The idea that democracy is in crisis is nothing new; ancient Greek commentators like Plato and Thucydides argued that political instability was baked into democracy as a regime type. Can examples drawn from classical Athens make a useful contribution to discussions of the failings of contemporary democracy? This article considers a range of interventions from the past decade in the United States and the United Kingdom, carried out at different scales and through different methods. It considers the strengths of working with material from the distant past – its non-partisan nature offering a safe space to discuss political conflict without engaging in it – and also the weaknesses, such as the limited franchise of ancient democracies like classical Athens, and the need to consider specific historical issues in their own context. It also considers the unfamiliarity of ancient history and the way in which knowledge of the classical past can itself be perceived as class-bound and exclusionary.

During the 1519–1522 Magellan expedition, the astronomer Andrés de San Martín made two remarkably accurate longitude measurements, an order of magnitude better than what was typical for the 16th century. How he managed to do so remained shrouded in mystery for the past 500 years. Using modern ephemerides, we have retraced San Martín's observations and calculated their error signatures, clarifying the method he used (a simplified version of lunar distances) and why two out of his six measurements were accurate (a rather fortuitous cancellation of errors). It would be rash to dismiss San Martín's work as sheer luck though, as he was an exceedingly rare combination of a capable astronomer and a knowledgeable mariner.

In legal parlance, a ‘witness’ must have personal knowledge of the facts that form the basis of their inference or opinion. However, unlike an ordinary or a professional witness, an expert witness can provide opinion evidence, an exception to this doctrine. The evolution of the role of an expert witness or a skilled witness (in Scotland) is outlined in this clinical reflection.

This essay explores ways in which environmental educators might break with their existing traditions of research and pedagogy by critically appraising climate histories and anticipated futures depicted by SF (science/speculative fiction) in print and audio-visual media. SF has engaged the politics of climate change for at least two centuries and, as a form of public pedagogy accessible to all generations, provides alternative visualisations of the problems arising from humanity’s destructive transformations of Earth’s climate and possible ways of ameliorating them.

How can humanitarians carry out their work during a genocide? Between April and June of 1994, the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) faced that very question. After bloodshed broke out in Rwanda, the ICRC was the only remaining humanitarian organization in the country and continued its aid work while surrounded by brutal violence. Based on previously published materials,1 this article examines the strategies that enabled the ICRC to pursue its humanitarian mission in the face of the most basic inhumanity. In particular, the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement's Fundamental Principles of neutrality and impartiality were critical to establishing contact with all involved parties: dialogue, including with those perpetrating genocide, was key to ensuring the safety of ICRC staff, and to facilitating the organization's work on behalf of those affected by the violence. Additionally, the ICRC spoke out frequently as the violence was unfolding in Rwanda, and this article addresses the question of public communications, in both principle and practice, during a genocide.

Urdu-speaking Shiʿa khatibs (orators) in Karachi regularly speak on the origins of Pakistan, seeking to recuperate Shiʿi contributions to the foundation of the nation-state. In this article, I argue that such claims do not resist, subvert, or undermine statist historical narratives. Instead, the claims mimic, in structure and teleology, the very statist historical narratives that they attempt to challenge. I draw upon twenty months of ethnographic fieldwork in Karachi and demonstrate how thoroughly circumscribed such claims are. I read this minority rhetoric as an attempt to appropriate the majoritarian discourse, rather than as an attempt to challenge the dominant historiography of the origins of Pakistan. I turn to the domain of Shiʿi khitabat (oratory), a ubiquitous and public performance, and identify the important role played by such mass and physical gatherings in the articulation of historical claims. My works emerges from, and contributes back to, scholarship on South Asian Shiʿism, oratory, and the public sphere.

