention within the fields of mobile media or night studies. The research presented in this article draws on a qualitative research project conducted in Australia from 2016-2020. The project focussed on participants’ use of mobile media in urban spaces at night and conducted a specific analysis of pertinent gendered differences. Throughout my iterative and longitudinal research process, I engaged various phases of data collection to explore participants’ night-time mobile media practices, as well as to consider how darkness and the night impact networked practices in ways that speak to the postphenomenological concept of multistability (Ihde Postphenomenology and Technoscience). I highlight the empirical findings through a series of participant stories, exploring salient insights into embodied perceptions of darkness and various ways of co-opting mobile media practices in the urban night. Methods: Data Collection, Interpretation, and Representation My research took place in Perth and Melbourne from 2016-2020. A total of 98 individuals, aged 19 to 67 years, participated. Participants came from diverse backgrounds, including urban and rural Australia, Sweden, America, Ethiopia, Italy, Argentina, USA, and England. They were students, teachers, chefs, unemployed, stay-at-home-parents, miners, small business owners, retired, doctors, and government scientists. They identified across the sexuality and gender identity spectrums. My techniques for data collection were grouped into four main phases: (i) an initial survey; (ii) home visits, which included interviews, haptic experiments, observations, and my own situatedness in participants’ homes; (iii) geo-locative tracking and text messaging; and (iv) online follow-up interviews. The study was open to anyone who lived in Perth or Melbourne, was over 18 years old, and used a smartphone. All phases of the data collection were conducted during the day or at night, depending on participant availability. My focus on darkness and the night, in relation to mobile media, evolved over time. The first question regarding mobile media and the night was posed in 2016 during initial data collection, using an online survey to cast a wide net to gather insights on networked functionality afforded by mobile phones and perceptions of safety and risk in urban and domestic space. Participants frequently referred to the differences between day and night. During home visits and face-to-face interviews in 2017, as well as online interviews in 2020, I sought to gain deeper insights into participants’ sensory experiences of darkness and the night. My interpretation and representation of the data adopts a similar approach as vignettes, which are described by Berry in her book on creative practice and mobile media. For Berry, vignettes are a way of “braiding” (xv) accounts of participant experience together. My particular use of this approach has been published in detail elsewhere (Hardley and Richardson “Digital Placemaking”). Postphenomenology, Multistability, and Mobile Media Throughout this article I frame engagement with mobile media as a particular kind of body-technology relation. As the founder of postphenomenology, Ihde, writes, “technologies transform our experience of the world and our perceptions and interpretations of our world, and we in turn become transformed in this process” (Postphenomenology and Technoscience 44). Ihde adapted phenomenology (from Merleau-Ponty, Husserl, and Heidegger) by shifting away from an essentialist body-subject to non-essentialist contextualisation. As Ihde explains (he uses archery longbows and arrows to make his point), all tools are the “same” in an abstract sense; however, “radically different practices fit differently into various contexts” (Postphenomenology and Technoscience 16). In other words, tools (including mobile media) are never neutral and are always multiple and variable depending on context and practice. All tools are therefore situated and embodied in culturally specific ways. Postphenomenological scholarship can, thus, be said to capture the cultural specificity of all human-technology relations. The following examples help illustrate this defining characteristic of postphenomenology, as distinct from phenomenology. It could be argued that Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological description of the blind man with his cane is an essentialist notion of what it’s like to experience blindness. On the other hand, Wellner’s postphenomenological description of using a mobile phone describes how the same technology can be used by different people in multiple ways, as people assign different meanings to the technology. This notion is best captured by the term multistability, which suggests each technology has numerous uses, applications and purposes. As Irwin explains, the term multistability—one of Ihde’s central concepts within postphenomenology—conveys the inherent adaptability and mutability of both bodies and media engagement, depending on the context or situatedness of a tool’s use. In the following sections, I first explore embodied perceptions of darkness and the night, and then explore how mobile media have modified participants’ embodied perception of darkness and how it informs their situated awareness of their urban surroundings. In terms of my research, this concerns how mobile media users embody their devices in an array of different ways, especially at night. “Feeling” the Night: Embodied Perceptions of Darkness Darkness, and the night, are not simply about the lack of vision. Indeed, while sensory perception in the dark, such as obscured vision and the heightening of other senses, comes into play, we also encounter the night through an enmeshed cultural relationship of darkness and danger. Shaw describes this relationship in the following way: darkness has been equated with danger: the night was a time when demons, criminals and others who presented a threat were imagined to be present in the landscape. Darkness was thus imagined as a space in which both real and mythical dangers were present. (“Controlling Darkness” 5) Chris, a young gay man living in a medium-sized town close to Melbourne, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and laughed when I asked him if he has ever been scared of the dark. He responded: [Silence] Yeah! I have! Wow, what a funny question. [Laughter] I remember always checking my closet as a child before getting into bed. And the door had to be closed. I could not sleep if the closet door was open. When asked what he thought might be in the closet at night, he laughed again and shared: I have no idea. I don’t think I ever thought it was a person, just the unknown. How funny to think about that now—as a gay man I was scared of what might come out of the closet! [Laughter] Chris’s observation of his habitual childhood behaviour illustrates an embodied cultural imagery of darkness and the role of fear, anxieties and the unknown in the dark. He also spoke of “growing out of” his fantastical fear of the dark as he entered adulthood. This contrasts with what many women in my study described, noting their transition from childhood “fears of the dark” to very real and “felt” experiences of darkness and danger. This opened up a major finding in my research, and uncovered navigational and connectivity strategies often deployed by women in urban spaces at night (Hardley and Richardson “Mistrust”). For instance, Leah (a woman in her late 40s living in Perth), revealed her peripatetic engagement with the (sub)urban night when she described her cycling routes with her 8-year-old daughter. While talking with me via Zoom in 2020, she explained: I have an electric bike—it’s great. I can zip around the city and I have a kid’s seat on the back for my daughter. Sometimes I feel like a hybrid pedestrian—I can switch quickly between being on the road or the footpath. Recently, my daughter asked why we always take the long way home at night. I had to think quickly to come up with a response because I think she’s too young to know the truth. I told her that parks are often empty at night, so if something happens to us then there will be no one to help. In a way that’s true, but really, it’s because as a woman and a child it’s safer for us to remain on well-lit streets. Leah’s experience of the city and her mobility at night are distinctly gendered; she reflects on her experience as a “hybrid pedestrian” in relation to what could happen to her and her daughter if they were to ride through the park at night instead of remaining on the well-lit bike path. Overwhelmingly, the men who participated in my study did not share similar experiences or reflections. Introducing