« Intouchables des Pyrénées », « race maudite »… Qui étaient vraiment les cagots ?

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Emma Duteil, Doctorante en histoire, Aix-Marseille Université (AMU)

Article de journal assurant présenter les « derniers cagots » des Pyrénées. « Points de vue », 1962, Fourni par l’auteur

Population discriminée depuis le Moyen Âge, cibles de théories racistes et éléments d’intérêt touristique au XIXe siècle, les cagots ont été l’objet de beaucoup de fascination. Les exclusions qu’ils ont subies tout comme les origines de celles-ci sont aujourd’hui au centre de nouvelles recherches en histoire.


Dans les années 1960, à Luz (Hautes-Pyrénées), les touristes en goguette dans les Pyrénées étaient invités à venir voir la dernière famille « cagot » de la région. Ces hommes et femmes de petite taille étaient présentés comme les ultimes descendants d’une « race maudite », discriminés depuis plus de mille ans dans la région.

Sur les brochures touristiques de la région, encore aujourd’hui, on trouve mention des cagots qui sont tantôt présentés comme « les intouchables des Pyrénées », comme des « descendants des Wisigoths », ou encore comme « de petits individus difformes au lobe de l’oreille collé ». Mais qui étaient vraiment ces hommes et femmes discriminés ? Tâchons de faire le point entre les fantasmes, les sources historiques disponibles et les inconnues qui demeurent.

Carte postale présentant des « mains de cagots »
Carte postale présentant des « mains de cagots ».
Henri-Marcel Fay, CC BY

Dans les Pyrénées françaises et espagnoles, les individus appelés cagots, agotes, capots ou encore gahets, sont drapés d’un voile trouble. Leur identité, leur origine et leur sort ont fait couler beaucoup d’encre depuis cinq siècles, tant dans la littérature scientifique que dans les discours populaires. Il s’agit en tout cas d’une population discriminée entre le XIVᵉ siècle et le début du XIXᵉ siècle, même si les logiques d’exclusion ont évolué au gré des périodes.

Parmi les éléments de distinction les plus fréquents, on observe que les cagots sont obligés de se marier entre eux, qu’ils ont une place à part au cimetière, qu’ils n’ont pas la possibilité de participer aux assemblées du village et qu’ils doivent rester au fond de l’église lors des offices divins. Mais que peut-on savoir de plus sur ce groupe, et qui peut réellement être appelé « cagot » ?

Mythes et fantasmes

Dès le XVIᵉ siècle, différents auteurs s’interrogent sur l’origine des cagots, afin d’expliquer leur exclusion. Les cagots sont alors renvoyés tour à tour à des descendants de lépreux, de Wisigoths, de Cathares ou de Sarrasins, sans que l’on puisse trancher. Au XIXᵉ siècle, scientifiques et folkloristes de tous bords continuent à s’intéresser à eux, au moment même où la classification des races règne sur les écrits scientifiques de l’époque. Se démultiplient alors encore les imaginaires autour des cagots, renvoyés à une « race maudite » qui constituerait un groupe ethnique particulier. Les cagots sont aussi associés de façon erronée aux « crétins des Alpes » et aux « malades de goitre », affection qui provoque une déformation du cou.

L’ouvrage du professeur Francisque-Michel au XIXᵉ siècle, considère les cagots comme une « race maudite » et entreprend une vaste enquête dans les Pyrénées, s’appuyant à la fois sur des sources textuelles et sur des rumeurs locales
Au XIXᵉ siècle, l’ouvrage du professeur Francisque Michel considère les cagots comme une « race maudite » et entreprend une vaste enquête dans les Pyrénées, s’appuyant à la fois sur des sources textuelles et sur des rumeurs locales.
CC BY

À cette époque, il faut rappeler que les Pyrénées deviennent un haut lieu du tourisme thermal : l’existence des cagots permet alors de fabriquer une culture locale folklorique et de rendre la région attractive. En témoignent la diffusion de cartes postales représentant supposément des maisons de cagots, ou des cagots eux-mêmes. Des voyageurs français et anglais tentent, durant leurs balades, de trouver ces cagots, sans bien en connaître les critères d’identification.

Les cartes postales représentants les quartiers, ponts, sources des cagots se diffusent au XIXᵉ siècle. Ici deux femmes se tiennent aux abords d’une maison pyrénéenne dans le « quartier des cagots » de Saint-Savin
Les cartes postales représentants « les quartiers, les ponts, les sources des cagots » se diffusent au XIXᵉ siècle. Ici deux femmes se tiennent aux abords d’une maison pyrénéenne dans le « quartier des cagots » de Saint-Savin (Hautes-Pyrénées).
Daniel Trallero, Fourni par l’auteur
Le bénitier des cagots de Saint-Savin
Le « bénitier des cagots » de Saint-Savin.
Archives départementales des Hautes-Pyrénées, 5 Fi 396/24, CC BY

Tous les individus pathétiques, pauvres ou boiteux résidant dans les montagnes deviennent alors de potentiels cagots. Or, à cette époque, la discrimination a disparu un peu partout, les cagots se fondant dans la masse. Ne restent que les noms de lieux pour faire perdurer leur souvenir : les visiteurs du XIXᵉ siècle trouveront ainsi une « fontaine des cagots », un « pont des cagots »…

Mais lorsque l’on regarde de plus près les sources textuelles des siècles de discrimination (XVᵉ-XIXᵉ siècle), on constate que les cagots n’ont jamais eu aucune particularité physique. Les archives judiciaires, notariales, municipales et provinciales abondent en ce sens : les cagots sont bien portants, vivent comme les autres, ont la même langue, les mêmes noms, la même religion et sont parfois même riches.

