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This article illustrates the different ways in which the poor are being put to work,in defence of a global neoliberal order by global economic institutions concerned with constructingthem as resilient subjects, as well as by opponents of neoliberalism concerned with galvanizingthe revolutionary potentials of poor people. In spite of the apparent gulf between neoliberalismand its revolutionary opponents, the poor find themselves subject to remarkably similar strategiesof construction by both proponents and opponents of neoliberalism today. This predicament of thepoor is particularly vexed in Eastern Europe where strategies of resilience are fast developing, andcritical legal theory has so far offered little resistance to this trend. Turning against this tide, thisarticle considers how we might reimagine poverty and conceive its politics beyond and againstclichéd images of the poor as resilient subjects. Through an analysis of the work of the Hungarianfilmmaker Bela Tarr, it argues for the necessity of images capable of conveying the intolerabilityof the conditions in which the poor continue to live, as well as the contingency of those conditions;images that serve as interventions on narratives which would reduce the poor to a life of mereresilience.

This article illustrates the different ways in which the poor are being put to work, in defence of a global neoliberal order by global economic institutions concerned with constructing them as resilient subjects, as well as by opponents of neoliberalism concerned with galvanizing the revolutionary potentials of poor people. In spite of the apparent gulf between neoliberalism and its revolutionary opponents, the poor find themselves subject to remarkably similar strategies of construction by both proponents and opponents of neoliberalism today. This predicament of the poor is particularly vexed in Eastern Europe where strategies of resilience are fast developing, and critical legal theory has so far offered little resistance to this trend. Turning against this tide, this article considers how we might reimagine poverty and conceive its politics beyond and against clichéd images of the poor as resilient subjects. Through an analysis of the work of the Hungarian filmmaker Bela Tarr, it argues for the necessity of images capable of conveying the intolerability of the conditions in which the poor continue to live, as well as the contingency of those conditions; images that serve as interventions on narratives which would reduce the poor to a life of mere resilience.

This article illustrates the different ways in which the poor are being put to work,in defence of a global neoliberal order by global economic institutions concerned with constructingthem as resilient subjects, as well as by opponents of neoliberalism concerned with galvanizingthe revolutionary potentials of poor people. In spite of the apparent gulf between neoliberalismand its revolutionary opponents, the poor find themselves subject to remarkably similar strategiesof construction by both proponents and opponents of neoliberalism today. This predicament of thepoor is particularly vexed in Eastern Europe where strategies of resilience are fast developing, andcritical legal theory has so far offered little resistance to this trend. Turning against this tide, thisarticle considers how we might reimagine poverty and conceive its politics beyond and againstclichéd images of the poor as resilient subjects. Through an analysis of the work of the Hungarianfilmmaker Bela Tarr, it argues for the necessity of images capable of conveying the intolerabilityof the conditions in which the poor continue to live, as well as the contingency of those conditions;images that serve as interventions on narratives which would reduce the poor to a life of mereresilience.

Indigeneities are widely constructed as emanating not only from the experience of dispossession in the historical past, but as ways of being in the world which are grounded positively in dispossession, and which in being so offer themselves as an-tagonistic alternatives to Western ways of being, grounded aggressively as they are in possessiveness, of land, of self, and of others. This essay argues that the opposite is true; that the present condition is one of being governed by regimes of power the strategy of which depends on the production of dispossessed and non-possessive sub-jects. The task is to reject these discourses of entrapment and reclaim possession for ourselves. In doing so much can yet be learned from minor traditions of thought and practice among indigenous peoples, both mythic and real, which, in contrast to today's dominant discourses on indigeneity, insist on the integral importance of possession as a foundation for political subjectivity. Whether indigenous or non-indigenous, the task is the same; avoid being trapped by power, learn instead to hunt power, and cultivate the ultimate freedoms of autonomy and self-possession.

This article addresses the functions of resilience in the political struggles of indigenous peoples against colonialism. In particular it analyses the discourse of indigenous resilience, which has grown in the United States, following the election of Donald Trump as President. It looks at how indigenous resistance to Trump has been constructed as a feature of their 'resilience', tracing the sources of that discourse, revealing its dubious origins, which while involving the mobilizations of indigenous peoples at Standing Rock, owe to a complex range of different interests, involving profit-seeking corporations, artists, colonial knowledge, and neoliberal ideologues. The paper compares the development of the discourse of indigenous resilience in the US with that which is growing in the Arctic. Calling into question the rationalities shaping the discourse in both regions, the paper argues for a rejection of the concept on account of its implicit racism and compliancy with neoliberal colonialism.