the embodiment of darkness and the night, along with associated fears and anxieties, in a general sense sets the atmospheric scene for a postphenomenological analysis of embodied experiences of the urban night and how users co-opt mobile media functionalities to manage their embodied experiences of the dark. Chris and Leah’s stories both suggest how we “feel” at night has important implications for the practical way(s) in which we engage, navigate and curate our experiences of the dark. In the following section, I consider how mobile devices are literally “handled”, particularly by women in the urban context, to mitigate fears and anxieties of the night. I contend that our embodied experience of the urban night is mediated by, and through, our collective and individual fears, anxieties and perceptions of danger in the dark. Co-opting Mobile Media: Multistable Experiences of the Urban Night Reflecting on his own practices of walking at night, Dunn writes, walking at night, however, offers something different, having the capacity to alter our ingrained, seemingly natural predispositions towards the urban surroundings, and our perceptions along with it. (9) Indeed, the night can offer a “capacity to alter”; however, I suggest that it can also reinforce anxieties and fears of the dark (both real and imagined). As such, walking at night can also reinforce “ingrained, seemingly natural predispositions”. Postphenomenology is useful here, as it offers a way to think through practices of what Ihde calls “amplification” and “reduction” of the corporeal schema. Through both actions, mobile media users habituate themselves or take up residence in the urban night by and through their use of smartphone functionalities, as well as their sense of networked connectivity. In the context of this article, the corporeal schema undergoes an amplification and reduction via the co-opting of mobile media, such as an embodied sense of networked connectivity or a tactile prop, to generate a “tele-cocoon” (Habuchi), “shield” (Verhoeff), or “bubble” (Bull Sounding). The corporeal schema can be understood as our lived experience of the world (Merleau-Ponty), whereby our “perceptual reach and bodily boundaries, is always-already extendible through artifacts and technologies” (Hardley and Richardson “Mistrust”). The digital cocoon afforded by mobile media is often gendered and overtly concerned with issues of personal safety and privacy, especially at night. For many women, generating an imagined boundary between the self and others in shared urban spaces is an important function of mobile media. As one Perth participant reflected, my phone’s a good distraction when I’m alone in a public place, especially at night if I’m waiting for someone. Sometimes guys will come up and try to start a conversation—it’s so annoying. If I focus on my phone, it’s like telling them to leave me alone. This tactical use of mobile media to carve out one’s own space in crowded social places was especially common among the women I interviewed. Yet, such practices are also deployed by men, albeit for different reasons. In Melbourne, Dane described the strategic use of his mobile phone as both a creative tool of connection and a means of communicating—especially to women at night—that he was non-threatening. As a proud late-adopter of smartphones, he explained to me that his main reason for buying one had been the camera function; he refers to his smartphone as “a camera that rings”. He particularly enjoys taking photos at night, during which time his familiar streets become “moody and strange”. He spends many hours walking in his neighbourhood, capturing shadows and uploading the images to his public Instagram account. Referring to his dark skin and shaved head, he joked, “I’d look great in a line-up” and added: sometimes I feel a bit self-conscious on the bus or train, particularly late at night, I think maybe I could seem like a threat or something. So, I’ll play a game or chat to friends about my photos via Instagram. I figure it works both ways—I don’t notice anyone and people don’t notice me. As these participant stories reveal, the personal privacy bubble offered by our mobile devices is co-opted differently. Turning to Ihde’s notion of multistability, these examples can be analysed and understood as mobile technologies’ potential variabilities with multiple outcomes (Ihde Postphenomenology and Technoscience). To explore and explain this further, I consider the following participant story in which Britta, an American living in Melbourne, reflected on her night-time pedestrian practices across two cities, sharing: at night, in Australia, my phone would be in my bra. In Philadelphia, it would be in my hand. It's totally different because of safety. When at University in the U.S., I would always talk to a friend while walking from one place to the next. It doesn't even cross my mind to do that in Australia. In Philadelphia, I would call one of the girls I lived with and if someone approached me, I could say, "Oh sh*t, I'm about to get mugged, this is where I am” and they could call the cops. It's a sense of being on guard. I would never walk using headphones in Philadelphia. In Australia, if I go running at night I listen to music with one earphone in. In this vignette, Britta has habituated an acute awareness of her corporeal schema. As Wellner suggests, “the world is always a negotiation between humans and their tools, their artifacts, their technology, and their devices” (5). In this context, Britta has an amplified awareness of her situatedness, and uses her mobile phone to listen to music in different ways depending on her geographical location. There is a direct connection to her use of headphones to listen to music and her embodied perception of personal safety at night. Turning to Ihde, this participant story can be explained through the term “non-neutrality”, which describes how “no technology is ‘one thing,’ nor is it incapable of belonging to multiple contexts” (Ihde Technology and Prognostic 47). Such an example points to the non-neutrality of mobile media, and how “our perception and environment are mediated by the technology” (Wellner 15). This analysis can be extended further to consider the use of headphones (as an extension of the mobile phone) and geographical location in relation to the concept of multistability—that is, the specificity of use. As Irwin writes, “how is it to be an earbudded body in the world? ... Earbuds are non-neutral and they are becoming deeply imbedded in daily life” (81). Indeed, Bull’s influential work on how personal stereos and iPods change users’ experiences of public spaces (Sound Moves) is useful here in understanding the background of what Irwin refers to as “keeping sound in and sound out” (81). It is, according to Irwin, “about privacy and isolation” (81); however, as Britta’s vignette shows, mobile media practices of privacy and isolation in urban spaces can be impacted by geographical location and urban darkness, and are also distinctly gendered. Applying the concept of multistability allows me to consider how, in some instances, mobile phones are often deployed as a proxy Do Not Disturb sign when alone in public (Hardley and Richardson “Mistrust”). While, in other instances, one’s embodied experience of being an earbudded body in the world can increase their perceptual sense of risk based on various factors, such as geographical location. Beyond this, it also speaks to the relational ontology between body and technology and the mutability of perception. In Britta’s example, her corporeal schema in the urban night is amplified by and through her personal and situated embodiment of mobile media use, particularly her decision to use headphones in specific ways depending on her geographical location. In 2017, I conducted a home visit with Dominique, a woman in her 30s living in Perth. During this visit, she reflected on her use of a Bluetooth earpiece, especially at night, sharing: I use a Bluetooth earpiece to talk over the phone. I also sometimes wear it at night even if I'm not on the phone or expecting a call as I can quickly request that Siri call someone for me without having to actually dig out my phone, unlock it and make the call. I prefer having my hands free. It can make me feel safer at night. Dominique’s description of having her mobile phone on standby can be understood as a habituated practice to overcome her anxieties of being alone at night in urban space, as well as to apprehend her sensory experience of the urban night by remaining “hands free”. Similar to Britta, Dominique’s embodiment in the urban night had become habituated and sedimented over time—or, in