Virtually everyone supports religious liberty, and virtually everyone opposes discrimination. But how do we handle the hard questions that arise when exercises of religious liberty seem to discriminate unjustly? How do we promote the common good while respecting conscience in a diverse society? This point-counterpoint book brings together leading voices in the culture wars to debate such questions: John Corvino, a longtime LGBT-rights advocate, opposite Ryan T. Anderson and Sherif Girgis, prominent young social conservatives. Many such questions have arisen in response to same-sex marriage: How should we treat county clerks who do not wish to authorize such marriages, for example; or bakers, florists, and photographers who do not wish to provide same-sex wedding services? But the conflicts extend well beyond the LGBT rights arena. How should we treat hospitals, schools, and adoption agencies that can't in conscience follow antidiscrimination laws, healthcare mandates, and other regulations? Should corporations ever get exemptions? Should public officials? Should we keep controversial laws like the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, or pass new ones like the First Amendment Defense Act? Should the law give religion and conscience special protection at all, and if so, why? What counts as discrimination, and when is it unjust? What kinds of material and dignitary harms should the law try to fight-and what is dignitary harm, anyway? Beyond the law, how should we treat religious beliefs and practices we find mistaken or even oppressive? Should we tolerate them or actively discourage them? In point-counterpoint format, Corvino, Anderson and Girgis explore these questions and more. Although their differences run deep, they tackle them with civility, clarity, and flair. Their debate is an essential contribution to contemporary discussions about why religious liberty matters and what respecting it requires.

When a country experiences a civil war, media reports are mainly brought to the attention of the outside world by those who can only report on the surface impressions obtained during a short visit or from the comfort of a studio thousands of miles away. My experiences, living and working at the grass roots level, during and after the crisis in Nigeria in the 1960s has a different perspective. As a young Scotswoman married to a Nigerian from the breakaway republic of Biafra we lived as refugees with our young family, forced to leave our home seven times in the 30 months of the civil war as the war raged around us. Cut off from the outside world, in a situation the British High Commissioner in Nigeria had predicted at the onset, would be over in two weeks, we lived a life full of experiences which gave me a `qualification in survival' no university could have imparted. Without electricity, gas, petrol or phones, and often without money, medicine or safe drinking water we learned to appreciate the basic necessities of life. I was 18 years old, living in Dunfermline, Scotland when the man I was to marry asked me for a dance at the Kinema Ballroom. Two years later my career plan to qualify as a nurse was over and I was married to Len Ofoegbu, with a baby daughter and we were on our way to a new and very different life. Our first home was in the capital, Lagos, and was a big culture shock to Len and I. The newly independent West African country was already experiencing political and civil unrest, leading to violence, massacres, coups, and the inability of the central government to control the situation. Hundreds of thousands of Easterners who had settled throughout the whole of the country now `went home' as they had become the targets of slaughtering mobs. The secession of the Eastern Region, calling itself Biafra, followed and a David and Goliath bitter conflict ensued. The word `kwashiorkor' and pictures of starving children and adults appeared in the Western press for the first time. I was one of around a dozen, mainly British, foreign wives of Biafrans who remained with their husband throughout the civil war. I worked voluntarily with relief agencies in feeding centres, clinics, an orphanage and, after Biafra surrendered in January 1970, in a children's hospital in return for food for my growing family. In May 1970 we moved back to live in Lagos where we went through more crises as a family. I became an early member of Nigerwives, an organisation for foreign wives and partners of Nigerians which became like an extended family as we gave mutual support and strove to resolve anomalies in Nigerian laws which put unnecessary restrictions affecting our particular circumstances. By the 1980s I accepted that my husband and I had grown so far apart that I could no longer remain with him. My legal reason to remain in Nigeria was `to accompany him' and he could withdraw his immigration responsibility for me at any time. I needed a security which he could not give me and I left him and Nigeria to begin a new life and career in Britain in 1985. I was advised when I completed the original manuscript in the 1970s not have it published as Nigeria was extremely sensitive about any account which was sympathetic to the Biafran side of the civil war. In 1986 a much shorter version of Together in Biafra, titled Blow The Fire, telling the story up to 1970 was printed by Tana Press in Nigeria. I retain the copyright. It was published under my married name Leslie Jean Ofoegbu. It has been cited in academic papers. An example is A Lingering Nightmare: Achebe, Ofoegbu and Adichie on Biafra, Francoise Ugochukwu 2011.