Professor William Ivory (Ivor) Browne, consultant psychiatrist, who died on 24 January 2024, was a remarkable figure in the history of medicine in Ireland and had substantial influence on psychiatric practice and Irish society. Born in Dublin in 1929, Browne trained in England, Ireland, and the US. He was chief psychiatrist at St Brendan’s Hospital, Grangegorman, Dublin from 1965 to 1994 and professor of psychiatry at University College Dublin from 1967 to 1994. Browne pioneered novel and, at times, unorthodox treatments at St Brendan’s. Along with Dr Dermot Walsh, he led the dismantling of the old institution and the development of community mental health services during the 1970s and 1980s. He established the Irish Foundation for Human Development (1968–1979) and, in 1983, was appointed chairman of the group of European experts set up by the European Economic Community for reform of Greek psychiatry. After retirement in 1994, Browne practiced psychotherapy and pursued interests in stress management, living system theory, and how the brain processes trauma. For a doctor with senior positions in healthcare and academia, Browne was remarkably iconoclastic, unorthodox, and unafraid. Browne leaves many legacies. Most of all, Browne is strongly associated with the end of the era of the large ‘mental hospital’ at Grangegorman, a gargantuan task which he and others worked hard to achieve. This is his most profound legacy and, perhaps, the least tangible: the additional liberty enjoyed by thousands of people who avoided institutionalisation as a result of reforms which Browne came to represent.

The article, ‘Have we lost sleep? A reconsideration of segmented sleep in early modern England’, Medical History, 67, 2 (2023), 91–108, by Niall Boyce is devoted to criticising my historical research pertaining to 1) the predominance of segmented sleep in the pre-industrial Western world and 2) the nineteenth-century transition of sleep to today’s pattern of continuous slumber that most people in modern societies seek to achieve, albeit not always successfully. This response addresses Boyce’s reinterpretation of the evidence and indicates whether this is erroneous or selective. My analysis thereby reasserts the predominance of segmented sleep in pre-modern Western Europe. Boyce’s assessment rests not on his original investigation of primary sources but on my first study relating to segmented sleep, published in 2001. Not least of the flaws of ‘Have We Lost Sleep?’ is its surprising inattention to my subsequent works that have expanded, modified, and bolstered this initial publication.

This article critically examines the significance of the relationship between past and present for understanding liberal democratic values in the European context. The article starts by reflecting on the terms used to evaluate the apparent decline in the rule of law in Europe, including ‘backsliding’. It argues that these terms are indicative of a conceptual framework of analysis that includes a temporal dimension but is only partly historical, demonstrating a presentist focus and a perception of the past as a separate period. The article links this perception with the conceptual construction of the rule of law itself, as well as national and transnational narratives about it, which evoke Europe’s non-democratic past as a definitional point of reference that is distinct from the present. Using examples of the legacies of Europe’s dark legal past, the article highlights the artificial nature of this distinction for a range of systems with differing historical experiences. The article argues that interpreting the past in terms of segmented and sequential temporal periods is conceptually contestable and it draws on the philosophy of history to show how the past can instead be understood to have ‘sedimentary’ layers and to endure over time. Ultimately, the article argues that the relationship between law’s past and law’s present needs to be reconceptualised in terms of metaphorical ‘fault lines’ in the rule of law, to acknowledge the potentially disruptive effects of history and to facilitate a critical reimagining of the rule of law’s theoretical and factual foundations.

The narrative and design of Cicero's overlooked collection of letters to his brother Quintus (henceforth, QFr.) demand investigation. Within each book, the constituent letters delineate the trajectory of Cicero's life, transitioning from his political prominence to his increasing irrelevance. This narrative unfolds not only within the micro-narratives of individual books but also across the macro-narrative of the entire collection. Containing only letters from Cicero to Quintus dated between 60/59–54 and featuring a notable resemblance to the Epistulae ad Atticum (henceforth, Att.) Books 2–4, QFr., it can be argued, functions as both a ‘microcosm’ of Att. and its supplement. This article addresses these issues and argues that QFr. deserves a place alongside the ‘major’ Ciceronian collections.

Coinciding with the 75th anniversary of John Cade's seminal publication that first reported lithium's antimanic efficacy, we briefly recount the salient findings of the historic paper and draw attention to the important psychiatric research in Britain that reinforced its findings and the critical British opinions that likely impeded its clinical use.