other words, “[a] force of habit” (Rosenberger and Verbeek 25). In this way, Dominique’s embodiment is configured depending on her contextual specificity, such as being alone in public spaces at night. Conclusion This article contributes to the emerging interdisciplinary field of “night studies” and “darkness studies” by focusing on the relationship between mobile media practices and the urban night. I based my methods, including data collection, interpretation and representation, in a postphenomenological framework, and detailed how this framework is useful in reflecting deeply and critically on mobile media use at night. Drawing from the framework’s key concept of multistability, I suggest a particular analysis of how users co-opt mobile media functionalities in situationally unique and personal ways in the urban night. The ways in which users co-opt these functionalities are often gendered. I unpacked how some of my research participants deploy mobile media functions as a means of managing their fears and anxieties of darkness and the urban night, and suggest that such uses are always dependent on the users specific situatedness, both within urban spaces and toward other city dwellers. In sum, this article has stressed the importance of situated and embodied experiences of darkness, and deploys postphenomenological insights to glean ways in which mobile media is implicated in the configuration of embodiment of the night. References Berry, Marsha. Creating with Mobile Media. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017. Bull, Michael. Sounding Out the City: Personal Stereos and the Management of Everyday Life. New York: Berg Publishers, 2000. ———. Sound Moves: iPod Culture and Urban Experience. New York: Routledge, 2007. Dunn, Nick. Dark Matters: A Manifesto for the Nocturnal City. Alresford: Zero Books, 2016. Edensor, Tim. “Introduction to Geographies of Darkness.” Cultural Geographies 22.4 (2015). 27 March 2016 <https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474015604807>. Edensor, Tim, and Emily Falconer. "Dans Le Noir? Eating in the Dark: Sensation and Conviviality in a Lightless Place." Cultural Geographies 22.4 (2015). 2 April 2017 <https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474014534814>. Gwiazdzinski, Luc, Marco Maggioli, and Will Straw. "Geographies of the Night: From Geographical Object to Night Studies." Bollettino della Società Geografica Italiana 14 (2018): 9-22. Habuchi, Ichiyo. “Accelerating Reflexivity.” Personal, Portable, Pedestrian: Mobile Phones in Japanese Life. Eds. Mizuko Ito, Misa Matsuda, and Daisuke Okabe. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005. 165-182. Hardley, Jess. “Mobile Media and the Urban Environment: Perceptions of Space and Safety.” Proceedings of the American Association of Geographers Annual Meeting, Washington DC, 3–7 Apr. 2019. Hardley, Jess, and Ingrid Richardson. “Mobile Media and the Embodiment of Risk and Safety in the Urban Night.” Proceedings of the Association of Internet Researchers Conference, Brisbane, 2–5 Oct. 2019. <https://doi.org/10.5210/spir.v2019i0.11051>. ———. “Digital Placemaking and Networked Corporeality: Embodied Mobile Media Practices in Domestic Space during Covid-19.” Convergence (2020). <https://doi-org.ezproxy.lib.rmit.edu.au/10.1177/1354856520979963>. ———. “Mistrust of the City at Night: Networked Connectivity and Embodied Perceptions of Risk and Safety.” Australian Feminist Studies (forthcoming 2021). Ihde, Don. Postphenomenology: Essays in the Postmodern Context. Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1993. ———. Philosophy of Technology: An Introduction. New York: Paragon House, 1998. ———. “Technology and Prognostic Predicaments.” AI & Society 13 (1999): 44–51. ———. Bodies in Technology. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002. ———. Postphenomenology and Technoscience: The Peking University Lectures. New York: Suny Press, 2009. Irwin, Stacey. Digital Media: Human–Technology Connection. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2016. Lone Women. <https://www.lonewomeninflashesofwilderness.com>. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. London: Routledge, 2014 [1945]. Morris, Nina. "Night Walking: Darkness and Sensory Perception in a Night-Time Landscape Installation." Cultural Geographies 18.3 (2011). 8 Sep. 2016 <https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474011410277>. Reia, Jhessica. "Can We Play here? The Regulation of Street Music, Noise and Public Spaces after Dark." Nocturnes: Popular Music and the Night. Eds. Geoff Stahl and Giacomo Bottà. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2019. 163-176. Rosenberger, Robert, and Peter-Paul Verbeek. “A Field Guide to Postphenomenology.” Postphenomenological Investigations: Essays on Human-Technology Relations. Eds. Robert Rosenberger and Peter-Paul Verbeek. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2015. Shaw, Robert. “Controlling Darkness: Self, Dark and the Domestic Night.” Cultural Geographies 22.4 (2014). 16 Nov. 2016 <https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474014539250>. Shaw, Robert. The Nocturnal City. London: Routledge, 2018. Straw, Will. "Media and the Urban Night." Articulo 11 (2015). 15 Aug. 2017 <https://doi.org/10.4000/articulo.3098>. Sumartojo, Shanti, Tim Edensor, and Sarah Pink. "Atmospheres in Urban Light." Ambiances (En Ligne) 5 (2019). 5 June 2020 <https://doi.org/10.4000/ambiances.2586>. Verhoeff, Nanna. Mobile Screens: The Visual Regime of Navigation. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2012. Wellner, Galit. A Postphenomenological Inquiry of Cell Phones: Genealogies, Meanings, and Becoming. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2016.

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Abstract:

If thinking about home necessitates thinking about “place, space, scale, identity and power,” as Alison Blunt and Robyn Dowling (2) suggest, then thinking about home themes in popular music makes no less a conceptual demand. Song lyrics and titles most often invoke dominant readings such as intimacy, privacy, nurture, refuge, connectedness and shared belonging, all issues found within Blunt and Dowling’s analysis. The spatial imaginary to which these authors refer takes vivid shape through repertoires of songs dealing with houses and other specific sites, vast and distant homelands, communities or, less tangibly, geographical or cultural settings where particular relationships can be found, supporting Blunt and Dowling’s major claim that home is complex, multi-scalar and multi-layered. Shelley Mallett’s claim that the term home “functions as a repository for complex, inter-related and at times contradictory socio-cultural ideas about people’s relationships with one another…and with places, spaces and things” (84) is borne out heavily by popular music where, for almost every sentiment that the term home evokes, it seems an opposite sentiment is evoked elsewhere: familiarity versus alienation, acceptance versus rejection, love versus loneliness. Making use of conceptual groundwork by Blunt and Dowling and by Mallett and others, the following discussion canvasses a range of meanings that home has had for a variety of songwriters, singers and audiences over the years. Intended as merely partial and exploratory rather than exhaustive, it provides some insights into contrasts, ironies and relationships between home and gender, diaspora and loss. While it cannot cover all the themes, it gives prominence to the major recurring themes and a variety of important contexts that give rise to these home themes. Most prominent among those songs dealing with home has been a nostalgia and yearning, while issues of how women may have viewed the home within which they have often been restricted to a narrowly defined private sphere are almost entirely absent. This serves as a reminder that, while some themes can be conducive to the medium of popular music, others may be significantly less so. Songs may speak directly of experience but not necessarily of all experiences and certainly not of all experiences equally. B. Lee Cooper claims “most popular culture ventures rely upon formula-oriented settings and phrasings to attract interest, to spur mental or emotional involvement” (93). Notions of home have generally proved both formulaic and emotionally-charged. Commonly understood patterns of meaning and other hegemonic references generally operate more successfully than alternative reference points. Those notions with the strongest cultural currency can be conveyed succinctly and denote widely agreed upon meanings. Lyrics can seldom afford to be deeply analytical but generally