Housing shortages in Yugoslav cities were a perennial concern for authorities and citizens alike. They disproportionately affected Yugoslav workers who as a consequence were the demographic most likely to independently construct a family home. This article explores how informal builders justified home construction in moral terms, legitimizing it on the basis of physical labour that was invested in home construction. This was couched in both the language register of Yugoslav socialism patriarchal custom (according to which a male-headed household should enjoy the right to a family home). Construction was also conditioned by the opportunities and constraints of late socialist temporalities.

After European Union expansion in the 2000s, Danish farmers went eastward in search of cheap land. In Latvia, they encountered indebted farmers and impoverished rural residents who readily sold their land, while at the same time harbouring resentment towards 'the Dane' for undermining Latvia's sovereignty. In the view of significant segments of the Latvian public, ownership of land and territorial rule were intricately linked. In the view of 'the Dane' and the European Union, refusal to separate ownership from rule - or property from sovereignty - was a mark of 'not-yet-mature' liberal democratic subjects. While European Union institutions monitored and disciplined the Latvian state's attempts to juridically restrict foreign land ownership, the Latvian state sought to use financial instruments to limit land sales to foreigners. Drawing on ethnographic analysis of the tensions surrounding the Danish presence in the Latvian countryside and on historical analysis of the shifting regimes of ownership and rule since the beginning of the twentieth century, this article traces the emergence of 'good enough sovereignty' as a form of political practice aimed at ensuring continued existence of the Latvian state and Latvian farmers.

This article examines the contributions made to Arctic knowledge by Kallihirua, a member of the Inughuit community of Northern Greenland who was abducted by the crew of the during the 1850-51 expedition in search of the missing ships and . Unpacking this important moment of cultural encounter, the article explores the ways in which Kallihirua's presence on board the ship became embroiled in wider scholarly debates pertaining to the 'origins of the Inuit' and to the historical migrations of human beings around the world. Furthermore, it studies the ways in which this 'indigenous intermediary' became an important influence on the emergent scholarly disciplines of anthropology and geography which were undergoing a process of institutionalization and professionalization during this period. The article therefore contributes new insights into the fundamental, yet overlooked, roles that Arctic indigenous peoples have historically played in shaping non-indigenous knowledge about the region.

In this article, I examine 'underground memories' to demonstrate how they serve as resources for resistance in the margins of Colombia. I focus on their relations with the urban fabric, looking at the ways the walls of Bogota and Medellin are used as canvases for spreading images and narratives about the conflict. I suggest that murals representing the violence serve as a repository for memories; they challenge hegemonic narratives and contribute to the recovery of public space. This analysis draws on three case studies. In the first one, I examine the impact of a mural in Bogota that denounced extrajudicial killings involving the Colombian army. The second case focuses on a community initiative aimed at collecting testimonies from residents in a marginalized district of Medellin. Finally, the last case study analyses the touristification of some of the many murals depicting the violence in Medellin. I argue that, to different degrees, all the memorial projects presented in this study challenge state narratives. Through representations of murdered teenagers, suspect military officers and even drug cartel bosses, they raise questions of social justice, impunity, illegality and the dramatic banalization of violence in the country. They broaden the narrative on the recent past, through histories and images that the Colombian state is still reluctant to unearth.