Excerpt: The keen preservation of British colonial architecture as heritage sites signals the Singapore government’s gratitude to its white predecessors. The government’s conservation policy, which reflects its public biases in terms of its favoured historical narratives, and its partnerships with private development, have directly encouraged businesses like Riders Café and The White Rabbit to market themselves according to colonial belief systems, values, and aesthetics. Together, these conserved colonial-themed restaurants express a dual ideal of Anglicisation and Sinicisation, culminating in the creation of a postcolonial patron: the Anglophone Chinese Singaporean, the exemplary citizen able to receive the full benefits of British colonial heritage and ethnic Chinese settler colonial rule. Yet there is in fact nothing postcolonial about this idealised figure. The keen preservation of British colonial architecture as heritage sites signals the Singapore government’s gratitude to its white predecessors. At the same time, this focus on preserving colonial buildings and the Raffles Town Plan fails to locate any kind of meaningful indigenous history that existed before colonial contact. Singapore’s conservation ethics clearly prioritise and preserve the racialised layout of Raffles’ Town Plan in their creation of a multicultural narrative where every race allegedly has equal footing in Singapore’s past, present and future. The state turns physical reminders of colonial racial categorisation and segregation into a story of postcolonial racial integration. This narrative, as laid out in Singapore’s heritage districts, perpetuates the settler colonial trope of the terra nullius (“nobody’s land”), presenting Singapore as uninhabited land that needed to be divided up and managed by the British, so that it could be passed on to the current government for more development. The state turns physical reminders of colonial racial categorisation and segregation into a story of postcolonial racial integration… if Singapore has any racial harmony at all, colonialism had no part to play in it. But if Singapore has any racial harmony at all, colonialism had no part to play in it. Colonialism was, and is, dependent on the reification of invented racial hierarchies in order to tear a population apart for the benefit of colonisers and elites. As long as the Singaporean public venerates the aesthetics of a colonial era tightly yoked to the disenfranchisement and erasure of Malay people, Singapore will never be truly postcolonial. By exonerating the British colonial era of its virulent racism, Singapore’s preservation policies encourage us to think of colonialism as a key part in the country’s thrust towards modernity and affluence. And if Singaporeans revere colonialism, then they celebrate an ideology based on dangerous rhetoric about the Malay community’s racial and cultural shortcomings, which is still mobilised today to explain contemporary Malay socioeconomic and political disenfranchisement. Singapore cannot effectively fight the legacies of British colonialism, or confront the present state of Chinese settler colonialism, without interrogating, critiquing, and ultimately divesting from the cultural tools—even the most pleasurable ones—which help to normalise the disenfranchisement of Malay people on their own land. Perhaps colonial-themed restaurants seem innocuous and apolitical, or perhaps they hold a seductive power, always offering chic service, delicious food, comfortable surroundings, and an ineffable feeling of luxury. But Singapore cannot effectively fight the legacies of British colonialism, or confront the present state of Chinese settler colonialism, without interrogating, critiquing, and ultimately divesting from the cultural tools—even the most pleasurable ones—which help to normalise the disenfranchisement of Malay people on their own land. So what can Singapore do, moving forward? Where do we go after the Singapore Bicentennial, and how do we let go of our colonial past? Perhaps Singapore could tear down the architecture of the colonial era, to prevent the local population from venerating these symbols of racial inequality and subjugation. But this is a symbolic move, and although it would be a massive administrative and physical undertaking, it is actually too easy, ideologically speaking. (And anyway, which exploited labourers would have to do the dangerous, backbreaking, and underpaid work of tearing down every colonial building in Singapore?) Ultimately, the work of decolonisation lies in social consciousness, civic participation, and political action. The truth is, colonialism still rules Singapore’s present, and it is now Chinese people who share the shameful title of coloniser with our white forebears. Colonial buildings are only physical manifestations of a social, political, and economic architecture that undergirds modern life in Singapore. Even if black-and-white mansions were to suddenly disappear off the face of the island, the structures of racial inequality, white supremacy, and Chinese privilege would still remain entrenched in Singaporean society. Nothing would change. So while tearing colonial buildings and statues down might initially signal a serious commitment to decolonisation, it would be an empty gesture if Chinese Singaporeans do not also work to demolish the legacies left by colonialism in our political and social structures. Ultimately, the work of decolonisation lies in social consciousness, civic participation, and political action. Then, perhaps, we could render these colonial houses truly insignificant—just abandoned structures, empty of meaning, holding power over no one at all.

[I was preparing to write a rejoinder when I realise that this guy is not contesting the truth of settler colonialism. He thinks it should not be taught but has nothing against the fact that it is a specific mode of domination and that it is ongoing. This is when I rest my case; I guess I have a better relationship with truth than he does.]