must be concise and immediately evocative. Despite that, this discussion will point to diverse meanings carried by songs about home. Blunt and Dowling point out that “a house is not necessarily nor automatically a home” (3). The differences are strongly apparent in music, with only a few songs relating to houses compared with homes. When Malvina Reynolds wrote in 1962 of “little boxes, on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky,” she was certainly referring to houses, not homes, thus making it easier to bypass the relationships which might have vested the inhabitants with more warmth and individuality than their houses, in this song about conformity and hom*ogeneity. The more complex though elusive concept of home, however, is more likely to feature in love songs and to emanate from diasporal songs. Certainly these two genres are not mutually exclusive. Irish songs are particularly noteworthy for adding to the array of music written by, or representational of, those who have been forced away from home by war, poverty, strife or other circ*mstances. They manifest identities of displacement rather than of placement, as studied by Bronwen Walter, looking back at rather than from within their spatial imaginary. Phil Eva claims that during the 19th Century Irish émigrés sang songs of exile in Manchester’s streets. Since many in England’s industrial towns had been uprooted from their homes, the songs found rapport with street audiences and entered popular culture. For example, the song Killarney, of hazy origins but thought to date back to as early as 1850, tells of Killarney’s lakes and fells, Emerald isles and winding bays; Mountain paths and woodland dells… ...her [nature’s] home is surely there. As well as anthropomorphising nature and giving it a home, the song suggests a specifically geographic sense of home. Galway Bay, written by A. Fahy, does likewise, as do many other Irish songs of exile which link geography with family, kin and sometimes culture to evoke a sense of home. The final verse of Cliffs of Doneen gives a sense of both people and place making up home: Fare thee well to Doneen, fare thee well for a while And to all the kind people I’m leaving behind To the streams and the meadows where late I have been And the high rocky slopes round the cliffs of Doneen. Earlier Irish songs intertwine home with political issues. For example, Tho’ the Last Glimpse of Erin vows to Erin that “In exile thy bosum shall still be my home.” Such exile resulted from a preference of fleeing Ireland rather than bowing to English oppression, which then included a prohibition on Irish having moustaches or certain hairstyles. Thomas Moore is said to have set the words of the song to the air Coulin which itself referred to an Irish woman’s preference for her “Coulin” (a long-haired Irish youth) to the English (Nelson-Burns). Diasporal songs have continued, as has their political edge, as evidenced by global recognition of songs such as Bayan Ko (My Country), written by José Corazon de Jesus in 1929, out of love and concern for the Philippines and sung among Filipinos worldwide. Robin Cohen outlines a set of criteria for diaspora that includes a shared belief in the possibility of return to home, evident in songs such as the 1943 Welsh song A Welcome in the Hillside, in which a Welsh word translating roughly as a yearning to return home, hiraeth, is used: We’ll kiss away each hour of hiraeth When you come home again to Wales. However, the immensely popular I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen, not of Irish origin but written by Thomas Westendorf of Illinois in 1875, suggests that such emotions can have a resonance beyond the diaspora. Anti-colonial sentiments about home can also be expressed by long-time inhabitants, as Harry Belafonte demonstrated in Island in the Sun: This is my island in the sun Where my people have toiled since time begun. Though I may sail on many a sea, Her shores will always be home to me. War brought a deluge of sentimental songs lamenting separation from home and loved ones, just as likely to be parents and siblings as sweethearts. Radios allowed wider audiences and greater popularity for these songs. If separation had brought a longing previously, the added horrors of war presented a stronger contrast between that which the young soldiers were missing and that which they were experiencing. Both the First and Second World Wars gave rise to songs long since sung which originated in such separations, but these also had a strong sense of home as defined by the nationalism that has for over a century given the contours of expectations of soldiers. Focusing on home, these songs seldom speak of the details of war. Rather they are specific about what the singers have left behind and what they hope to return to. Songs of home did not have to be written specifically for the war effort nor for overseas troops. Irving Berlin’s 1942 White Christmas, written for a film, became extremely popular with US troops during WWII, instilling a sense of home that related to familiarities and festivities. Expressing a sense of home could be specific and relate to regions or towns, as did I’m Goin’ Back Again to Yarrawonga, or it could refer to any home, anywhere where there were sons away fighting. Indeed the American Civil War song When Johnny Comes Marching Home, written by Patrick Sarsfield Gilmour, was sung by both Northerners and Southerners, so adaptable was it, with home remarkably unspecified and undescribed. The 1914 British song Keep the Home Fires Burning by Ivor Novello and Lena Ford was among those that evoked a connection between home and the military effort and helped establish a responsibility on those at home to remain optimistic: Keep the Homes fires burning While your hearts are yearning, Though your lads are far away They dream of home, There’s a silver lining Through the dark clouds shining, Turn the dark clouds inside out, Till the boys come Home. No space exists in this song for critique of the reasons for war, nor of a role for women other than that of homemaker and moral guardian. It was women’s duty to ensure men enlisted and home was rendered a private site for emotional enlistment for a presumed public good, though ironically also a point of personal hope where the light of love burned for the enlistees’ safe return. Later songs about home and war challenged these traditional notions. Two serve as examples. One is Pink Floyd’s brief musical piece of the 1970s, Bring the Boys Back Home, whose words of protest against the American war on Viet Nam present home, again, as a site of safety but within a less conservative context. Home becomes implicated in a challenge to the prevailing foreign policy and the interests that influence it, undermining the normal public sphere/private sphere distinction. The other more complex song is Judy Small’s Mothers, Daughters, Wives, from 1982, set against a backdrop of home. Small eloquently describes the dynamics of the domestic space and how women understood their roles in relation to the First and Second World Wars and the Viet Nam War. Reinforcing that “The materialities and imaginaries of home are closely connected” (Blunt and Dowling 188), Small sings of how the gold frames held the photographs that mothers kissed each night And the doorframe held the shocked and silent strangers from the fight. Small provides a rare musical insight into the disjuncture between the men who left the domestic space and those who return to it, and we sense that women may have borne much of the brunt of those awful changes. The idea of domestic bliss is also challenged, though from the returned soldier’s point of view, in Redgum’s 1983 song I Was Only Nineteen, written by group member John Schuman. It touches on the tragedy of young men thrust into war situations and the horrific after-affects for them, which cannot be shrugged off on return to home. The nurturing of home has limits but the privacy associated with the domestic sphere has often concealed the violence and mental anguish that happens away from public view. But by this time most of the songs referring to home were dominated once more by sentimental love, often borne of travel as mobility rose. Journeys help “establish the thresholds and boundaries of home” and can give rise to “an idealized, ideological and ethnocentric view of home” (Mallett 78). Where previously songsters had sung of leaving home in exile or for escape from poverty, lyrics from the 1960s onwards often suggested that work had removed people from loved ones. It could be work on a day-by-day basis, as in A Hard Day’s Night from the 1964 film of the same name, where the Beatles illuminate