Arrêt du Parlement de Toulouse en 1627, qui déclare que les cagots sont « exemptz de toute espèce de lèpre, ladrerie et autres semblables maladies contagieuses et, ce faizant, n’entendre empêcher qu’ils ne puissent hanter, fréquanter et converser avec toute sorte de personnes et en tous lieux ».
Archives Départementales de la Haute-Garonne (1B477), Fourni par l’auteur

Une exclusion avant tout sociale

L’exclusion des cagots a dès lors plutôt une explication sociale et politique. La marginalisation des lépreux étant de mise au Moyen Âge, c’est là un premier élément qui pourrait expliquer l’éloignement de cette population considérée comme descendante de lépreux, impure et souillée « de l’intérieur ».

Mais une hypothèse plus récente dans l’historiographie postule que les cagots auraient été des nouveaux venus dans les villages au Moyen Âge, installés par des seigneurs sur leurs propres terres, puis marginalisés par les populations paysannes locales revendiquant leur autonomie à l’égard de ces terres soumises à un seigneur.

Aussi, l’insulte de « cagot » – du bas latin cacare relatif aux excréments et à la souillure – a pu permettre dans un village d’établir des hiérarchies au sein du voisinage, entre des individus établis et des marginaux. Il faut donc étudier ce phénomène en sortant d’un cadre racial hérité du XIXᵉ siècle afin d’observer les logiques d’exclusion sociale qui s’exercent dans un lieu donné. Car les différents travaux s’intéressant aux cagots ont longtemps glosé sur leur prétendue distinction physique, au détriment d’une analyse des rapports de force et des dominations qui s’exercent par le biais de cette catégorie.

Or, selon les villages, les cagots ne sont pas soumis aux mêmes interdits et provoquent plus ou moins de remous. Dans beaucoup de paroisses où existaient des « cagots », il n’y a aucune trace archéologique de ségrégation au niveau des sépultures, et le terme disparaît rapidement sans qu’on ait de traces de conflit majeur.

À Biarritz (Pyrénées-Atlantiques) au contraire, les habitants entreprennent de déterrer leurs corps, des violences interpersonnelles ont lieu et le conflit avec les cagots fait l’objet de multiples procès qui remontent jusqu’au roi. Or ce village est alors en déclin économique, et les familles dites « cagotes » accumulent des terres, acquièrent des maisons. Un dicton populaire circule d’ailleurs un peu plus tard : « Si vous devez à un cagot, payez-le tout de suite. » Le fait de renvoyer ces individus à un statut inférieur et souillé permet de marginaliser des individus qui s’enrichissent.

La désignation de cagot dissimule donc des enjeux matériels, économiques, communautaires, propres à chaque localité. Toutes choses égales par ailleurs, des travaux récents ont montré la diversité des individus compris sous le terme de cathares, catégorie péjorative qui ne renvoie pas, comme on l’a pensé, à un mouvement unifié et organisé, mais qui comprendrait un éventail d’individus très différents, dont la stigmatisation reposerait aussi sur des fondements économiques et sociaux.

Carte postale représentant une procession de cagots, les « parias des Pyrénées »
Carte postale représentant une procession de cagots, les « parias des Pyrénées ». Source : Archives départementales des Hautes-Pyrénées, 48 Fi 53/18.
CC BY

Être ou ne plus être un cagot

Toutefois, peut-on savoir qui est cagot ?

Si les institutions à partir de la Renaissance parlent bien de « cagot » dans les textes, elles ne donnent à leur sujet que les interdits qui les frappent. Selon des règlements du XVIIᵉ siècle dans le Béarn, il est défendu aux « cagots » de se mélanger aux autres individus, de porter des armes, de vendre de la nourriture sur les marchés.

Mais le terme « cagot » est ensuite interdit par le pouvoir royal en 1683, car il est jugé discriminatoire et infamant, « sans que l’on puisse précisément savoir la raison de cette distinction », selon les termes de l’intendant du Béarn de l’époque. Le mot est désormais puni par la loi, et les registres de baptême et les contrats de vente font disparaître l’appellation « cagot » de leurs colonnes. On peut imaginer que les enfants de ceux qui étaient appelés « cagots » aux XVᵉ et XVIᵉ siècles continuent de l’être, mais on n’a pas toujours de preuve d’une discrimination qui continuerait pour eux. Pour retrouver la trace de cagots aux XVIIᵉ et XVIIIᵉ siècle, il faut passer par les sources judiciaires : c’est dans les procès et les moments conflictuels que l’on comprend qu’ils continuent à exister.

Archive notariale mentionnant le procès mené par un groupe d’individus de Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port (aujourd’hui dans les Pyrénées-Atlantiques) en 1701 : on apprend qu’ils ont été traités de cagots, empêchés de participer à l’office divin et « arrêtés par les cheveux et traités à coups de pieds et de poings et autrement en injures ».
Archives Départementales des Pyrénées-Atlantiques, 3E8329, Fourni par l’auteur

Lors de ces conflits, on observe que les discriminations envers des individus appelés « cagots » se poursuivent jusqu’au XIXᵉ siècle. Finalement, est cagot celui qui est désigné comme tel, qui est réputé impur par ses pairs et qui subit des marginalisations quotidiennes. Les individus ne sont pas cagots en soi, partout ; ils ne sont pas reconnaissables par un visage, un nom de famille générique ou une langue. Ceux qui sont accusés d’être cagots, dans les procès, ont des noms basques et gascons communs dans la région : Oyhamboure dans le Pays basque français, Sanchotena en Espagne, Nogué dans le Béarn…

Ils sont donc connus localement, au sein même des villages, grâce à des phénomènes d’interconnaissance et de réputation : on les identifie par un nom de maison ou par l’endroit où ils vivent. L’historien, quant à lui, peut les retrouver par les violences qu’ils subissent : sont cagots ceux qui sont toujours contraints à se marier entre eux, à avoir une place à part au cimetière, à être exclus des fonctions de maire, à rester au fond de l’église lors des offices divins.

Le terme de « cagot » est toujours donné de l’extérieur et n’est d’ailleurs jamais revendiqué. Lorsque les « cagots » vont eux-mêmes au tribunal, du XVIIᵉ au XIXᵉ siècle, c’est pour faire punir ceux qui les ont appelés ainsi, obtenir réparation et faire disparaître ce terme – ce qui sera un succès. En somme, le terme de « cagot » est à l’époque moderne un réceptacle pour exclure une fraction de la population, et une insulte qui permet de réinjecter de la différence quand celle-ci disparaît.

