• Detecting drug use in adolescents can be difficult, as puberty can mimic many of the physical and emotional warning signs of drug use.

• It is important to be vigilant, but don’t suggest your child is using drugs unless you have good reason to think so.

• If you notice signs suggesting drug consumption, use them as a way to open a conversation about your concerns.

  If your child is using psychoactive drugs

• Talk to your partner, close friends or family

• Act as a team

• Talk to others

• Consider drug testing

• Seek professional help if the situation is deteriorating

• Drug testing can be helpful, but it is not a treatment or a substitute for talking with your child.

• Most drug tests will only detect commonly used drugs such as cocaine and cannabis. Tests for novel psychoactive substances are not routinely available. Talk to the manufacturer if you want to test for newer drugs.

• No drug test is 100% accurate. Repeating the drug test reduces the risk of false results.

• There are many ways to cheat a drug test. The only way to be sure of the source of a sample is to be present while it’s taken.

• Advanced laboratory drug analysis is available at some larger music festival for people who choose to use them with drug checking services now expanding to other settings.

Having developed the multiverse framework in detail, let’s take it for empirical road tests. Are banks biased in mortgage lending? Do job training programs lead to higher wages? How much do the answers to these questions depend on modeling assumptions? Sometimes “significant” results are very stable and robust across models, while other results are mostly null, supported in one in a hundred credible models. In this chapter we demonstrate how to conduct and interpret a basic multiverse analysis, and we cover basic multiverse commands in Stata.

Beginnnig with the description of a sting of a young man, this chapter draws the reader’s attention to the ethical challenges of being an observant participant in stings (as the author is).

This chapter tells of a sting that resulted in a predator killing himself. It explores how COBRA deal with the aftermath of the suicide.

Introduction

Political Islamism and Islamic reform in East Africa have many strands, but their most salient forms can legitimately be described as populist since they position Muslims in East Africa as ‘little people’ marginalized by a Christian establishment and rhetorically use this opposition for political mobilization (Becker 2006; Loimeier 2011; Mudde 2017). It is also evident that history matters to these populists since they have much to say about historical events. It is harder to decide whether this form of populism should be seen as right-wing or left-wing since it combines calls for economic justice with pronounced gendered inequality and extols political emancipation while remaining vague on its desired political dispensation (Becker 2016; Kresse 2007; Willis and Gona 2013). Moreover, the collective of marginalized Muslim ‘little people’ is internally highly diverse in its religious practices, cultural affiliations, and political views.

This chapter uses a mixture of interviews, sermon recordings, informal conversations, and participant observation to explore how Islamists define a place for Muslims in East Africa's difficult present using claims about the past, historical change, and the future. It examines claims about past greatness and present decline, the dangers and promises of the afterlife, and the difficulty of making futures in this world. While a sense of present hardship and loss of direction is practically omnipresent in this discourse, it contains diverse and sometimes contradictory tropes that different adherents combine flexibly. A distinctive feature is the attention to the domestic realm and gender relations as a site of struggle to live a good life.

This case study, then, seeks to complicate the notion that the appeal of populism lies in its ability to simplify societal problems, which sometimes comes close to suggesting that populism appeals to the simple-minded. It chimes with studies that emphasize tensions and slippages in religious populists’ claims and strategies (Hadiz 2014, 2016, 2018; Baykan 2019; Peker 2019). Populists do strive to use simple oppositions, but since they operate in a messy world, their attempts to simplify tend to create their own complexities. More fundamentally, the tropes of populism work because they can mean different things to different people; because they are polysemous, an effect that has been observed long before the current wave of populist mobilization (Dubow 1995).

The past few years have seen many kinds of inflation – among which there is an absolutely inflationary use of the word ‘populism’. Politicians, pundits, and, yes, also scholars tell us incessantly that we live in the ‘age of populism’ and that we are witnessing (or, for that matter, might be crushed by) a ‘populist wave’. The outcome of this inflation has been that many phenomena for which we have rather precise concepts – think of nativism, nationalism, and protectionism as obvious examples – are now labelled ‘populist’. This failure to distinguish impairs our political judgement. It has also arguably inflated the power of populism itself – it now appears that populism is omnipresent and that it is somehow an unstoppable political movement (after all, who can really stop a ‘wave’, let alone what Nigel Farage at one point called a ‘tsunami’?).

Against this background, one wonders whether looking for particularly populist approaches to history might not strengthen the unfortunate trend of conflating populism with all kinds of other phenomena. It is indeed problematic to label political positions that have, at best, an elective affinity with certain kinds of populism as populist as such; it is also misleading, in my view, to declare particular policies (let us say, on immigration or trade) populist as such. However, the case of history is different, and this volume shows why.

Populists, I hold, claim that they, and only they, represent what they often call ‘the silent majority’ or ‘the real people’. This appears to suggest no particular stance on policies nor, for that matter, commitment to any particular historical narratives. And yet this claiming of a monopoly of representation, usually phrased in moralistic language, does have two pernicious consequences, and these eventually also relate to the framing of history. First, and rather obviously, populists claim that all other contenders for power are fundamentally illegitimate. This is never just a disagreement about policies, or even about values, for that matter (which are, of course, normal and ideally even productive in a democracy); rather, populists say more or less directly that their political opponents are corrupt characters who are betraying the people (sometimes they label them outright as enemies).