differences between the public sphere of work and the private sphere to which they return: When I’m home, everything seems to be alright, When I’m home feeling you holding me tight, tight, yeah and reiterated by Paul McCartney in Every Night: And every night that day is through But tonight I just want to stay in And be with you. Lyrics such as these and McCartney’s call to be taken “...home to the Mull of Kintyre,” singled him out for his home-and-hearth messages (Dempsey). But work might involve longer absences and thus more deepfelt loneliness. Simon and Garfunkel’s exemplary Homeward Bound starkly portrays a site of “away-ness”: I’m sittin’ in the railway station, got a ticket for my destination… Mundaneness, monotony and predictability contrast with the home to which the singer’s thoughts are constantly escaping. The routine is familiar but the faces are those of strangers. Home here is, again, not simply a domicile but the warmth of those we know and love. Written at a railway station, Homeward Bound echoes sentiments almost identical to those of (Leaving on a) Jet Plane, written by John Denver at an airport in 1967. Denver also co-wrote (Take Me Home) Country Roads, where, in another example of anthropomorphism as a tool of establishing a strong link, he asks to be taken home to the place I belong West Virginia, mountain momma, Take me home, Country Roads. The theme has recurred in numerous songs since, spawning examples such as Darin and Alquist’s When I Get Home, Chris Daughtry’s Home, Michael Bublé’s Home and Will Smith’s Ain’t No Place Like Home, where, in an opening reminiscent of Homeward Bound, the singer is Sitting in a hotel room A thousand miles away from nowhere Sloped over a chair as I stare… Furniture from home, on the other hand, can be used to evoke contentment and bliss, as demonstrated by George Weiss and Bob Thiele’s song The Home Fire, in which both kin and the objects of home become charged with meaning: All of the folks that I love are there I got a date with my favourite chair Of course, in regard to earlier songs especially, while the traveller associates home with love, security and tenderness, back at home the waiting one may have had feelings more of frustration and oppression. One is desperate to get back home, but for all we know the other may be desperate to get out of home or to develop a life more meaningful than that which was then offered to women. If the lot of homemakers was invisible to national economies (Waring), it seemed equally invisible to mainstream songwriters. This reflects the tradition that “Despite home being generally considered a feminine, nurturing space created by women themselves, they often lack both authority and a space of their own within this realm” (Mallett 75). Few songs have offered the perspective of the one at home awaiting the return of the traveller. One exception is the Seekers’ 1965 A World of Our Own but, written by Tom Springfield, the words trilled by Judith Durham may have been more of a projection of the traveller’s hopes and expectations than a true reflection of the full experiences of housebound women of the day. Certainly, the song reinforces connections between home and intimacy and privacy: Close the door, light the lights. We’re stayin’ home tonight, Far away from the bustle and the bright city lights. Let them all fade away, just leave us alone And we’ll live in a world of our own. This also strongly supports Gaston Bachelard’s claim that one’s house in the sense of a home is one’s “first universe, a real cosmos” (qtd. in Blunt and Dowling 12). But privacy can also be a loneliness when home is not inhabited by loved ones, as in the lyrics of Don Gibson’s 1958 Oh, Lonesome Me, where Everybody’s going out and having fun I’m a fool for staying home and having none. Similar sentiments emerge in Debbie Boone’s You Light up My Life: So many nights I’d sit by my window Waiting for someone to sing me his song. Home in these situations can be just as alienating as the “away” depicted as so unfriendly by Homeward Bound’s strangers’ faces and the “million people” who still leave Michael Bublé feeling alone. Yet there are other songs that depict “away” as a prison made of freedom, insinuating that the lack of a home and consequently of the stable love and commitment presumably found there is a sad situation indeed. This is suggested by the lilting tune, if not by the lyrics themselves, in songs such as Wandrin’ Star from the musical Paint Your Wagon and Ron Miller’s I’ve Never Been to Me, which has both a male and female version with different words, reinforcing gendered experiences. The somewhat conservative lyrics in the female version made it a perfect send-up song in the 1994 film Priscilla: Queen of the Desert. In some songs the absentee is not a traveller but has been in jail. In Tie a Yellow Ribbon round the Ole Oak Tree, an ex-inmate states “I’m comin’ home. I’ve done my time.” Home here is contingent upon the availability and forgivingness of his old girl friend. Another song juxtaposing home with prison is Tom Jones’ The Green, Green Grass of Home in which the singer dreams he is returning to his home, to his parents, girlfriend and, once again, an old oak tree. However, he awakes to find he was dreaming and is about to be executed. His body will be taken home and placed under the oak tree, suggesting some resigned sense of satisfaction that he will, after all, be going home, albeit in different circ*mstances. Death and home are thus sometimes linked, with home a euphemism for the former, as suggested in many spirituals, with heaven or an afterlife being considered “going home”. The reverse is the case in the haunting Bring Him Home of the musical Les Misérables. With Marius going off to the barricades and the danger involved, Jean Valjean prays for the young man’s safe return and that he might live. Home is connected here with life, safety and ongoing love. In a number of songs about home and absence there is a sense of home being a place where morality is gently enforced, presumably by women who keep men on the straight and narrow, in line with one of the women’s roles of colonial Australia, researched by Anne Summers. These songs imply that when men wander from home, their morals also go astray. Wild Rover bemoans Oh, I’ve been a wild rover for many a year, and I’ve spent all my money on whiskey and beer… There is the resolve in the chorus, however, that home will have a reforming influence. Gene Pitney’s Twenty-Four Hours from Tulsa poses the dangers of distance from a wife’s influence, while displaying opposition to the sentimental yearning of so many other songs: Dearest darlin’, I have to write to say that I won’t be home anymore ‘cause something happened to me while I was drivin’ home And I’m not the same anymore Class as well as gender can be a debated issue in meanings attached to home, as evident in several songs that take a more jaundiced view of home, seeing it as a place from which to escape. The Animals’ powerful We Gotta Get Outta This Place clearly suggests a life of drudgery in a home town or region. Protectively, the lyrics insist “Girl, there’s a better life for me and you” but it has to be elsewhere. This runs against the grain of other British songs addressing poverty or a working class existence as something that comes with its own blessings, all to do with an area identified as home. These traits may be loyalty, familiarity or a refusal to judge and involve identities of placement rather than of displacement in, for instance, Gerry and the Pacemakers’ Ferry Cross the Mersey: People around every corner, they seem to smile and say “We don’t care what your name is, boy. We’ll never send you away.” This bears out Blunt and Dowling’s claim that “people’s senses of themselves are related to and produced through lived and metaphorical experiences of home” (252). It also resonates with some of the region-based identity and solidarity issues explored a short time later by Paul Willis in his study of working class youth in Britain, which help to inform how a sense of home can operate to constrict consciousness, ideas and aspirations. Identity features strongly in other songs about home. Several years after Neil Young recorded his 1970 song Southern Man about racism in the south of the USA, the group Lynyrd Skynyrd, responded with Sweet Home Alabama. While the meaning of its lyrics are still debated, there is no debate about the way in which the song has been embraced, as I recently discovered first-hand in Tennessee. A banjo-and-fiddle band performing the song during a gig virtually brought down the house as the predominantly southern audience clapped, whopped and stamped