Abstract: This article examines the role of banana plantations in the settler-colonial, capitalist transformation of Mandate-era Palestine. A microcosm of Zionist settlement and Indigenous Palestinian resistance, the cultivation of bananas reveals competing visions of development and national legitimacy, rooted in the cultural politics of ecological and economic nationalism. Framing banana cultivation in Palestine as a site of eco-nationalist struggle, the article details the convergence of capitalism, agriculture and ecology at the heart of the Zionist-Arab conflict. While bananas were not new to Palestine, efforts to significantly expand production under the British Mandate were constrained by the region’s poorly suited soil and climate, giving rise to competing discourses of scientific knowledge and cultural rootedness. Neither native to Palestine nor grounded in biblical tradition, bananas evoked in the settlers an ersatz ‘secular’ imagination of their inherent capability and expertise, which clashed with the lived reality of the Indigenous people’s deep familiarity with the local ecology and comparative agricultural success. Drawing on extensive primary sources, the article traces scientific discourses and cultural representations of banana cultivation in the districts of Beisan and Jericho, shedding new light on the ways in which agriculture shaped the Zionist-Arab conflict, including the role of the Palestinian capitalist class in resisting settler-colonial dispossession. The article thus explicates the role of bananas in uneven regional development and the struggle for control over land, demonstrating the usefulness of eco-nationalism as a lens to better understand economy and ecology as tools of capital accumulation and control.


Abstract: The Book of Mormon’s portrayal of a great peace that followed the climatic appearance of Jesus Christ in ancient America presents a conundrum. The people of Nephi reportedly became especially “white,” a label that is described simultaneously as not an “ite.” On the one hand, the narrator Mormon represented the “people of Nephi” as “fair and delightsome.”2 Yet, a few verses later he declared that there were no longer “any manner of ites.” The paradox in this portrayal is that Nephites, even if they absorbed whitened Lamanites and renamed themselves the people of Nephi, remained rather literally (wh)ites. Put more bluntly, the label “white”—just like “Lamanite” and “Nephite”—remains an ite. In his 2017 book, Race and the Making of the Mormon People, historian Max Perry Mueller confronts the same troubling passage from Fourth Nephi, noting that “Lamanites and Nephites unified to become one raceless (white) Christian people.” Mueller recognizes an unseemly paradox: “whiteness is the racial category that is, ironically, empty of race.” White is presented as “the original and universal racial category” as well as a mutable one: “within the Book of Mormon hermeneutic of restoration whiteness becomes an aspirational identity, which even those cursed with blackness can achieve.”3 In his 2024 book, The Testimony of Two Nations, Michael Austin, provost of Snow College, applauds the mutability of curses and races in the Book of Mormon. Austin asserts that in contrast to curses in biblical texts, “The curse in the Book of Mormon is reversible and tied clearly to continuing behavior.” He suggests that despite “the overt racism in some of its passages concerning race and skin color, it [the Book of Mormon] injected something genuinely new in to the divine-curse-as-racial-etiology genre of scripture.”4 I seek to unsettle this applause by highlighting Indigenous readings of the Book of Mormon that expose its broader colonial implications. Is the narrator Mormon’s suggestion of racial mutability actually something novel to be praised or might it be, instead, a rather common but disguised instrument of settler colonial erasure?


Description: Generations of Indigenous artists have sought to make a place for Native art in North American culture and society as well as the broader art world. Written at the intersection of history and art history, Painting Native America tells the social history of Indigenous artists and their experiences as they negotiate such questions as how to use art for social and political goals, what constitutes “Indian art,” and how to make a living as an artist, showing how each generation’s approach to these issues in the twentieth century was shaped by previous struggles. Nicolas G. Rosenthal demonstrates that by exhibiting their paintings in museums, galleries, and public spaces, Native American artists rewrote dominant narratives of North American history, foregrounding Native perspectives while indigenizing the art world. Featuring seventy color illustrations, Painting Native America examines generations of American Indian and First Nations painters, including Oscar Howe, Pablita Velarde, Allan Houser, Woody Crumbo, T. C. Cannon, Fritz Scholder, Frank LaPena, Jean LaMarr and others. Rosenthal situates Indigenous artists in twentieth-century modernity, attesting to the dynamism of survivance and the cultural and visual sovereignty practiced by these artists. Rosenthal also provides one of the first social and urban histories of Indigenous artists and art scenes in the North American West and examines the origins of the regional art scenes these artists created in Oklahoma, New Mexico, California, and British Columbia.


Abstract: Emotional political ecology is a subfield that unpacks the ways power is negotiated via emotions in struggles around the environment. Although scholars have influentially outlined critical “dimensions” of emotion in environmental conflict, they pointedly leave their framework open to further theorization. This article thus proposes greater attention to the forces (i.e., stressors) that propel emotional responses in struggles over the environment, and the role of material or emotional coping tools that can disarm otherwise mobilizing emotions. I take the example of farm stress in the U.S. Midwest as a case to advance this point and focus on an underresearched group—Iowan conventional row-crop farmers. Conceptualizing stress as an affective and emotional bodily disposition, I demonstrate how stressors emanate from political economic structures, representational and discursive politics, and the materiality of everyday human–environment relations. I argue that although the materiality of weather causes in-the-moment anxiety, and discursive critiques of industrial agriculture cause frustration and anger, commodity farmers have established emotional and economic tools to cope with these stressors. These stressors are concomitant to more private feelings of grief, sadness, and confusion about how to navigate the changing political economy of agriculture, however, which respondents have less idea how to address. I conclude by drawing out how stressor–emotion–action responses can yield insights on how to grapple with farm stress and struggles over the environment more broadly.


Excerpt: The “civilian Population” addressed by the fundraisers, meaning the European settler population, was in an even shakier position as these threats intensified. The number of European colonists in Algeria had grown from a few thousand in the early 1830s to 44,500 by the end of 1842. But they continued to fall short of colonization advocates’ visions of a settler colony like British North America or Australia, where French families would replace the indigenous inhabitants and transform the territory into an extension of the mother country. Europeans remained vastly outnumbered by the Algerian majority, estimated at some three to four million in this period, and their demographic profile failed to meet colonialist ideals. Over half of the Europeans living in Algeria in 1842 were Spanish, Italian, or Maltese, rather than French. There were twice as many men as women. And most were not living on rural farms, but in towns and cities. Efforts to recruit French farming families to settle on confiscated Algerian land in 1841 largely attracted poor urban workers not the “families of small landowners, with excellent morality, including able-bodied, working-age children, able to bring at least 1,500 to 2,000 francs to the colony” administrators had hoped for. These disappointing results added fuel to bitter debates raging among political economists and policymakers about how to colonize Algeria and whether it was worth the financial and administrative costs to do so at all. Europeans already in the colony in the early 1840s lived in fear of losing the military protections and the investments in colonial development on which their physical and economic survival depended. Finally, to understand why the men of the monument commission wished to erect a statue of King Louis-Philippe’s eldest son in Algiers, we must understand the situation of the French monarchy in the 1840s.