Cette exclusion sociale basée sur un argument biologique – celui d’une généalogie qui serait souillée – se retrouve hors du contexte pyrénéen, comme en Bretagne où les sources attestent de l’existence des caqueux. À l’origine malades de la lèpre, les caqueux sont au XVᵉ siècle contraints de porter un morceau de drap rouge et ne peuvent exercer d’autres métiers que celui de cordier. À partir du XVIIᵉ siècle, bien qu’ils ne soient plus lépreux, les caqueux voient les sépultures de leurs défunts se retrouver, dans certaines paroisses bretonnes, aux prises avec des violences villageoises. À Pluvigner en 1687, l’enterrement d’un caqueux provoque une émeute de la part des habitants.

L’historien Alain Croix postule de la même façon que cette exclusion est nourrie par des animosités liées à des privilèges économiques, puisque les caqueux ne cotisent pas comme les autres paroissiens. Le caractère extraordinaire de ces violences montre ainsi, à l’instar des cagots, que des questions matérielles régissent aussi les logiques d’exclusion.

The Conversation

Emma Duteil est historienne, doctorante contractuelle à Aix-Marseille Université et à la Casa de Velázquez (Madrid), membre du laboratoire TELEMME (UMR 7303 AMU-CNRS).

ref. « Intouchables des Pyrénées », « race maudite »… Qui étaient vraiment les cagots ? – https://theconversation.com/intouchables-des-pyrenees-race-maudite-qui-etaient-vraiment-les-cagots-277283

Talk matters: How municipal council debates can enhance democracy

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Karen Bird, Professor of Political Science, McMaster University

Municipal councils rarely dominate national headlines, yet they make decisions that shape our daily lives more directly than any other level of government.

From land use to transit, policing to public health, councils are where competing priorities collide and where communities see democracy up close.

As municipalities across Canada prepare to elect new councils in the fall, it’s worth asking not only who should represent us, but how those representatives should conduct the public’s business once they take office.

One answer is deceptively simple: councils should strive to deliberate well.

What good deliberation looks like

Legislative debate lies at the heart of democratic governance, but deliberation is more than debate. It is the public, reasoned process through which elected representatives weigh competing claims, examine evidence, listen to one another and adjust their positions in light of stronger arguments.

Good deliberation can be measured in terms of specific criteria, including:

  • Clear articulation of reasons: Participants explain why they support or oppose a proposal, grounding their arguments in evidence, community needs, or principles of justice — rather than self interest.
  • Responsiveness: They engage directly with one another’s arguments and stay focused on the issue at hand. When persuasive counterarguments are presented, they show a willingness to adjust, refine, or even rethink their positions.
  • Respectful tone: Disagreement is inevitable — and healthy — but it must be conducted without personal attacks, sarcasm or dismissiveness. Respectful debate rests on fairness and on recognizing that participants’ interests and arguments are offered in good faith and deserve to be taken seriously.
  • Decisiveness: Deliberation is not endless talk. It culminates in decisions that are clear, consequential and publicly justified.

American political theorist Jane Mansbridge reminds us that while pluralist democracy is necessarily about competing interests, there is a need to push “beyond adversary democracy” toward a more co-operative model. That can result in people trying to understand one another’s diverse perspectives, search for common ground and justify decisions in terms others can accept.

When these elements are present, elected representative bodies not only make better decisions — they also strengthen public trust. In an era of polarization and disinformation, this kind of democratic practice isn’t a luxury — it’s a necessity.

How well do municipal councils deliberate?

Mansbridge based her analysis on an in-depth study of political deliberations in a small Vermont town, where she attended meetings for almost two years and conducted numerous interviews with residents.

Applying her insights to my own research with colleagues on town hall debates in Canada and New Zealand, we argue that these local bodies can be ideal venues for visible, reasoned and respectful deliberation.

Despite different national contexts, the two countries have similar local government structures, including traditional ward-level elections and “weak-mayor” systems, where the mayor has limited formal authority.

Unlike national legislatures, city councils are also generally small, non-partisan and close to the communities they serve — all features that should enhance the quality of deliberation. Yet this potential is not always realized.

The debates we examined concerned the contentious matter of electoral reforms to add Indigenous voices to city council.

In Canada, Hamilton City Council in Ontario and the Halifax Regional Council in Nova Scotia are the only local governing bodies we know of that have formally addressed the issue — albeit in an exploratory manner. But in New Zealand, the question of adding Māori seats on local councils has been much more widely debated.




Read more:
The Māori ward vote in New Zealand contains important lessons for Canada


New Zealand/Canada comparison

For comparative purposes, we looked at the largest New Zealand cities where the Māori population comprise 10 per cent or less of the electorate, approximating the Canadian situation. Two of the councils we studied (Hamilton in Canada and Auckland in New Zealand) voted against motions to explore or instate Indigenous seats, while four (Halifax in Canada and Dunedin, Tauranga and Wellington in New Zealand) approved moving forward on the issue.

We hand-coded hours of debate using the discourse quality index (DQI), a measure widely used to assess speeches in parliament, while also deciphering substantive themes.

While the content of arguments was similar across all six cities, we found the quality of deliberation differed markedly. On a zero-to-one scale, Hamilton’s city council ranked lowest with a DQI of 0.45, while Halifax topped others with a score of 0.68.

Looking at the speeches of individual councillors, we found that those who opposed Indigenous seats used less respectful discourse than supporters (average DQI 0.43 vs. 0.64), including more polarizing interjections.

Examples included members who shouted at or turned their backs to others, refusing to engage. Some resorted to personal attacks, or accusations of racism and anti-democratic maneuvering.

As one New Zealand councillor exclaimed: “We are throwing elected representation to the dogs.” Another in Canada reasoned that Indigenous people were requesting “to sit at the table without being elected… that’s how I understood it” — even though the motion was merely to study options for bringing Indigenous voices to council.