its feet. The real meanings of home were found not in the lyrics but in the audience’s response. Wally Johnson and Bob Brown’s 1975 Home Among the Gum Trees is a more straightforward ode to home, with lyrics that prescribe a set of non-commodified values. It is about simplicity and the right to embrace a lifestyle that includes companionship, leisure and an enjoyment of and appreciation of nature, all threatened seriously in the three decades since the song’s writing. The second verse in which large shopping complexes – and implicitly the consumerism they encourage – are eschewed (“I’d trade it all tomorrow for a little bush retreat where the kookaburras call”), is a challenge to notions of progress and reflects social movements of the day, The Green Bans Movement, for instance, took a broader and more socially conscientious attitude towards home and community, putting forward alternative sets of values and insisting people should have a say in the social and aesthetic construction of their neighbourhoods as well as the impacts of their labour (Mundey). Ironically, the song has gone on to become the theme song for a TV show about home gardens. With a strong yet more vague notion of home, Peter Allen’s I Still Call Australia Home, was more prone to commodification and has been adopted as a promotional song for Qantas. Nominating only the desire to travel and the love of freedom as Australian values, both politically and socially innocuous within the song’s context, this catchy and uplifting song, when not being used as an advertisem*nt, paradoxically works for a “diaspora” of Australians who are not in exile but have mostly travelled for reasons of pleasure or professional or financial gain. Another paradox arises from the song Home on the Range, dating back to the 19th century at a time when the frontier was still a strong concept in the USA and people were simultaneously leaving homes and reminiscing about home (Mechem). Although it was written in Kansas, the lyrics – again vague and adaptable – were changed by other travellers so that versions such as Colorado Home and My Arizona Home soon abounded. In 1947 Kansas made Home on the Range its state song, despite there being very few buffalo left there, thus highlighting a disjuncture between the modern Kansas and “a home where the buffalo roam” as described in the song. These themes, paradoxes and oppositional understandings of home only scratch the surface of the wide range of claims that are made on home throughout popular music. It has been shown that home is a flexible concept, referring to homelands, regions, communities and private houses. While predominantly used to evoke positive feelings, mostly with traditional views of the relationships that lie within homes, songs also raise challenges to notions of domesticity, the rights of those inhabiting the private sphere and the demarcation between the private and public spheres. Songs about home reflect contexts and challenges of their respective eras and remind us that vigorous discussion takes place about and within homes. The challenges are changing. Where many women once felt restrictively tied to the home – and no doubt many continue to do so – many women and men are now struggling to rediscover spatial boundaries, with production and consumption increasingly impinging upon relationships that have so frequently given the term home its meaning. With evidence that we are working longer hours and that home life, in whatever form, is frequently suffering (Beder, Hochschild), the discussion should continue. In the words of Sam Cooke, Bring it on home to me! References Bacheland, Gaston. The Poetics of Space. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1994. Beder, Sharon. Selling the Work Ethic: From Puritan Pulpit to Corporate PR. London: Zed Books, 2000. Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. London: UCL Press, 1997. Cooper, B. Lee. “Good Timin’: Searching for Meaning in Clock Songs.” Popular Music and Society 30.1 (Feb. 2007): 93-106. Dempsey, J.M. “McCartney at 60: A Body of Work Celebrating Home and Hearth.” Popular Music and Society 27.1 (Feb. 2004): 27-40. Eva, Phil. “Home Sweet Home? The Culture of ‘Exile’ in Mid-Victorian Popular Song.” Popular Music 16.2 (May 1997): 131-150. Hochschild, Arlie. The Time Bind: When Work Becomes Home and Home Becomes Work. New York: Metropolitan/Holt, 1997. Mallett, Sonia. “Understanding Home: A Critical Review of the Literature.” The Sociological Review 52.1 (2004): 62-89. Mechem, Kirke, “The Story of ‘Home on the Range’.” Reprint from the Kansas Historical Quarterly (Nov. 1949). Topeka, Kansas: Kansas State Historical Society. 28 May 2007 http://www.emporia.edu/cgps/tales/nov2003.html>. Mundey, Jack. Green Bans and Beyond. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Nelson-Burns, Lesley. Folk Music of England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and America. 29 May 2007 http://www.contemplator.com/ireland/tho*rin.html>. Summers, Anne. Damned whor*s and God’s Police: The Colonization of Women in Australia. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1975. Walter, Bronwen. Outsiders Inside: Whiteness, Place and Irish Women. London: Routledge, 2001. Waring, Marilyn. Counting for Nothing: What Men Value and What Women Are Worth. Wellington, NZ: Allen & Unwin, 1988. Willis, Paul. Learning to Labor: How Working Class Kids Get Working Class Jobs. New York: Columbia UP, 1977. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Varney, Wendy. "Homeward Bound or Housebound?: Themes of Home in Popular Music." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/16-varney.php>. APA Style Varney, W. (Aug. 2007) "Homeward Bound or Housebound?: Themes of Home in Popular Music," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/16-varney.php>.

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Abstract:

For seven months in 1999/2000, six-year old Cuban Elián González was embroiled in a family feud plotted along rival national and ideological lines, and relayed televisually as soap opera across the planet. In Miami, apparitions of the Virgin Mary were reported after Elián’s arrival; adherents of Afro-Cuban santería similarly regarded Elián as divinely touched. In Cuba, Elián’s “kidnapping” briefly reinvigorated a torpid revolutionary project. He was hailed by Fidel Castro as the symbolic descendant of José Martí and Che Guevara, and of the patriotic rigour they embodied. Cubans massed to demand his return. In the U.S.A., Elián’s case was arbitrated at every level of the juridical system. The “Save Elián” campaign generated widespread debate about godless versus godly family values, the contours of the American Dream, and consumerist excess. By the end of 2000 Elián had generated the second largest volume of TV news coverage to that date in U.S. history, surpassed only by the O. J. Simpson case (Fasulo). After Fidel Castro, and perhaps the geriatric music ensemble manufactured by Ry Cooder, the Buena Vista Social Club, Elián became the most famous Cuban of our era. Elián also emerged as the unlikeliest of popular-cultural icons, the focus and subject of cyber-sites, books, films, talk-back radio programs, art exhibits, murals, statues, documentaries, a South Park episode, poetry, songs, t-shirts, posters, newspaper editorials in dozens of languages, demonstrations, speeches, political cartoons, letters, legal writs, U.S. Congress records, opinion polls, prayers, and, on both sides of the Florida Strait, museums consecrated in his memory. Confronted by Elián’s extraordinary renown and historical impact, John Carlos Rowe suggests that the Elián story confirms the need for a post-national and transdisciplinary American Studies, one whose practitioners “will have to be attentive to the strange intersections of politics, law, mass media, popular folklore, literary rhetoric, history, and economics that allow such events to be understood.” (204). I share Rowe’s reading of Elián’s story and the clear challenges it presents to analysis of “America,” to which I would add “Cuba” as well. But Elián’s story is also significant for the ways it challenges critical understandings of fame and its construction. No longer, to paraphrase Leo Braudy (566), definable as an accidental hostage of the mass-mediated eye, Elián’s fame has no certain relation to the child at its discursive centre. Elián’s story is not about an individuated, conscious, performing, desiring, and ambivalently rewarded ego. Elián was never what P. David Marshall calls “part of the public sphere, essentially an actor or, … a player” in it (19). The living/breathing Elián is absent from what I call the virtualizing drives that famously