Excerpt: Now that Critical Race Theory (CRT) is being exposed as ahistorical indoctrination, a new permutation of neo-Marxist theory is gaining currency in our schools. It’s called postcolonialism. Its stated mission is to fight “settler colonialism,” a term used to describe any society supposedly built upon the oppression and genocide of indigenous people. Examples of “settler societies” include Israel, New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Canada, and the United States. The recent student activism against Israel, which denied the country’s right to exist and celebrated terrorist attacks against it, demonstrated the true nature of postcolonialism and its power to inspire hatred on campus. Whereas CRT is largely an American phenomenon, postcolonial ideology developed within a broader global context, emerging out of the various movements to end empire around the world—much as CRT emerged as a mutation of the movement to end racial segregation in America. What the civil rights movement is to CRT, the decolonization movement is to postcolonialism. The intellectual forefather of postcolonial ideology is the Marxist intellectual Frantz Fanon, whose writings glorified Algeria’s violent resistance to French control in the middle of the 20th century.  Starting in the 1990s, the field of settler colonial studies (SCS) brought postcolonial ideology into mainstream academia. Since then, history, anthropology, and sociology departments across the Western world have been teaching college students that their nation is an illegitimate settler colonial society built upon white supremacy, theft, and genocide perpetrated against indigenous peoples. SCS is now quietly becoming the basic framework for K-12 social studies curricula throughout the country. For instance, Oregon’s 8th-grade history standards ask students “to examine the differing forms of oppression, including cultural and physical genocide, faced by Indigenous Tribes and acts of resilience and resistance used by Indigenous peoples in response to settler colonialism.”

Abstract: Previous research has shown that Appalachian Studies as a field, by drawing upon Appalachian Studies scholars and activists such as Harry Caudill, Helen Lewis, and Chris Irwin, misapplied the colonialism model to whites in the region, which resulted in clear remnants of self-Indigenization in the field. I show through a rhetorical analysis of recent (2020–2023) editions of the Journal of Appalachian Studies that these critiques have been left largely unaddressed in the field. In reviewing these issues, a tenet of Appalachian Studies is to employ “Appalachian” as an identity (rather than as solely a regional analytic) that is claimable by whites as distinct from other white settler colonizer identities. Applying the peoplehood matrix, which is a theory of that which imbues Indigenous peoples with Indigeneity and sovereignty, I reveal that white Appalachia often rhetorically presents itself as a colonized Indigenous people—though not necessarily as American Indians.

Excerpt: While it is true that since 1967, Religious Zionists have been the primary promoters of annihilationist rhetoric, the involvement of Secular Israelis in October 2023 does not represent a novel phenomenon. Rather, it is deeply rooted in the eliminatory imagination of transfer – a concept preached and practiced by the founding fathers of Secular Zionism – and in annihilatory rhetoric employed by Secular Zionists as early as the 1930s and during the 1948 war. To understand the apparent sudden mainstreaming of genocidal imagination and the relationship between this imagination and religiosity, a broader historical perspective is essential. This perspective must account for the underlying context of settler-colonialism, its impact on the settlers’ mindset and habitus, and the complex relationship between secularism and religiosity within Zionism. In this article, I examine the interplay of three key factors that have shaped the evolution of genocidal imagination.

Abstract: Geronimus’s weathering hypothesis, initially derived from studies of African American women and their newborns, posited that their physical health outcomes were worsened by accumulated stress produced by long-term experiences of pervasive intersectional oppression. African American women experienced sociopolitical and economic oppression produced by the synergistic interactions of structural anti-Black racism and patriarchy. The weathering hypothesis can be extrapolated beyond African American women, and beyond physical health, as an analytic framework to understand how other less-studied intersectional groups may experience poorer mental health outcomes due to the intersections of multiple axes of oppression. The present work argues that Indigiqueer people, who exist at the intersection of Indigenous and queer identities, may similarly be weathered by their experiences of combined oppression arising from systemic forces of settler colonialism and queerphobia. After introducing the weathering hypothesis, its neuroendocrine mechanisms, and its original application to African American women, we then separately detail the ways that Indigenous and queer people in Canada experience oppression, linking the forms of oppression experienced by both populations to their respective mental health. In consideration of this discussion of the impacts of and queerphobia, we reapply Geronimus’s weathering hypothesis to understand the mental health disparities experienced by Indigiqueer people and defend this recontextualization of the weathering hypothesis. In closing, we celebrate Indigiqueer vitality and issue a call to action for Canadian healthcare systems to apply a holistic intersectional lens towards viewing Indigiqueer people and their lived experiences to make meaningful progress towards Indigiqueer mental health equity.

