Any constitution holds the nation’s past, aspires to live the present, and promises to build a thriving future. Differentiating a nation’s collective identity from its constitutional identity is, thus, often difficult, or even impossible. This chapter shows that, at its founding moment, Bangladesh’s national identity and constitutional identity merged into one another, although the national Bengali identity was flawed and exclusionary. Bangladesh’s four-pronged constitutional identity – based on the principles of nationalism, secularism, democracy, and socialism – evolved through a revolutionary and popular process but has since remained ever contested. These four identity principles have been subject to multiple changes, signifying their contestation and contentiousness. One possible reason for the continuing contestation about constitutional identity is, arguably, the ignorance of the religious sentiment of the Muslim majority citizenry. An analogous argument has been that Bangladesh’s constitutional (or national) identity is fraught with an exclusionary or hegemonic approach to nationality.

Young Black changemakers take pride in their connection to Black communities of past and present. This strong and positive Black identity motivates their changemaking. Black identity intertwines with other identities – such as gender and social class positions – to inform experiences of oppression and changemaking in response. Commitment to and love for Black communities empowers young Black people to cope with and resist racism in ways that protect their personal identities from threat and draw on the strengths of their personal narratives. Young Black changemakers find civic purpose and power in the legacy of Black social justice leaders and lean into that history to honor their place in Black communities. The relationship between identity and changemaking is reciprocal. For these young people, pride and connection to being Black fed their desire to eradicate racism through changemaking. Engaging in changemaking for a better world for Black people also deepened their connections to Black people and Black communities.

This chapter details this book’s theoretical contribution. It develops the notion of mobilizational citizenship, which synthesizes an innovative framework that explains how and why mobilization endures over time in highly inhospitable conditions at the urban margins. This framework’s conceptualization of citizenship goes beyond traditional, liberal approaches. It relies on a more flexible and informal notion of political incorporation, which depends on the ways in which collectives build their identity and rescale community-building beyond the framework of the nation-state. In other words, it captures an alternative type of politicization that is often neglected in studies of collective action. Mobilizational citizenship involves the dynamic interaction between four components: agentic memory, mobilizing belonging, mobilizing boundaries, and decentralized protagonism. The chapter’s framework also outlines the barriers to mobilization in the urban margins. It explains how political institutions regularly withdraw and control political capital within urban communities in the aim of demobilizing them. When mobilizational citizenship fails to develop, local dwellers engage in political capital hoarding dynamics within their neighborhoods, which further deactivates collective action.

In a world in which civil society actors and their defiance of the institutional status quo are more prominent than ever, the scholarship on social movements has not provided enough insight into the mobilization of highly excluded groups. This concluding chapter synthesizes the novel framework produced in this book, called mobilizational citizenship, to explain how collective action survives over time in the urban margins under highly unfavorable conditions. This research involved examining how urban contentious politics and local organizing can endure with minimal influence from elite actors or political opportunities. The analytical components of mobilizational citizenship can be used to explain collective action in cases of Latin America beyond Chile’s urban margins, such as the enduring community organizing of El Alto, in Bolivia, the leftist territorial organizations of Villa El Salvador, in Peru, or the Piquetero Movement organizations still mobilizing in neighborhoods of Argentina. This book’s framework could also travel beyond Latin America to analyze movements that spread leadership and have strong collective identities, such as Black Lives Matter, the White Power Movement, and Extinction Rebellion.

This chapter explains how activists in the urban margins decentralize protagonism to transform a mobilizing collective identity into citizenship-building. It uses Gamson’s typology of micromobilizing acts to analyze their face-to-face interactions within three types of encounters: organizing, divesting, and reframing acts. Based on interviews and observations, it shows how activists conceive their collective identity of mobilization as political capital and consequently strategize to diffuse it. In other words, the activists teach each other the identity symbols and values that both promote and validate collective action locally. Within the local social movement community, political capital usually flows from informal leaders to younger, less experienced activists and potential challengers. This socialization process progressively certifies young local activists as community-builders, both individually and collectively. It also makes it more likely for individual leaders to be replaced by others once they decide to quit their role. In turn, this decentralization of protagonism promotes citizenship-building and enduring mobilization, thus creating mobilizational citizenship.