reproduced him. As a result of this virtualization, while one Elián now attends school in Cuba, many other Eliáns continue to populate myriad popular-cultural texts and to proliferate away from the states that tried to contain him. According to Jerry Everard, “States are above all cultural artefacts” that emerge, virtually, “as information produced by and through practices of signification,” as bits, bites, networks, and flows (7). All of us, he claims, reside in “virtual states,” in “legal fictions” based on the elusive and contested capacity to generate national identities in an imaginary bounded space (152). Cuba, the origin of Elián, is a virtual case in point. To augment Nicole Stenger’s definition of cyberspace, Cuba, like “Cyberspace, is like Oz — it is, we get there, but it has no location” (53). As a no-place, Cuba emerges in signifying terms as an illusion with the potential to produce and host Cubanness, as well as rival ideals of nation that can be accessed intact, at will, and ready for ideological deployment. Crude dichotomies of antagonism — Cuba/U.S.A., home/exile, democracy/communism, freedom/tyranny, North/South, godlessness/blessedness, consumption/want — characterize the hegemonic struggle over the Cuban nowhere. Split and splintered, hypersensitive and labyrinthine, guarded and hysterical, and always active elsewhere, the Cuban cultural artefact — an “atmospheric depression in history” (Stenger 56) — very much conforms to the logics that guide the appeal, and danger, of cyberspace. Cuba occupies an inexhaustible “ontological time … that can be reintegrated at any time” (Stenger 55), but it is always haunted by the prospect of ontological stalling and proliferation. The cyber-like struggle over reintegration, of course, evokes the Elián González affair, which began on 25 November 1999, when five-year old Elián set foot on U.S. soil, and ended on 28 June 2000, when Elián, age six, returned to Cuba with his father. Elián left one Cuba and found himself in another Cuba, in the U.S.A., each national claimant asserting virtuously that its other was a no-place and therefore illegitimate. For many exiles, Elián’s arrival in Miami confirmed that Castro’s Cuba is on the point of collapse and hence on the virtual verge of reintegration into the democratic fold as determined by the true upholders of the nation, the exile community. It was also argued that Elián’s biological father could never be the boy’s true father because he was a mere emasculated puppet of Castro himself. The Cuban state, then, had forfeited its claims to generate and host Cubanness. Succoured by this logic, the “Save Elián” campaign began, with organizations like the Cuban American National Foundation (CANF) bankrolling protests, leaflet and poster production, and official “Elián” websites, providing financial assistance to and arranging employment for some of Elián’s Miami relatives, lobbying the U.S. Congress and the Florida legislature, and contributing funds to the legal challenges on behalf of Elián at state and federal levels. (Founded in 1981, the CANF is the largest and most powerful Cuban exile organization, and one that regards itself as the virtual government-in-waiting. CANF emerged with the backing of the Reagan administration and the C.I.A. as a “private sector initiative” to support U.S. efforts against its long-time ideological adversary across the Florida Strait [Arboleya 224-5].) While the “Save Elián” campaign failed, the result of a Cuban American misreading of public opinion and overestimation of the community’s lobbying power with the Clinton administration, the struggle continues in cyberspace. CANF.net.org registers its central role in this intense period with silence; but many of the “Save Elián” websites constructed after November 1999 continue to function as sad memento moris of Elián’s shipwreck in U.S. virtual space. (The CANF website does provide links to articles and opinion pieces about Elián from the U.S. media, but its own editorializing on the Elián affair has disappeared. Two keys to this silence were the election of George W. Bush, and the events of 11 Sep. 2001, which have enabled a revision of the Elián saga as a mere temporary setback on the Cuban-exile historical horizon. Indeed, since 9/11, the CANF website has altered the terms of its campaign against Castro, posting photos of Castro with Arab leaders and implicating him in a world-wide web of terrorism. Elián’s return to Cuba may thus be viewed retrospectively as an act that galvanized Cuban-exile support for the Republican Party and their disdain for the Democratic rival, and this support became pivotal in the Republican electoral victory in Florida and in the U.S.A. as a whole.) For many months after Elián’s return to Cuba, the official Liberty for Elián site, established in April 2000, was urging visitors to make a donation, volunteer for the Save Elián taskforce, send email petitions, and “invite a friend to help Elián.” (Since I last accessed “Liberty for Elián” in March 2004 it has become a gambling site.) Another site, Elian’s Home Page, still implores visitors to pray for Elián. Some of the links no longer function, and imperatives to “Click here” lead to that dead zone called “URL not found on this server.” A similar stalling of the exile aspirations invested in Elián is evident on most remaining Elián websites, official and unofficial, the latter including The Sad Saga of Elian Gonzalez, which exhorts “Cuban Exiles! Now You Can Save Elián!” In these sites, a U.S. resident Elián lives on as an archival curiosity, a sign of pathos, and a reminder of what was, for a time, a Cuban-exile PR disaster. If such cybersites confirm the shipwrecked coordinates of Elián’s fame, the “Save Elián” campaign also provided a focus for unrestrained criticism of the Cuban exile community’s imbrication in U.S. foreign policy initiatives and its embrace of American Dream logics. Within weeks of Elián’s arrival in Florida, cyberspace was hosting myriad Eliáns on sites unbeholden to Cuban-U.S. antagonisms, thus consolidating Elián’s function as a disputed icon of virtualized celebrity and focus for parody. A sense of this carnivalesque proliferation can be gained from the many doctored versions of the now iconic photograph of Elián’s seizure by the INS. Still posted, the jpegs and flashes — Elián and Michael Jackson, Elián and Homer Simpson, Elián and Darth Vader, among others (these and other doctored versions are archived on Hypercenter.com) — confirm the extraordinary domestication of Elián in local pop-cultural terms that also resonate as parodies of U.S. consumerist and voyeuristic excess. Indeed, the parodic responses to Elián’s fame set the virtual tone in cyberspace where ostensibly serious sites can themselves be approached as send ups. One example is Lois Rodden’s Astrodatabank, which, since early 2000, has asked visitors to assist in interpreting Elián’s astrological chart in order to confirm whether or not he will remain in the U.S.A. To this end the site provides Elián’s astro-biography and birth chart — a Sagittarius with a Virgo moon, Elián’s planetary alignments form a bucket — and conveys such information as “To the people of Little Havana [Miami], Elian has achieved mystical status as a ‘miracle child.’” (An aside: Elián and I share the same birthday.) Elián’s virtual reputation for divinely sanctioned “blessedness” within a Cuban exile-meets-American Dream typology provided Tom Tomorrow with the target in his 31 January 2000, cartoon, This Modern World, on Salon.com. Here, six-year old Arkansas resident Allen Consalis loses his mother on the New York subway. His relatives decide to take care of him since “New York has much more to offer him than Arkansas! I mean get real!” A custody battle ensues in which Allan’s heavily Arkansas-accented father requires translation, and the case inspires heated debate: “can we really condemn him to a life in Arkansas?” The cartoon ends with the relatives tempting Allan with the delights offered by the Disney Store, a sign of Elián’s contested insertion into an American Dreamscape that not only promises an endless supply of consumer goods but provides a purportedly safe venue for the alternative Cuban nation. The illusory virtuality of that nation also animates a futuristic scenario, written in Spanish by Camilo Hernández, and circulated via email in May 2000. In this text, Elián sparks a corporate battle between Firestone and Goodyear to claim credit for his inner-tubed survival. Cuban Americans regard Elián as the Messiah come to lead them to the promised land. His ability to walk on water is scientifically tested: he sinks and has to be rescued again. In the