Excerpt: The genocide in Gaza, in that sense, stands in for our global past and future. As Baconi (2024) writes, Gaza is ‘the abject of our time’, a place that signifies for Israel and the West the threat of terrorism, barbarism, backwardness and racialised overpopulation. Gaza offers a ‘blueprint’ for how settler colonies (and nation-states writ large) can become liberal democracies despite being founded upon the dispossession, disenfranchisement, occupation and extermination of others (Baconi, 2024). Given the long history of Israeli settler colonisation and violence (Khalidi, 2020), this transnational perspective on Palestine has existed long before the current genocide (see Frey and Rogaly in this collection). As Alex Lubin (2014) attests, the violence of the 20th century positioned Palestinians, Black Americans and Jews in the diaspora as the ultimate Other vis-a-vis modernity and its central institution, the nation-state. A shared understanding of imperialism, colonialism and white supremacy as global phenomena is key to these ‘geographies of liberation’, and continues to shape 21st-century shared struggle.

Sociologists for Palestine:

Universities in the U.S. have been tools of colonization, settler colonialism, and racial capitalism by participating directly and indirectly in land dispossession, weapons technologies, colonial governance, and racialized exploitation. Today, universities continue to participate in warmaking through investments in weapons technologies, internships and training programs, and research and design collaboration with state governments and corporations. This article lays a foundation for understanding the role of universities in the Israeli genocide in Gaza and provides sociologists with frameworks for action. We draw on our experiences as members of the organizing committee for Sociologists for Palestine (S4P) and from our expertise in racial capitalism, settler colonialism, militarism, and higher education. We use specific examples of ways that universities in the U.S. are implicated in the current genocide and structures of racial capitalism and settler colonialism, and the tools that academics can use to resist these practices and reclaim our universities. Drawing on our experience organizing with S4P and on our campuses, we will discuss possibilities for building broad based movements to demand that academic institutions live up to the ethical principles that they claim to embrace. We focus on the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanction (BDS) campaign as it relates to the American Sociological Association, but situate this work within a broader vision of transformation geared toward the decommodification, decolonization, and indigenization of higher education.




Abstract: This dissertation is about places—what they are, why they matter, and how they contribute to making the world we share. I chart a triangular relationship between built materialities, histories, and social imaginaries to articulate how places come about, expand and constrain possibilities, and shape communities and projects. I focus on contested places to account for, and critique, settlers’ placemaking practices in colonized landscapes, with a particular attention to those processes on Mi’kma’ki, Wolastokuk, and Peskotomuhkatik, or what are commonly called the Maritime Provinces of Canada. The dissertation proceeds through an investigation of dilapidating settler structures in these places and the practices that sustain them. In Chapter One, I examine settlers’ nostalgic engagements with abandoned barns to problematize settler romanticizations of colonized landscapes. Chapter Two is about covered bridges and the difficulties of preserving places by holding onto their material components. In Chapter Three, I consider community negotiations around the construction of the Confederation Bridge to introduce my enactive account of placemaking and theorize placial change. This account explains what places are and why they matter; it also articulates the ways settler placemaking contributes to colonization. Chapters Four and Five are about the aboiteaux of the Chignecto Isthmus. Through an investigation of their history, I articulate an account of placial health and differentiate “places” from “nature”; through an investigation of the present threats they pose to the Isthmus in light of rising sea levels, I explain how histories constrain available possibilities for healthy placemaking in the present, and I chart some short-term avenues for enacting healthier places in an unjust world.


Abstract: In this chapter, we interrogate how artificial intelligence (AI) systems have been used as a tool to facilitate medical colonialism in global health contexts. While often framed as a neutral tool in health and medical care, we disrupt conceptualizations of AI as separate from contemporary issues of colonial and imperial control. Drawing on critical scholarship, we disrupt claims of AI as solely contributing to the betterment of communities by situating it within its contemporary applications that intensify medical colonialism. Particularly, we conceptualize AI as part of a broad technological infrastructure that utilizes health data in processes of datafication and automation as tools of surveillance, experimentation, and subjugation in contexts such as Canada, Gaza, and New Zealand/Aotearoa. In doing so, we point to the ways in which AI development and deployment are part and parcel of the current Western colonial and imperial project that seeks to dominate the Global South. Specifically, we demonstrate how health priorities are used to justify and facilitate the normalization of violence against individuals and communities using mechanisms such as Lethal Autonomous Weapons Systems (LAWS) or constructing a Genocidal Surveillant Assemblage (GSA). To set a decolonial agenda for global health, the chapter asserts that medical practitioners and health care institutions must challenge the techno-specificities of their field, thereby contending with the realities of AI in extracting and exploiting patient data. We use data sovereignty as a framework to move forward and unsettle the ways in which the ownership, access, and use of patient data or data collected from communities more broadly may transform issues of data collection and governance. Ultimately, this discussion calls into question the role and functions of AI as part of health care technologies and practices that are intensifying coloniality at large.






Excerpt: On February 18, 2021, NASA released the first high-resolution color images of the Martian surface captured by the Perseverance rover—rust-red plains, wind-carved rock, and a landscape long imagined as holding clues about whether life ever existed on an otherwise lifeless planet.1 That same week, on February 23, 2021, US Customs and Border Protection circulated infrared surveillance footage looking down the Sonoran Desert, depicting migrants’ heat signatures as glowing figures moving across a terrain likewise described as barren, empty, and hostile to life.2 In both cases, distant cameras pictured desert landscapes as frontiers without life. On this alien world of Mars, and “alien land” in the US Southwest, the only visible signs of life were cast as anomalies, disruptions, or threats requiring containment. These parallel images illuminate how an optics of alienness underpins both outer-space exploration and border enforcement. They reveal a shared territorial imaginary in which seemingly uninhabitable arid deserts and jagged mountaintops, whether celestial or terrestrial, are rendered available for scientific infrastructural occupation and US imperial sovereignty precisely because they are imagined as devoid of life, except for the forms of life marked as alien. The relationship between the category of the alien and frameworks for apprehending the boundary between life and no-life (or what elsewhere we term vita nullius) has long undergirded US claims to territorial control, shaping both the legal category of the migrant “alien” and the production of Indigenous homelands as alien land.




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