When a country experiences a civil war, media reports are mainly brought to the attention of the outside world by those who can only report on the surface impressions obtained during a short visit or from the comfort of a studio thousands of miles away. My experiences, living and working at the grass roots level, during and after the crisis in Nigeria in the 1960s has a different perspective. As a young Scotswoman married to a Nigerian from the breakaway republic of Biafra we lived as refugees with our young family, forced to leave our home seven times in the 30 months of the civil war as the war raged around us. Cut off from the outside world, in a situation the British High Commissioner in Nigeria had predicted at the onset, would be over in two weeks, we lived a life full of experiences which gave me a `qualification in survival' no university could have imparted. Without electricity, gas, petrol or phones, and often without money, medicine or safe drinking water we learned to appreciate the basic necessities of life. I was 18 years old, living in Dunfermline, Scotland when the man I was to marry asked me for a dance at the Kinema Ballroom. Two years later my career plan to qualify as a nurse was over and I was married to Len Ofoegbu, with a baby daughter and we were on our way to a new and very different life. Our first home was in the capital, Lagos, and was a big culture shock to Len and I. The newly independent West African country was already experiencing political and civil unrest, leading to violence, massacres, coups, and the inability of the central government to control the situation. Hundreds of thousands of Easterners who had settled throughout the whole of the country now `went home' as they had become the targets of slaughtering mobs. The secession of the Eastern Region, calling itself Biafra, followed and a David and Goliath bitter conflict ensued. The word `kwashiorkor' and pictures of starving children and adults appeared in the Western press for the first time. I was one of around a dozen, mainly British, foreign wives of Biafrans who remained with their husband throughout the civil war. I worked voluntarily with relief agencies in feeding centres, clinics, an orphanage and, after Biafra surrendered in January 1970, in a children's hospital in return for food for my growing family. In May 1970 we moved back to live in Lagos where we went through more crises as a family. I became an early member of Nigerwives, an organisation for foreign wives and partners of Nigerians which became like an extended family as we gave mutual support and strove to resolve anomalies in Nigerian laws which put unnecessary restrictions affecting our particular circumstances. By the 1980s I accepted that my husband and I had grown so far apart that I could no longer remain with him. My legal reason to remain in Nigeria was `to accompany him' and he could withdraw his immigration responsibility for me at any time. I needed a security which he could not give me and I left him and Nigeria to begin a new life and career in Britain in 1985. I was advised when I completed the original manuscript in the 1970s not have it published as Nigeria was extremely sensitive about any account which was sympathetic to the Biafran side of the civil war. In 1986 a much shorter version of Together in Biafra, titled Blow The Fire, telling the story up to 1970 was printed by Tana Press in Nigeria. I retain the copyright. It was published under my married name Leslie Jean Ofoegbu. It has been cited in academic papers. An example is A Lingering Nightmare: Achebe, Ofoegbu and Adichie on Biafra, Francoise Ugochukwu 2011.