ensuing custody battle, Cuban state-run demonstrations allow mothers of lesbians and of children who fail maths to have their say on Elián. Andrew Lloyd Weber wins awards for “Elián the Musical,” and for the film version, Madonna plays the role of the dolphin that saved Elián. Laws are enacted to punish people who mispronounce “Elián” but these do not help Elián’s family. All legal avenues exhausted, the entire exile community moves to Canada, and then to North Dakota where a full-scale replica of Cuba has been built. Visa problems spark another migration; the exiles are welcomed by Israel, thus inspiring a new Intifada that impels their return to the U.S.A. Things settle down by 2014, when Elián, his wife and daughter celebrate his 21st birthday as guests of the Kennedys. The text ends in 2062, when the great-great-grandson of Ry Cooder encounters an elderly Elián in Wyoming, thus providing Elián with his second fifteen minutes of fame. Hernández’s text confirms the impatience with which the Cuban-exile community was regarded by other U.S. Latino sectors, and exemplifies the loss of control over Elián experienced by both sides in the righteous Cuban “moral crusade” to save or repatriate Elián (Fernández xv). (Many Chicanos, for example, were angered at Cuban-exile arguments that Elián should remain in the U.S.A. when, in 1999 alone, 8,000 Mexican children were repatriated to Mexico (Ramos 126), statistical confirmation of the favored status that Cubans enjoy, and Mexicans do not, vis-à-vis U.S. immigration policy. Tom Tomorrow’s cartoon and Camilo Hernández’s email text are part of what I call the “What-if?” sub-genre of Elián representations. Another example is “If Elián Gonzalez was Jewish,” archived on Lori’s Mishmash Humor page, in which Eliat Ginsburg is rescued after floating on a giant matzoh in the Florida Strait, and his Florida relatives fight to prevent his return to Israel, where “he had no freedom, no rights, no tennis lessons”.) Nonetheless, that “moral crusade” has continued in the Cuban state. During the custody battle, Elián was virtualized into a hero of national sovereignty, an embodied fix for a revolutionary project in strain due to the U.S. embargo, the collapse of Soviet socialism, and the symbolic threat posed by the virtual Cuban nation-in-waiting in Florida. Indeed, for the Castro regime, the exile wing of the national family is virtual precisely because it conveniently overlooks two facts: the continued survival of the Cuban state itself; and the exile community’s forty-plus-year slide into permanent U.S. residency as one migrant sector among many. Such rhetoric has not faded since Elián’s return. On December 5, 2003, Castro visited Cárdenas for Elián’s tenth birthday celebration and a quick tour of the Museo a la batalla de ideas (Museum for the Battle of Ideas), the museum dedicated to Elián’s “victory” over U.S. imperialism and opened by Castro on July 14, 2001. At Elián’s school Castro gave a speech in which he recalled the struggle to save “that little boy, whose absence caused everyone, and the whole people of Cuba, so much sorrow and such determination to struggle.” The conflation of Cuban state rhetoric and an Elián mnemonic in Cárdenas is repeated in Havana’s “Plaza de Elián,” or more formally Tribuna Anti-imperialista José Martí, where a statue of José Martí, the nineteenth-century Cuban nationalist, holds Elián in his arms while pointing to Florida. Meanwhile, in Little Havana, Miami, a sun-faded set of photographs and hand-painted signs, which insist God will save Elián yet, hang along the front fence of the house — now also a museum and site of pilgrimage — where Elián once lived in a state of siege. While Elián’s centrality in a struggle between virtuality and virtue continues on both sides of the Florida Strait, the Cuban nowhere could not contain Elián. During his U.S. sojourn many commentators noted that his travails were relayed in serial fashion to an international audience that also claimed intimate knowledge of the boy. Coming after the O.J. Simpson saga and the Clinton-Lewinsky affair, the Elián story confirmed journalist Rick Kushman’s identification of a ceaseless, restless U.S. media attention shift from one story to the next, generating an “übercoverage” that engulfs the country “in mini-hysteria” (Calvert 107). But In Elián’s case, the voyeuristic media-machine attained unprecedented intensity because it met and worked with the virtualities of the Cuban nowhere, part of it in the U.S.A. Thus, a transnational surfeit of Elián-narrative options was guaranteed for participants, audiences and commentators alike, wherever they resided. In Cuba, Elián was hailed as the child-hero of the Revolution. In Miami he was a savior sent by God, the proof supplied by the dolphins that saved him from sharks, and the Virgins who appeared in Little Havana after his arrival (De La Torre 3-5). Along the U.S.A.-Mexico border in 2000, Elián’s name was given to hundreds of Mexican babies whose parents thought the gesture would guarantee their sons a U.S. future. Day by day, Elián’s story was propelled across the globe by melodramatic plot devices familiar to viewers of soap opera: doubtful paternities; familial crimes; identity secrets and their revelation; conflicts of good over evil; the reuniting of long-lost relatives; and the operations of chance and its attendant “hand of Destiny, arcane and vaguely supernatural, transcending probability of doubt” (Welsh 22). Those devices were also favored by the amateur author, whose narratives confirm that the delirious parameters of cyberspace are easily matched in the worldly text. In Michael John’s self-published “history,” Betrayal of Elian Gonzalez, Elián is cast as the victim of a conspiracy traceable back to the hydra-headed monster of Castro-Clinton and the world media: “Elian’s case was MANIPULATED to achieve THEIR OVER-ALL AGENDA. Only time will bear that out” (143). His book is now out of print, and the last time I looked (August 2004) one copy was being offered on Amazon.com for US$186.30 (original price, $9.95). Guyana-born, Canadian-resident Frank Senauth’s eccentric novel, A Cry for Help: The Fantastic Adventures of Elian Gonzalez, joins his other ventures into vanity publishing: To Save the Titanic from Disaster I and II; To Save Flight 608 From Disaster; A Wish to Die – A Will to Live; A Time to Live, A Time to Die; and A Day of Terror: The Sagas of 11th September, 2001. In A Cry for Help, Rachel, a white witch and student of writing, travels back in time in order to save Elián’s mother and her fellow travelers from drowning in the Florida Strait. As Senauth says, “I was only able to write this dramatic story because of my gift for seeing things as they really are and sharing my mystic imagination with you the public” (25). As such texts confirm, Elián González is an aberrant addition to the traditional U.S.-sponsored celebrity roll-call. He had no ontological capacity to take advantage of, intervene in, comment on, or be known outside, the parallel narrative universe into which he was cast and remade. He was cast adrift as a mere proper name that impelled numerous authors to supply the boy with the biography he purportedly lacked. Resident of an “atmospheric depression in history” (Stenger 56), Elián was battled over by virtualized national rivals, mass-mediated, and laid bare for endless signification. Even before his return to Cuba, one commentator noted that Elián had been consumed, denied corporeality, and condemned to “live out his life in hyper-space” (Buzachero). That space includes the infamous episode of South Park from May 2000, in which Kenny, simulating Elián, is killed off as per the show’s episodic protocols. Symptomatic of Elián’s narrative dispersal, the Kenny-Elián simulation keeps on living and dying whenever the episode is re-broadcast on TV sets across the world. Appropriated and relocated to strange and estranging narrative terrain, one Elián now lives out his multiple existences in the Cuban-U.S. “atmosphere in history,” and the Elián icon continues to proliferate virtually anywhere. References Arboleya, Jesús. The Cuban Counter-Revolution. Trans. Rafael Betancourt. Research in International Studies, Latin America Series no. 33. Athens, OH: Ohio Center for International Studies, 2000. Braudy, Leo. The Frenzy of Renown: Fame and Its History. New York and Oxford: Oxford UP, 1986. Buzachero, Chris. “Elian Gonzalez in Hyper-Space.” Ctheory.net 24 May 2000. 19 Aug. 2004: http://www.ctheory.net/text_file.asp?pick=222>. Calvert, Clay. Voyeur Nation: Media, Privacy, and Peering in Modern Culture. Boulder: Westview, 2000. 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