Quality of online public discourse matters too

Deliberation does not end when councillors leave chambers. How elected members communicate with the public — especially online — now also shapes the broader democratic climate around municipal decision making.

Social media has become a fertile environment for incivility, harassment and toxic exchanges, and research suggests some politicians have learned to exploit this dynamic.




Read more:
Some politicians who share harmful information are rewarded with more clicks, study finds


At the national level, there is ample evidence from Canada, the United Kingdom and many other countries of the heightened impact that digital vitriol has on women, LGBTQ, racialized and Indigenous candidates and office holders.

But reports from Canada, New Zealand and elsewhere suggest the effects of digital harassment may be even more profound in local politics, where the erosion of local news outlets can heighten communities’ vulnerability to disinformation, out-of-context clips and performative antagonism designed to inflame outrage rather than inform.

According to a recent study in the U.K., online abuse is now the biggest deterrent to people serving as councillors.

In response, some are pushing back. The Elect Respect campaign, initiated by Mayor Marianne Meed Ward of Burlington, Ont., is one recent example: it calls out abuse and harassment directed at women in politics and urges elected officials to commit to “respectful debate” rather than personal attacks.




Read more:
‘Quiet, piggy’ and other slurs: Powerful men fuel online abuse against women in politics and media


Similarly, the Association of Municipalities of Ontario has developed its Leading with Respect Handguides that provide practical resources for councils to navigate conflict and build a culture of civility in their workplaces. Initiatives like this highlight the growing recognition that the tone of public discourse is inseparable from the health of local democracy.

A call for more deliberative local democracy

Wherever you live, the next municipal election is a chance to think about what kind of council your community needs — not only in terms of policy, but also democratic practice.

When councillors treat one another as partners in problem-solving rather than opponents to be defeated, they help build the mutual respect and shared understanding that Mansbridge argues are essential for democratic legitimacy.

In a time of polarization and growing online toxicity, the quality of our local democratic conversations may matter as much as the policies they produce. Municipal councils across the country have the opportunity to show that talk matters — and that better talk can lead to better democracy.

The Conversation

Karen Bird receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC).

ref. Talk matters: How municipal council debates can enhance democracy – https://theconversation.com/talk-matters-how-municipal-council-debates-can-enhance-democracy-278397

CAN 2025 : comment la réalité vécue contredit la vérité juridique

Source: The Conversation – in French – By Fabrice Lollia, Docteur en sciences de l’information et de la communication, chercheur associé laboratoire DICEN Ile de France, Université Gustave Eiffel

Le 17 mars 2026, le Jury d’appel de la Confédération africaine de football (CAF) a requalifié la finale de la Coupe d’Afrique des nations (CAN) 2025. Alors que le Sénégal s’était imposé 1-0 après prolongation contre le Maroc à Rabat le 18 janvier, l’instance a finalement homologué un score de 3-0 en faveur du Maroc, au motif que le comportement de l’équipe sénégalaise relevait des articles 82 et 84 du règlement. Le Sénégal a contesté cette décision et annoncé un recours devant le Tribunal arbitral du sport.

En tant que spécialiste des sciences de l’information et de la communication (SIC) ayant étudié comment la confiance sociale et les dispositifs symboliques structurent et influencent les dynamiques organisationnelles, je considère que la réattribution du titre au Maroc par la CAF ne relève pas seulement du droit sportif. Elle montre également comment une décision réglementaire peut entrer en tension avec le récit public d’un événement et fragiliser l’image de la compétition.

L’enjeu dépasse toutefois le seul contentieux sportif. Une finale n’est pas seulement un résultat. C’est aussi un récit, une mémoire et une séquence d’appropriation collective. Lorsqu’une institution revient après coup sur ce qui avait déjà été vu et célébré comme une victoire, elle ne modifie pas seulement un score. Elle déstabilise un ordre symbolique déjà installé.

Une finale ne se joue pas seulement sur le terrain

La recherche en Sciences de l’Information et de la Communication (SIC) , montre qu’un événement n’existe jamais comme fait brut. Il existe à travers les médiations qui le rendent visible, racontable et partageable. Une finale continentale mobilise des images, des commentaires, des gestes protocolaires, des émotions nationales, des réactions numériques et des récits journalistiques. Elle produit donc un effet sémiotique c’est à dire du sens bien au-delà du terrain.

Le vainqueur d’une finale n’est pas seulement désigné par une règle ou un tableau d’affichage. Il est aussi construit par une chaîne de médiations qui fixe publiquement l’interprétation de l’événement. En ce sens, la victoire n’est pas seulement sportive ; elle est aussi narrative.

Dans le cas de la CAN 2025, ce processus de stabilisation avait déjà eu lieu. Le Sénégal avait gagné sur le terrain. La scène finale avait été reçue comme celle de sa victoire. Les images, les commentaires et la mémoire immédiate de l’événement avaient commencé à inscrire ce résultat dans l’espace public. Lorsque la CAF intervient deux mois plus tard pour inverser juridiquement l’issue reconnue, elle n’agit donc pas seulement sur le plan réglementaire. Elle intervient sur un récit déjà approprié par les publics.

Il faut ici éviter tout contresens. La CAF n’agit pas sans base normative. Son communiqué indique explicitement que la sortie temporaire du terrain par le Sénégal justifie le forfait, avec enregistrement du score à 3-0 en faveur du Maroc. D’un point de vue institutionnel, cette position peut se défendre car une confédération sportive ne peut prétendre garantir l’intégrité de sa compétition si elle renonce à faire respecter ses propres textes lorsqu’un incident majeur survient.

Mais la légitimité d’une décision institutionnelle ne repose pas uniquement sur sa validité procédurale. Elle dépend aussi de sa lisibilité dans l’espace public. Or, dans cette affaire, c’est précisément cette lisibilité qui vacille.