The Beauty Trade takes seriously the frequently maligned and trivialized beauty economy, just as it has become one of the most important worldwide industries. Through the lens of beauty products, practices, and ideas of youth in Guadalajara, Mexico, the book analyzes whether and how beauty norms are changing in relation to the globalizing beauty economy. It looks at who benefits and who loses from beauty globalization and what this means for gender norms among youth. Weaving together fascinating ethnographic research on beauty practices, global political economy, and feminist analysis, the book presents a feminist analysis of the global economy of beauty. Rather than a sign of frivolity, the beauty economy is intimately connected to youth's social and economic development. Cosmetic makeovers have become a modern rite of passage for girls, enabling social connections and differentiations, as well as entrepreneurial activities. The global beauty economy is a phenomenon generated by young people, mostly women, laboring in, teaching, and consuming beauty. Globalization in the beauty economy is a phenomenon propelled by youth, eager for belonging and originality, using every mechanism at their disposal to look good. Contrary to popular wisdom, globalization in the beauty economy is not homogenizing beauty standards to a Western ideal; it is diversifying beauty standards. The Beauty Trade explains how globalization, combined with youth's desires for uniqueness, is enabling the spread of a diversity of beauty cultures, including alternative visions of gender appropriate looks and behavior.

The Justitia Omnibus is the journal of the the Amnesty International society at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Written, designed and edited by students, the journal has become an annual endeavour for the society. The journal aims to provide a platform for students to express their views on human rights issues all over the world as well as to highlight the work our society undertakes to support Amnesty International on campus, such as campaigning and fundraising events.

The LSESU Amnesty International Society aims to further the work of Amnesty International UK on a campus level. We run campaigns to raise awareness of key human rights issues and host events to raise money which goes towards helping AIUK further its vital work. Highlights of this year include a panel discussion on the human rights concerns evident in the Syrian conflict and our campaign week to highlight the need for an International Arms Trade Treaty.

Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.

Longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2019, a powerful, well-researched, fictional account exploring the trokosi tradition for the curious and the open-minded. Abeo Kata lives a comfortable, happy life in West Africa as the privileged nine-year-old daughter of a government employee and stay-at-home mother. But when the Katas' idyllic lifestyle takes a turn for the worse, Abeo's father, following his mother's advice, places the girl in a religious shrine, hoping that the sacrifice of his daughter will serve as atonement for the crimes of his ancestors. Unspeakable acts befall Abeo for the fifteen years she is enslaved within the shrine. When she is finally rescued, broken and battered, she must struggle to overcome her past, endure the revelation of family secrets, and learn to trust and love again. In the tradition of Chris Cleave's Little Bee, Praise Song for the Butterflies is a contemporary story that offers an educational, eye-opening account of the practice of ritual servitude in West Africa. Spanning decades and two continents, Praise Song for the Butterflies is an unflinching tale of the devastation that children are subject to when adults are ruled by fear and someone must pay the consequences. "Abeo is unrelenting - a fiery protagonist who sparks in every scene. Bernice L. McFadden has created yet another compelling story, this time about hope and freedom." Nicole Dennis-Benn, author of Here Comes the Sun

International law and state practice mirrors the recognition of children's particular need for protection during peacetime, but in situations in which international crimes are being committed the prosecution of international crimes committed against children before international courts and tribunals is also well embedded. While international prosecutions are thus in line with the overall development of protecting children from the consequences of armed conflict and large scale violence, the involvement of the child in international criminal proceedings also gives rise to new questions which relate to the procedural involvement of the child.As child participation in the proceedings before the International Criminal Court (ICC) constitutes a matter of fact, one may raise the question whether such participation is a welcome development. This study examines the procedural implications of child participation and thereby intends to contribute legal views and perspectives to the underlying debate on the adequacy of child participation in ICC proceedings. The study concludes with ten recommendations that underline the call.

This volume brings together reflections on citizenship, political violence, race, ethnicity and gender, by some of the most critical voices of our times. Detailed and wide-ranging individual reflections, take the writings of prominent Ugandan political theorist Mahmood Mamdani as a touchstone for thinking about the world from Africa. Contributors apply this theory to argue that we cannot make sense of the political contentions of difference, identity and citizenship today without understanding the legacies of colonial rule on our world. Chapters examine the persistence of the past, and how we must reckon with its tragedies, its injustices, and its utopias in order to chart a new politics; the politics of possible futures that are more inclusive and more egalitarian, and that can think of difference in more equitable ways. In a time when the call to decolonize knowledge, and politics rings loud and clear, this is both a timely and a crucial intervention.