This chapter discusses the ways in which collective identity fuels mobilization in Chile’s urban margins. It looks at how activists’ cohesiveness and their differentiation from other social actors produce a mobilizing identity that advances contentious politics. The chapter draws on participant observations and interviews to outline the contents and dynamics of political consciousness production in Santiago’s urban margins. In their interactions, activists wield discourses of informality and marginality to strengthen a sense of pride in their neighborhood that is immune to hegemonic narratives of stigmatization. The thick boundaries that local activists use to promote mobilization depend on them dynamically differentiating between two realms of collective experience: the formal and the informal. On the one hand, the informal represents the protected sphere of confidence and close connections within neighborhood organizations. Activism works as a way of keeping the informal alive. The formal, on the other hand, is seen as a threat that motivates protective collective action. Finally, the chapter shows how activists’ reactive and defensive mobilization generates a sense of self-determination.

The introduction lays out the book’s conceptual framework. The point of departure is a performative concept of identity as lived and forever changing, so that multiple identities, including immigrant cultural identities, can coexist with German citizenship. After emphasizing that everyone’s ancestors crossed borders at some point, that we are all migrants, it proposes the term PlusGermans for more recent arrivals. It next sketches a concept of a collective national identity, a “New We.” The New We has two meanings: first, it designates all citizens without exception (there is no questioning of the Germanness of such “visible minorities” as Afro-Germans). Second, it proffers a symbolic celebration of this collective identity, the contents of which shall be determined – within the boundaries of the constitution, so that no one’s basic rights are violated – democratically. For instance, what should naturalization ceremonies look like? It ponders whether Germany is already postnational, but concludes that it is not on multiple levels, and that for progressives to avoid definining the civic nation, lest such defining end up in Nazism, leaves the field open to right-wing populists.

The introduction gives an overview of the book’s aim and the conceptual approach to its topic. The subject is the particular way in which the Greeks, in the context of their general project of understanding the world, have made sense of their past. That means it is about history as an element of Greek culture. The concept with which the subject is dealt with is that of intentional history, which is based on the theories of Maurice Halbwachs and Aleida and Jan Assmann on collective memory and social remembrance. With ‘intentional history’, I refer to that part of history that is relevant to the collective identity of social groups of all sizes. This concept allows statements to be made across cultures and epochs and thus makes it possible to draw a connection from antiquity to modernity.

How did Tripoli, a medium-sized secondary city, become the centre of Lebanon’s anti-imperialist and Arab nationalist protest movement?

Anti-French mobilizations in Tripoli created a unique city corporatism that helped to unite most of the Sunni population politically until the 1970s. When Tripoli was carved out of Syria and attached to the new state of Greater Lebanon in 1920 by the French mandate, the city lost its importance and was demoted to secondary status.

This paved the way for a strong, Arab nationalist city identity in Tripoli, driven by Abdulhamid Karami, a man of religion turned politician. Tripoli’s nationalist identity subsequently morphed into various Islamist trends, involving the bourgeois Islamists, the pro-Palestinian Islamists and the Maoist-turned-Islamist urban poor.

Nationalist and Islamist ideas found a foothold in Tripoli due to the many ties between the city and prominent nationalists and Islamists in Syria. However, Tripoli’s ʿAlawites and Christians contested the Arab nationalist identity of Tripoli as formulated by its Sunni leaders.

Tripoli suffered as much from the post-war period as from the war itself. This chapter investigates the structural causes of the crisis of Sunnism in Tripoli in the 1990s, after the revival of Lebanon’s state institutions. Why were local and national politicians unable to rebuild the infrastructure and political spirit of the city after the war?

Lebanon’s post-war system of representation had severe shortcomings. The situation was particularly dire in Tripoli, where Syrian power politics were more direct and far-reaching. Syria’s representatives played various Tripolitanian strata against each other. Crony capitalist networks, which benefited Syrian and Lebanese political and economic entrepreneurs, created new internal divides. The new neoliberal political elites and the bourgeois Islamists turned their backs on the urban poor in Tripoli. As the state eroded and corruption increased, Muslim confessional welfare societies gained an important role in Tripoli’s educational sector.