Abstract: Native American imagery and symbols—as logos, mascots, and nicknames—have been commonplace in American sports since the early-twentieth century. This review presents scholarship on this practice at the intersection between the sociology of sports, race/ethnicity, higher education, politics, and social movements, as well as other relevant social sciences. Scholarship has emphasized this imagery’s social origins, public opinion, social psychology, and socio-political trends in the conflict over and often elimination of such symbols. As a disproportionately American practice, Indigenous imagery in sports is linked to the history of settler-colonialism, racialization, and corporate capitalism, and is found throughout all levels of sports (high schools, colleges and universities, and professional). After the US West’s frontier closure, and during the height of Jim Crow and racial lynchings, many educational institutions adopted Indigenous imagery—motivated by a masculinity crisis and American myth-making as a settler-colonialist society. Sociological scholarship has used many methodological approaches, but has emphasized public opinion of the practice, using surveys to predict support for symbols, comparing racial differences, and criticizing how some surveys purportedly offer “support” to the practice via unreliable, non-representative survey techniques. Social psychological studies has explored both the motivations for support and the consequences for the practice, giving particular attention to the impact on Indigenous people (especially Indigenous youth’s self-esteem), in contrast to evidence of improved white self-efficacy. The long-standing conflicts generated by the practice date back to the 1960s with the National Congress of American Indians and 1970s’ “red power” movements, specifically the American Indian Movement. These conflicts have pitted institutional actors (e.g., school administrators and team owners) and sports fans against movements for Indigenous autonomy and anti-racism. Conflicts have involved widespread resistance from sports fans and alumni, against various waves of racial justice mobilizations. Decolonization efforts have aimed to achieve Indigenous self-determination, the right to evade psychological disparagement in the face of both physical and cultural genocide, and to instead be empowered by ownership of their own cultural identity. While most universities and some professional sports teams have ended this practice, many have not—especially at the primary and secondary education levels. Thus, this research continues to occur within an active period of changing practices, and aims to respond to both evolving conditions and new scholarly questions.

Excerpt: A portrait of heavy metal music in North America is incomplete without considering its political and anticolonial appeal in Indigenous communities. Across Canada and the United States, there are active metal music scenes where Indigenous creators are voicing their resistance to settlercolonialism [sic].

Abstract: Over the past century, debates have raged about the validity of United States corporate personhood and the scope of a person-corporation’s rights. While important, these discussions have also erased marginalized peoples’ use of corporate personhood as a strategy for securing the rights denied them by governments. This is the case with the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians (EBCI), who incorporated in 1847 to ensure their own rights and protections at a time when their political sovereignty and human rights were being systematically violated. Although legal recognition of corporate personhood began in 1818, the granting of previously human-only rights to person-corporations has accelerated via recent court cases. In this article, I briefly examine how, over time, the US has conferred personhood on corporations. I then deconstruct what this personhood can tell us about the beliefs and practices regarding the meaning of being a person in the United States. Through this, I demonstrate that the act of conferring personhood—the accountability of who is counted as a person and by whom—manifests the underlying ontologies and purposes of what it is to be a person, whether it is through US incorporation laws or in the EBCI’s sovereignty protections.

Description: Despite a genuine admiration for Native Hawaiian culture, white Californians of the 1930s ignored authentic relationships with Native Hawaiians. Surfing became a central part of what emerged instead: a beach culture of dressing, dancing, and acting like an Indigenous people whites idealized. Patrick Moser uses surfing to open a door on the cultural appropriation practiced by Depression-era Californians against a backdrop of settler colonialism and white nationalism. Recreating the imagined leisure and romance of life in Waikīkī attracted people buffeted by economic crisis and dislocation. California-manufactured objects like surfboards became a physical manifestation of a dream that, for all its charms, emerged from a white impulse to both remove and replace Indigenous peoples. Moser traces the rise of beach culture through the lives of trendsetters Tom Blake, John “Doc” Ball, Preston “Pete” Peterson, Mary Ann Hawkins, and Lorrin “Whitey” Harrison while also delving into California’s control over images of Native Hawaiians via movies, tourism, and the surfboard industry. Compelling and innovative, Waikīkī Dreams opens up the origins of a defining California subculture.

Abstract: This study explores the nature of the Fedarb sheet of the Treaty of Waitangi. The author argues that it conflicts with the conventional argument for the necessity of Treaty principles. She argues that the Treaty principles are a device of settler/invader colonialism. The study is a type of Kaupapa Māori writing inquiry. In the case of the Fedarb sheet, if there was no English treaty sheet provided, then most traditional Treaty scholarship arguments become invalid.Rather than interpret Te Tiriti in light of the English Treaty, we must recognize that all the Fedarb signatories provided to the government was the ability to regulate land-use.Mataatua waka should not have been made a part of the settler colonial construction that was the results of settlers’ inaccurate interpretations of the document..All this highlights the need to view the various sheets of The Treaty of Waitangi and/or Te Tiriti o Waitangi as not a single monolithic and homogenous document, but differentiated international treaties between sovereign hapū and the Crown of England. Each sheet should be seen as separate and different on a regional and whakapapa basis, in its own context.