Pendant près de deux mois, le récit dominant était celui d’un Sénégal vainqueur de la CAN. La décision du 17 mars introduit donc une dissonance entre la vérité réglementaire affirmée par l’institution et la vérité vécue par les publics. En d’autres termes, ce qui est juridiquement fondé peut devenir symboliquement instable.

C’est ici que l’analyse info-communicationnelle éclaire le dossier : la crise n’est pas uniquement celle d’un règlement contesté, mais celle d’un désajustement entre plusieurs régimes de légitimité — celui du droit, celui du terrain, celui de l’image et celui de la réception.

Infographie
INFOGRAPHIE.
Fabrice Lollia, CC BY

La CAF fragilisée sur le plan réputationnel

Cette séquence affecte d’abord l’image de la CAF elle-même. Toute institution sportive de gouvernance repose sur l’exigence de faire respecter la règle, mais aussi de rendre cette règle crédible aux yeux des publics. Or, lorsque la décision intervient après la clôture symbolique de l’événement, elle peut produire un effet paradoxal. En cherchant à restaurer un ordre normatif, elle introduit un désordre interprétatif.

La question devient alors moins si la CAF avait juridiquement le droit de statuer ainsi que si elle parvient encore à faire coïncider sa parole avec l’intelligibilité publique de la compétition.

La recherche montre que cette question est décisive. Une institution ne tient pas seulement par son pouvoir de décision. Elle tient aussi par sa capacité à faire reconnaître ses décisions comme cohérentes, recevables et compréhensibles. Lorsque cette reconnaissance vacille, une vulnérabilité de crédibilité apparaît.

L’annonce par la Fédération sénégalaise de football d’un recours devant le TAS prolonge d’ailleurs cette situation. La finale cesse d’exister comme point d’aboutissement stable. Elle continue d’exister comme controverse. L’événement reste donc ouvert dans l’espace médiatique, non comme souvenir clôturé, mais comme affaire en suspens.

La CAN n’est pas seulement un tournoi. C’est aussi une marque sportive continentale. Sa valeur ne repose pas uniquement sur la qualité du jeu ou sur son audience. Elle dépend également de la stabilité de son récit final. Une grande compétition produit des héros, des images, des affects, des souvenirs, un narratif. Elle promet aussi une forme de clarté symbolique : à la fin, un vainqueur doit émerger selon un cadre compris et partagé.

Quand cette promesse se fissure, la compétition perd une part de sa puissance narrative. Le titre demeure légalement attribué. Mais son évidence symbolique devient moins stable. Or, dans l’économie de l’attention, cette stabilité narrative constitue une ressource stratégique.

La controverse n’annule pas la valeur de la CAN mais elle la reconfigure. Elle fait passer l’événement d’un registre de célébration à un registre de contentieux. Et ce glissement n’est jamais neutre pour une marque sportive qui vit aussi de prestige, de mémoire collective et de confiance.

De la crise symbolique au signal business

L’affaire dépasse le seul cadre sportif et intéresse aussi le monde économique. Sponsors, diffuseurs, investisseurs ou acteurs du tourisme ne recherchent pas uniquement de la visibilité puisqu’ils s’associent à un environnement de confiance, lisible et maîtrisé.

De ce point de vue, une finale requalifiée plusieurs semaines après sa tenue envoie un signal ambivalent. Elle montre la volonté d’une institution de faire respecter ses règles, mais elle montre aussi qu’un événement majeur peut rester symboliquement instable après sa clôture apparente. Sans provoquer mécaniquement un retrait des partenaires, une telle controverse ajoute donc un risque réputationnel et fragilise une confiance nécessaire pour attirer les investisseurs.

Dans le cas du Maroc, pays hôte de la CAN 2025 et compte tenu de la belle performance économique qui a suivi la CAN, accueillir une compétition de cette ampleur, ce n’est pas seulement démontrer une capacité logistique ; c’est aussi projeter l’image d’un territoire fiable, capable d’orchestrer un événement international complexe.

Sur le plan technique, le tournoi a plutôt conforté cette image, notamment dans la perspective de la Coupe du monde 2030.

Mais la controverse autour de la finale rappelle qu’un grand événement ne se juge plus seulement à la qualité de son organisation matérielle. Il se juge aussi à la solidité de son dénouement narratif. Un pays peut ainsi réussir l’accueil technique d’une compétition tout en voyant une partie du bénéfice réputationnel attendu être atténuée par une crise de sens.

Au fond, c’est bien cette tension que montre la finale de la CAN 2025. La décision de la CAF peut être juridiquement fondée mais cela ne suffit pas à neutraliser ses effets communicationnels.

À l’ère des images virales, des controverses instantanées et des économies de réputation, la légitimité d’une institution ne se construit plus seulement dans l’énoncé d’une règle. Elle se construit aussi dans sa capacité à articuler cette règle avec un récit déjà circulant et avec les appropriations publiques qui en découlent.

C’est pourquoi la formule résume exactement l’enjeu : oui, il s’agit d’une décision juridique ; mais oui aussi, il s’agit d’une crise d’image. Juridique, parce que la CAF revendique l’application de ses textes. Crise d’image, parce que cette application intervient contre un récit déjà stabilisé par l’expérience vécue, la médiatisation et la mémoire collective.

Et lorsque ce désajustement survient, ce ne sont pas seulement une confédération ou deux sélections qui sont touchées. C’est tout un écosystème de confiance qui vacille. Celui de la compétition, de ses partenaires et, indirectement, du pays hôte comme organisateur crédible d’événements d’envergure.

The Conversation

Fabrice Lollia does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. CAN 2025 : comment la réalité vécue contredit la vérité juridique – https://theconversation.com/can-2025-comment-la-realite-vecue-contredit-la-verite-juridique-278743

The Lesotho Highlands Water project is 40 years old and going strong: but history weighs on its successes

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By John Aerni-Flessner, Associate Professor of African History, Michigan State University

Big projects bring big hopes and big dreams. They also bring big disappointment when they don’t deliver on all the promises. Even when the projects work as they are supposed to.

