I was midway through writing a completely different article to post here when the news broke on Thursday that India’s Supreme Court had overturned the law known as Section 377, which criminalized homosexual acts in India for over 150 years, and which first came into effect in the Indian Penal Code of 1860. This event struck me as exigent enough to abandon my initial efforts in hopes of instead using this as an opportunity to examine political hypocrisy, neocolonial impulses,

Photo Credit: learner.org At the end of my three years serving as a member of the Watershed Collective, I’m poised to shed the graduate chrysalis and move into the next phase of my academic career. So it’s no surprise that I’m drawn to theoretical and cultural representations of transition, upheaval, and change--fascinated by processes of becoming. With this orientation in mind, I appreciate the opportunity to reflect, not only on the phenomenal collection of posts shared by

Continuing the theme of this academic year’s Humanities on the Edge speakers, João Moreira Salles addresses images and aftermath of revolution in his documentary film No Intenso Agora (In the Intense Now). The film uses archival found footage--as well as footage taken by Salles’s own mother on a tour through Maoist China in 1966--in order to explore the many faces of revolution in the late 1960s, and particularly the 1968 revolutionaries of Paris and Prague. In his review of

Photo Credit: dreamstime.com As I read and reread the collection of posts our Watershed team has contributed this semester (15 truly stellar pieces of writing in all), I was struck by their shared commitment to expanding theory’s reach beyond the computer screen and into the world. These texts are saturated with calls to action, reorienting readers toward the pursuit of praxis. Although I teach writing and consider myself mathematically challenged, there is one equation I con

Track One: Sat In Your Lap I resisted the pull of Kate Bush as long as I could. Upon first hearing her music in 2008, my initial thought was that something was wrong with my speakers. I couldn’t believe the weird, witchy wailings, the shrieking, gasping vocals. They absolutely repelled me. Still, something brought me back, again and again. For a while I splashed around in the kiddie pool of her gentler, radio-friendly ’80s jams, “Running Up That Hill” and “Cloudbusting” and “