This article provides a genealogical critique of the history and modernity of dance. In doing so it establishes the political importance of dance as an art not principally of the body and its biopolitical capacities for movement, but of images and imagination. It traces the development of dance as an art of imagination, lost and buried in the works of Domenico da Piacenza, Jean-Georges Noverre, and Loïe Fuller, as well as its counter-movement expressed in the work of Rudolf Laban. It also locates contemporary dance within this political conflict by exploring new works, especially those of Ivana Müller, which call upon beholders to use their imaginations through the evocation of histories and memories. Such works can be understood to be deeply political, it will argue, because they work to transform society by creating time for a belief in the impossible. At its best, dance does not simply incite bodies to move but suspends movement, transforming the very image of what a body is capable of. These aims and practices of dance speak to contemporary concerns within political practice, theory, and philosophy for a reawakening of political imagination in times of crisis and neoliberal hegemony.

This book claims to be concerned with 'imagination and fear in the world of contemporary security and capital' (p. 2). It grounds itself in the Hobbesian problem of the ways in which human capacities for imagination and fear are open to manipulation by states and their political leaderships, and how that problem is manifest amid the contemporary war on terror and crisis of capital. As such it explores the notion of 'the universal adversary,' an invention of the project for US homeland security to describe the multiplicity of unknown enemies that—it has been supposed—might possibly attack the United States since 9/11. As the author describes, the concept is a useful way with which to conflate the many disparate sources of imaginable threat to American security, and yet it has apparently not attracted much critical attention. It involves the figure of the terrorist but it is not by any means limited to terror. In effect it is an empty container of a concept into which anything and anyone, potentially, can be thrown—which is, of course, precisely its function. Its nebulousness and flexibility calls into being, we are told, a 'Universal Police Power, acting in the name of all and claiming power over all in its permanent war against the adversary in question' (p. 5). As such the book does not simply ask 'who is the universal adversary?' but explores the nature of its function in service of the police power of the state as well as capital.

This article provides a genealogical critique of the history and modernity of dance. In doing so it establishes the political importance of dance as an art not principally of the body and its biopolitical capacities for movement, but of images and imagination. It traces the development of dance as an art of imagination, lost and buried in the works of Domenico da Piacenza, Jean-Georges Noverre, and Loïe Fuller, as well as its counter-movement expressed in the work of Rudolf Laban. It also locates contemporary dance within this political conflict by exploring new works, especially those of Ivana Müller, which call upon beholders to use their imaginations through the evocation of histories and memories. Such works can be understood to be deeply political, it will argue, because they work to transform society by creating time for a belief in the impossible. At its best, dance does not simply incite bodies to move but suspends movement, transforming the very image of what a body is capable of. These aims and practices of dance speak to contemporary concerns within political practice, theory, and philosophy for a reawakening of political imagination in times of crisis and neoliberal hegemony.

Indigeneities are widely constructed as emanating not only from the experience of dispossession in the historical past, but as ways of being in the world which are grounded positively in dispossession, and which in being so offer themselves as antagonistic alternatives to Western ways of being, grounded aggressively as they are in possessiveness, of land, of self, and of others. This essay argues that the opposite is true; that the present condition is one of being governed by regimes of power the strategy of which depends on the production of dispossessed and non-possessive subjects. The task is to reject these discourses of entrapment and reclaim possession for ourselves. In doing so much can yet be learned from minor traditions of thought and practice among indigenous peoples, both mythic and real, which, in contrast to today's dominant discourses on indigeneity, insist on the integral importance of possession as a foundation for political subjectivity. Whether indigenous or non-indigenous, the task is the same; avoid being trapped by power, learn instead to hunt power, and cultivate the ultimate freedoms of autonomy and self-possession.

Indigeneities are widely constructed as emanating not only from the experience of dispossession in the historical past, but as ways of being in the world which are grounded positively in dispossession, and which in being so offer themselves as antagonistic alternatives to Western ways of being, grounded aggressively as they are in possessiveness, of land, of self, and of others. This essay argues that the opposite is true; that the present condition is one of being governed by regimes of power the strategy of which depends on the production of dispossessed and non-possessive subjects. The task is to reject these discourses of entrapment and reclaim possession for ourselves. In doing so much can yet be learned from minor traditions of thought and practice among indigenous peoples, both mythic and real, which, in contrast to today's dominant discourses on indigeneity, insist on the integral importance of possession as a foundation for political subjectivity. Whether indigenous or non-indigenous, the task is the same; avoid being trapped by power, learn instead to hunt power, and cultivate the ultimate freedoms of autonomy and self-possession.