The Lesotho Highlands Water Project fits this description perfectly, as I argue in my new book on its history. Over the past 20 years I have conducted research on the history of the small, landlocked country of Lesotho and its development.

Two massive dams – Katse and Mohale – and storage reservoirs in Lesotho have been completed and a third dam is under construction.

The project transfers, via gravity-fed tunnels under the mountains, billions of litres of water a year to South Africa’s Vaal River. This water fuels the economic and mining heartland of Gauteng province, which pays billions of rand annually in royalties to Lesotho. The project fundamentally works.

And yet, there are many people in both countries who feel the project does not bring them benefit. They pay for the project – whether in hard money or with sacrifices to their lives and livelihoods – but in their daily lives, they still lack access to water and services. And they vent their anger at the project.

Why? It is in part the nature of big infrastructure projects. Politicians make big promises. The public imagination is activated. People dream of better lives for themselves and their children. The project delivers exactly what it promised, but this does not fulfil the expectations people built up around it. The Lesotho Highlands Water Project certainly follows this pattern.

And yet, it is more. The project treaty was signed in 1986, towards the end of apartheid. So it was not marked by any public consultation at the start. And it has not prioritised providing benefits to the poorest and most vulnerable, even in the democratic years that followed the end of apartheid in 1994.

Unearthing the history

The book is based on extensive archival research in South Africa and Lesotho plus oral histories conducted with people knowledgeable about the project. It also relied on a Promotion of Access to Information Act request to the Department of International Relations and Cooperation in South Africa.

This lengthy process was necessary because the international relations department does not transfer files to the National Archives anymore. It means that these files are not generally available to the public. Hence, the book unearths the thinking of South African security and diplomatic officials about the project in new ways.

Currently the Katse and Mohale Dams in Lesotho impound water in the Maluti mountains of Lesotho. (Polihali Dam is scheduled for completion around 2030.) The project has over 120km of 5-metre diameter tunnels that take water under two watersheds and a mountain range to deliver project water to the Vaal River in South Africa. The Vaal is the main source of water for Johannesburg.

The Lesotho Highlands Water Project supplies around 60% of Johannesburg’s water needs for its roughly 5.5 million people. Each year the project transfers almost 800 million cubic metres of water. Each cubic metre contains 1,000 litres. So, the project transfers roughly 800 billion litres of water a year currently. A mind-boggling amount of water.

The water royalties currently pay out almost R4 billion (US$240 million) each year to Lesotho, or about 15% of the Lesotho government’s total budget. And this number, both the total payment and the percentage of government revenue, is rising.

And yet, for all this success, popular discontent around the treaty and the project in general are also rising – in both countries.

Why the discontent?

First, the Lesotho Highlands Water Project Treaty was signed in 1986 between the apartheid government and a military government in Lesotho put into power by Pretoria. There was no popular consultation about the treaty and its provisions in either country. This undemocratic legacy continues to sour people on the project. There is an assumption of unfairness in the terms of the treaty, even as most people do not know exactly what is in the document.

Second, there is a history of corruption by top leaders and multi-national corporations working on the scheme. This, combined with a history of corruption in tenders on water projects in South Africa, has powered the narrative that the project exists primarily to line the pockets of the well connected.

Third, much of South Africa’s water infrastructure was constructed during the apartheid period. Thus, most of the pipes and taps are in historically privileged communities. The townships and informal settlements that ring Johannesburg frequently face a lack of water, whether because of inadequate infrastructure, shoddy maintenance or both.

Further, these communities have, at times, paid a higher per unit rate than richer communities. Water protests are frequent and expose the failures of successive governments in South Africa.

Fourth, communities in Lesotho – including many of those within sight of the reservoirs – lack access to water. While the government of Lesotho touts the life-giving waters of the Maluti as a national treasure, a boon for tourism, and as an illustration of their competence as leaders, many communities in Lesotho cannot access the “White Gold” for themselves. They still rely on natural sources, which carry a risk of contamination and can prove inadequate, especially during the winter dry season.

Finally, the communities that were displaced for the first two phases of project were not treated well or adequately compensated. The struggles of the individuals and the groups who had to move has been well documented. Their stories are, unfortunately, well known in Lesotho. Therefore, the general perception is that the project has unfairly displaced people in the name of increased government revenue. These worries continue as phase two proceeds.

These factors add up to widespread perception in both countries that the project is a failure.

Yet, by all objective measures, the project works. It delivers the water faithfully and on time. The system has enough excess capacity to allow a seamless expansion of 50% more water delivered by 2029 when phase 2 is complete. And the revenue going to the Lesotho government will continue to increase year on year.

Managing the negative perceptions

So, what can be done to ease the negative public perceptions of the project? How can government officials solve their water public relations issues?

Here are a few relatively easy (though not necessarily cheap) options:

  • Provide tapped water to the most immediately affected communities in the Lesotho Highlands – those who live with the reservoirs and who cannot currently access the waters. Article 4, subsection 2 of the treaty allows for domestic use. Spend the money needed to make it happen.

  • Make a plan and follow through on the upgrades to Johannesburg’s water delivery system. Ensure a consistent, affordable water supply to the poor communities on the outskirts of the city. Fix ageing infrastructure in the city centre and suburbs. Water bubbling out of holes in the pavement and going to waste angers residents who struggle to access and pay for water wherever they live.

  • Renegotiate the treaty. It was supposed to be re-examined 15 years after its 1986 signing. This was never done. Talks are finally set to commence in April 2026 to renegotiate – 40 years later. Make public comment sessions accessible and ensure broad participation in the process to build or revive trust in accountability for treaty provisions.

  • Ensure equitable water access more generally. Expand the reach of water delivery in Lesotho to water-scarce communities. Charge variable rates for water in Johannesburg based on income to ensure adequate funding for infrastructure upgrades for all. Create a sovereign wealth fund – insulated from petty corruption by ministers and members of parliament – in Lesotho to ensure that water royalties and payments can be directed to the areas of highest need and directly to the most affected communities.

  • Contain costs. With project costs ballooning, many suspect that it is corruption that is behind the increases. Clean up the project and public perceptions around it.