A dataset does not speak for itself, and model assumptions can drive results just as much as the data. Limited transparency about model assumptions creates a problem of asymmetric information between analyst and reader. This chapter shows how we need better methods for robust results.

Introduction

If, in writing history, we constitute the past and structure collective imagination, then the specific way we narrate the past becomes important in defining the shape of the national memory we produce and the vision of the nation that comes into being. This chapter looks at the way the Hindu right in India frames its history and envisions the nation. It suggests that we not only unpack the framing tropes of that historical imagination, but also the practices that reflect its attitude to the craft of history writing and the place of the historical profession within society. Populist regimes everywhere seek to refigure what counts as history.*

The internal dynamics of the Hindu right have always been shaped by a contradictory dialectic between constitutional politics and extra-constitutional activism, between the seemingly moderate and the aggressively militant voices. This conflict has unfolded differently over the decades. Through the 1950s and 1960s, the Hindu right could not expand its electoral base, though it continued its work at the popular level, opening schools where Hindutva history and Hindutva culture were popularised, doing social work, forming cultural and social organizations that were committed to the ideals of Hindutva. Even as late as 1984, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) was not able to win more than two parliamentary seats. Disappointed with electoral politics, desperate to expand its social base, many within the Hindu right felt the need for a militant movement to forge an aggressive Hindu identity. L. K. Advani emerged as the aggressive face of the right – leading the Ram Janmabhoomi movement in the late 1980s to build a temple for Rama, a major Hindu deity, in Ayodhya – and Atal Bihari Vajpayee appeared as the moderate voice. While Advani's efforts helped forge an assertive masculine Hindu identity, Vajpayee managed to form a coalition government in 1996.

In the early years of this century, during the time that Vajpayee was managing an embattled central coalition, Narendra Modi was fine-tuning a new militant Hindutva in Gujarat as the chief minister of the province. By 2014 he appeared as the unchallenged populist right-wing leader of India.

A summary chapter that also suggests that the world of hunting may be a microcosm to what we see played out daily on a larger scale: the othering of those who are different from us (and what this othering allows us to do in terms of the suffering we cause).

Introduction

India's water crisis has been widely covered in the international and national press. In the summer of 2019, the New York Times published a series of reports and features on the prospects of Chennai and other large Indian cities running out of water (Subramanian 2019). Data on the absolute scarcity of water, sometimes illustrated using dramatic satellite imageries of water bodies, often dominate discussions on India's water crisis (Sengupta 2019). Recall, for example, the 2019 report about 21 Indian cities running out of groundwater by 2020 (ANI 2019a). We are now well past the dreaded summer of 2020 but there has been no follow-up reportage. The argument that India's water crisis lingers because its effects are experienced unequally along multiple dimensions – caste, class, and gender – is hardly a controversial one for scholars. However, there has been very little discussion in both the international and domestic press of the gross inequalities in access to water. The New York Times report mentions the poor, while another describes how women sacrificed daily showers so that office-going male members of the family could afford the luxury instead (Denton and Sengupta 2019). An overwhelming focus on water scarcity instead of water inequalities, we argue, is one of the major causes for the perpetuation of India's water crisis. In this chapter, we seek to examine how the intersection of social inequalities and climate change contributes to water injustice.

In India, access to water is determined by a complex entwining of caste, class, and gender identities that work to perpetuate structural inequalities. While geography and the quality of physical infrastructure greatly influence the extent of water insecurity, they are not entirely responsible for it. In some parts of the country, safe drinking water is inaccessible, causing widespread suffering, illness, and disease. In other regions, cheap and state-subsidized access to water is taken for granted and easily abused (Fatah 2013). The army cantonment and government districts in Delhi receive 375 litres of water per capita per day. On the other hand, South Delhi's Sangam Vihar, an area with a large number of ‘unauthorized colonies’ and home to many lower-income religious minorities, receives a meagre 40 litres of municipal water per person.

In the Sufi Islamic tradition, shrines are a physical point for commemorating awliya’. Generally constructed around the tombs where these holy persons’ bodies lie buried, they are considered sacred and powerful because they are believed to be animated by saintly presence and offer access to their blessings (Ortis 2017). These shrines are a ubiquitous presence in the metropolitan landscape of Pakistan's second-largest city, Lahore. While their exact numbers are unknown, thousands of such shrines dot the city's mohallas, streets, markets, and graveyards. Some of them serve as iconic monuments of the city, featuring grand complexes that draw millions of visitors and pilgrims from across the globe and attract the patronage of governments and elites. On the other end of the spectrum, small, marked-off corners in residential lanes that are only known to a few are also revered as shrines.

While some of these shrines are recognized as historical relics dating as far back as the early years of Islam in India, their numbers are continuously bolstered by the establishment of new ones. The old and dense localities of Lahore, where their concentration is already greatest, are especially fertile grounds for their proliferation. During a conversation with a pirand one of his disciples in Ichra, which is one such locality, I asked them to estimate the number of shrines within a 2-kilometer radius of where we were seated. After consulting for around 10 minutes, both threw up their hands in exasperation. Though they came up with an estimated number of two hundred, they seemed frustrated by the futility of this exercise. It was virtually impossible to know all the places where a saint had chosen to distribute their blessings, as some of them could be hidden or even be inside people's homes. In relating this exchange, my purpose is essentially not only to demonstrate the pervasiveness of Sufi shrines in Lahore but also hint at the challenges involved in mapping them to the satisfaction of all concerned.