The chapter addresses the question of the definition of a Jewish collectivity as it was formed in Hellenistic and Roman times by Jews. Having a single Hebrew term to designate themselves, Bney Israel (“the sons of Israel”), Jews had to do without concepts such as ethnos, genos, laos, dēmos, populus, natio, polis, and civitas when referring to themselves as a collective group. The chapter examines the notions that Jews used in order to refer to themselves as an entity, and shows that the definition of Judaism by Jews was modeled in view of different concepts of other entities that were predominant in the Greco-Roman world and was influenced by the tension between political, geo-ethnic, historical, juridical and civic definitions. Each type of collective definition served a different realpolitik and was conditioned by different political circumstances, which determined the way in which Jews demarcated themselves as a group. The chapter aims to reveal the evolution that the definition of Judaism underwent in a period of great changes and focuses in particular on the transition between the Hellenistic and Roman periods.

This chapter uses analysis of over 10,000 runaway slave advertisements in an in-depth look at marronnage through the lens of network building, identity formation, and race and solidarity work. Nearly half of the thousands of runaways described in the Les Affiches américaines advertisements fled within a small group of two or more people. Many were racially or ethnically homogeneous maroon groups that rallied around their collective identity, while groups composed of diverse ethnic backgrounds bridged their differences to forge an emerging racial solidarity. The chapter also explores the complex relationships between enslaved people, maroons and free people of color since absconders often had previous relationships with and sought refuge with people beyond their immediate plantation, highlighting the importance of social capital in finding success at marronnage.

This chapter starts by accounting for the early beginnings of social, economic and labour history in different parts of the world at different times. It then analyses the crisis of social history during the 1970s and 1980s. Challenged both by history from below and by political history as well as poststructuralist theories, social, economic and labour history began to decline. However, over recent decades we have also witnessed a renaissance of a ‘new’ social, economic and labour history. The main bulk of the chapter analyses this renewal, discussing sublaltern studies, the cultural turn, the move to global histories of work, the emphasis on practices as well as discourses and the proliferation of new sub-fields. Overall, many of these recent developments have led to a greater self-reflexivity about the writing of history and its links to collective identity formation.

This chapter starts off by discussing the roots of historical anthropology in ‘people’s history’ before the linguistic turn. It then traces the journey from the history workshop movements of the 1960s and 1970s to historical anthropology, focusing on European and Indian groups (the Subaltern Studies Group). It highlights the work of Ann Laura Stoler as an example of how historical anthropology led to new and exciting perspectives in historical writing with deep implications for the deconstruction of historical identities. Historical anthropologists brought with them a concern for the everyday, diversity, performance and resistance and they raised an awareness of the undeterminedness of the past. They also emphasised how collective identities were rooted in constructions of culture. Relating cultural values to practices, diverse theories of the everday examined different structures of power and the agency of ordinary people in resisting and re-appropriating these structures of power. Treating culture as fluid, plural and changing, it also contributed to the de-essentialisation of human identities. Emphasising mimetic processes and the interrelationship of diverse mimetically produced images, historical anthropology also contributed to the decentring of Western perspectives.

This concluding chapter argues that current ideas about post-narrativism and post-representationalism still build on narrativism and representationalism rather than rejecting them. They do so in particular in their radical move away from grand narratives that are associated with the construction of collective identities. Yet, as the previous chapters have shown, this position can go hand in hand with maintaining that historical writing can and should amount to an intervention in the social world and that it is meaningful for directing and informing a variety of democratic policy agendas. It is historical writing that keeps the future open and makes us suspicious of all attempts to declare an end to history. The ‘new’ histories that have been emerging over recent decades and which have been the subject of analysis in this book often see identification in the definition by Stuart Hall as the basis for their social intervention. They contributed to a growing self-reflexivity about the relationship of historical writing and collective identity formation and they have often taken their starting point from a body of highly diverse theories that have been discussed in Chapter 1 of this volume. The chapter recaps the arguments of the previous eleven chapters of the book and finishes with a reflection on how the struggle over and with history will continue in the future. Denying the existence of any whiggish progressivism, it charts the well-known fact that professional historians’ greater reluctance to commit to the construction of essentialised collective identities has gone hand in hand with the willingness of ‘amateur historiansߣ to do precisely that. This in turn has made it increasingly necessary for professional historians not to retreat to their ivory towers but engage with all essentialised forms of identity history. They need to become engaged and public historians who continue an ongoing struggle over the past in all human societies.