The history of a project born under non-democratic leadership will be tough to overcome. But it is doable.

The Conversation

The research for this project was done, in part, from funding that John Aerni-Flessner received from the Fulbright Program and from the National Institute for the Humanities and Social Sciences in South Africa.

ref. The Lesotho Highlands Water project is 40 years old and going strong: but history weighs on its successes – https://theconversation.com/the-lesotho-highlands-water-project-is-40-years-old-and-going-strong-but-history-weighs-on-its-successes-277860

Oil price surge is hurting African economies: scholars in Ethiopia, Kenya, Nigeria, Senegal and South Africa take stock

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Stephen Onyeiwu, Professor of Economics & Business, Allegheny College

The attacks by the US and Israel on Iran, which started on 28 February 2026, upended key supply chains, driving oil prices above US$100 a barrel. The spike followed Iran’s closure of the Strait of Hormuz in response to the US and Israeli action. About 20% of the world’s oil supplies are transported through the strait.

In the words of the International Energy Agency:

The war in the Middle East is creating the largest supply disruption in the history of the global oil market.

The impact is being felt by countries across the globe. African countries are no exception, including those that produce oil.

We asked five scholars from Nigeria, South Africa, Senegal, Kenya and Ethiopia to answer the question: Is the spike in oil prices hurting your country’s economy?

The answer was a uniform “yes”. The universal fear is the effect the rise in prices is having on fuel, a staple commodity in every one of the countries for ordinary people as well as industries. In some cases, such as Ethiopia, the government has already introduced fuel subsidies to shield people from the impact of having to pay more at fuel pumps.

The fear that higher prices and outright scarcity could have damaging effects, notably on food production, was also near universal.

For some there may be a silver lining: Kenya and Senegal are in the early phases of oil production. But they’re some way off reaping the benefits of higher prices. And in the case of Nigeria, the danger is that any windfall that comes its way won’t ease the economic burden faced by ordinary people.

The Conversation

Ibrahima Thiam works for Iba Der Thiam University of Thies in Senegal.

Rod Crompton, Stephen Onyeiwu, Tsegay Tekleselassie, and XN Iraki do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Oil price surge is hurting African economies: scholars in Ethiopia, Kenya, Nigeria, Senegal and South Africa take stock – https://theconversation.com/oil-price-surge-is-hurting-african-economies-scholars-in-ethiopia-kenya-nigeria-senegal-and-south-africa-take-stock-278679

Namibia: the history of a country shaped from a rich and traumatic past

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Henning Melber, Extraordinary Professor, Department of Political Sciences, University of Pretoria

Namibia might not be well known in many parts of the world. But the arid southern African country has an extraordinary history.

Rich in indigenous cultural diversity, Namibians lived for more than a century under German and South African rule. Their anti-colonial resistance shaped the country from 1960 to independence on 21 March 1990 and beyond.

Henning Melber is a political scientist who works with this history. In numerous books he has tried to understand Namibia. His latest effort is a history for German speaking readers. We asked him about it.


What is the German connection?

Namibian and German histories have been entangled since the mid-1800s when German missionaries interacted with local communities. German settler-colonial rule followed in 1884.

The complicated ties with Germany remain alive today. Namibia’s three million inhabitants include an estimated 15,000-20,000 White German speakers. They outnumber those during colonial times and maintain minority rights, with their own institutionalised identity. Namibia has the continent’s only German daily newspaper and a German radio programme by the public broadcaster.

Likewise, Namibia is the most prominent African country in the German public sphere. Hundreds of thousands of German speakers visit the country every year – almost half of Namibia’s overseas tourists are from German speaking countries.

Before independence, the West German parliament adopted a resolution declaring a special responsibility for Namibia. It referred to the German speakers in the country as the reason, without mentioning the colonial history.

The book includes the role Germans played and continue to play. I came to Namibia as the young son of German emigrants in 1967. When I was 24, in 1974, I joined the South West Africa People’s Organisation (Swapo), the liberation movement fighting for independence. The book is therefore also partly a personal history.

What is Namibia’s early history?

In contrast to the colonial view, Namibia’s territory has neither been uninhabited (terra nullus) nor unknown (terra incognita).

Traces of human life date back over 200,000 years. Known sandstone engravings are 27,000 years old.




Read more:
Emperor moths in the rock art of the Namib Desert shed new light on shamanic ritual


The country’s world famous rock art has World Heritage Site status. Some of the paintings date back 3,000 years, created by the Bushmen (San) groups as the country’s first peoples. Migration within Africa added to the local ethnic diversity.

As hunters and foragers with high mobility, Bushmen became marginalised when newer groups claimed land. Like other indigenous minorities, some now earn a living as tourist attractions.

What happened under Germany?

Germany’s first colony was based on fraudulent land deals in 1883 and 1884 by the merchant Adolf Lüderitz, acting under German “protection”. He tricked the local Nama chief into giving away much more land than intended.

German negotiations with the Portuguese and British established the borders of the current state in the early 1900s. The British harbour enclave of Walvis Bay was integrated in 1994.

From the early 1890s, local resistance to colonisation was met with brute force. Leaders were executed, and communities forced into “protection treaties”. In 1893 the massacre at Hornkranz was the writing on the wall. Over 80 women and children of the Witbooi Nama were murdered by German troops.




Read more:
Namibia’s forgotten genocide: how Bushmen were hunted and killed under German colonial rule


Settler colonial encroachment became an existential threat. In 1904 the Ovaherero resorted to armed resistance. They were joined by the Nama. The German military response ended in the first genocide of the 20th century.

An estimated 80% of the Ovaherero and 50% of the Nama were killed, plus an unknown number of Damara. German settlers organised hunting safaris to exterminate the Bushmen.

Nama and Ovaherero were imprisoned in concentration camps on Shark Island, in Swakopmund and elsewhere. Their land was appropriated, and strict segregation through laws and reserves was imposed.




Read more:
Germany’s genocide in Namibia: deal between the two governments falls short of delivering justice


Apartheid – institutionalised racial segregation – is usually associated with South Africa, where it was entrenched in law in 1948. But I argue it was in fact a German invention.

German colonialism left scars and open wounds, mainly among the descendants of the decimated indigenous communities. In 2015, the German government admitted to genocide. Negotiations between the governments have tried to come to terms with this crime, but reparations remain a contested issue.

How did South Africa end up running the country?

After the fist world war, the League of Nations turned all German colonies into mandates. These were administered by member states of the allied forces until their inhabitants were able to govern themselves.

The Union of South Africa got the mandate over neighbouring Namibia, then named South West Africa. This meant annexation in all but name. South Africa would later refuse to remain accountable to the United Nations (UN) Trusteeship Council, which exercised oversight over the mandates.




Read more:
Windhoek’s Old Location was a place of pain, but also joy – new book


This motivated the UN to declare Namibia a “trust betrayed”. In 1971 South Africa’s mandate was revoked by the International Court of Justice.

After long negotiations a one-year transition under UN supervision paved the way for decolonisation. Independence was declared on 21 March 1990 and Namibia became the 160th UN member state.

How did organised resistance emerge?

The genocide had decimated the people needed as labour for the settler economy, so the German administration established a system of contract labour. Workers from the northern region under indirect rule, the so-called Ovamboland, were recruited.

The first coordinated resistance emerged within the ranks of the contract labour movement. It was a nucleus for the formation of Swapo.

Swapo was founded in 1960 after the killing of unarmed demonstrators, who refused forced resettlement from Old Location, a residential area for Africans in the city of Windhoek. In 1966 it began an armed struggle. In 1976 the UN recognised Swapo as “the sole and authentic representative” of the Namibian people.

The warfare against the South African regime mirrored the ambiguities and dilemmas of most armed liberation struggles. Swapo’s military command structure in exile enforced a non-democratic, centralised totalitarian mindset and a willingness to violate human rights. But the war was a relevant factor to end the foreign occupation by a White minority regime.

How has the past shaped the present?

Germans and Namibians share the long shadow of German colonialism. Most Germans know little about German colonial history. But its legacy continues to influence Namibian realities.

This is most visible in the inequality of land distribution. For the descendants of those robbed of their land, colonialism remains present. Many consider German development cooperation as another form of injustice.




Read more:
Namibia celebrates independence heroes, but glosses over a painful history


Swapo transformed into a dominant party in government. It cultivates heroic narratives and a selective patriotic history. A new Black elite justifies its privileges with the struggle sacrifices.

Namibia has, after South Africa, the highest social inequality in the world. This points to the limits of liberation.




Read more:
Podcasts bring southern Africa’s liberation struggle to life – thanks to an innovative new audio archive


But Namibians live in relative peace and freedom. The constitution protects civil liberties and democracy. It entrenches the rule of law. These essentials have remained respected in governance since independence. Despite all the shortcomings, it is worth it for the colonised to fight for such a society – not only in Namibia but anywhere in the world.

The Conversation

Henning Melber was a member of SWAPO from 1974 to 2025.

ref. Namibia: the history of a country shaped from a rich and traumatic past – https://theconversation.com/namibia-the-history-of-a-country-shaped-from-a-rich-and-traumatic-past-277655

Kinky caricature no more: How ‘Pillion’ is rewriting BDSM cinema

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Ummni Khan, Associate Professor, Department of Law and Legal Studies, Carleton University

_Pillion_ offers something rare in mainstream cinema: a queer kinky love story that neither pathologizes nor punishes its characters, nor ends with a big fat gay wedding. (A24)

Pillion is a love story about connection and self-discovery through submission, pain and bootlicking.

It’s not the first film to favourably portray kink or BDSM (bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism). But sympathetic renditions — like the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomena — tend to feature heterosexual couples.

Based on my research into BDSM in film and popular culture, I see Pillion as marking a striking shift in BDSM cinema: a mainstream romantic comedy that features gay men as complex and utterly endearing kinksters.

Sadomasochism in cinema

Earlier films have often framed BDSM as titillating but deviant, a slippery slope to catastrophe.

In 9½ Weeks (1986), a male dominant draws a woman into sex games that soon degrade into non-consent and humiliation. In Basic Instinct (1992), an alpha female lures men into bondage and, occasionally, stabs them with an ice pick.




Read more:
Basic Instinct at 30: the enduring appeal of the defiant femme fatale


In comedy, kinky characters have often been reduced to caricatures. In Eating Raoul (1982) and One Night at McCool’s (2001), kink is associated with sleaze, pathology and violence. In both films, the so-called “perverts” are killed, their deaths staged as punchlines.

A positive spin on perversity

Later BDSM films signalled a broader acceptance of sexual variety. They usually feature a male dominant introducing a woman to whips and chains, while she teaches him to open his heart.

A woman leaning forward with an envelope between her teeth with a man gazing at her in a business outfit.
Secretary from 2002 is one BDSM film that sees partners get married.
(Lion’s Gate Films)

Yet the apparent transgression often resolves in matrimony, as in Secretary (2002) and the aforementioned Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

More recently, Babygirl (2025) revised the formula: a married woman’s libido is unleashed with a younger man who, among other things, handles her like a dog. Their affair ends, but it ultimately revitalizes her marriage.

While many viewers found these films sexy and affirming, including myself, they arguably buy tolerance through assimilation. Kink is permitted, even promoted, but only when it settles down.

Kink, homophobia and representing gay men

A man with fearful looking eyes in a black and white photo against a red background.
Poster for ‘Cruising,’ starring Al Pacino, from 1980.
(Lorimar Film Entertainment/Warner Bros.)

Kinky gay men have rarely occupied the centre of mainstream film. When they appear at all, it is often as villains.

The infamous male-on-male rape scene in Pulp Fiction (1994) offers a vivid example: the two perps keep a masked, leather-clad “Gimp” on a leash, coding their assault through the esthetics of kink. All three are then murdered by the film’s more sympathetic characters.

By contrast, William Friedkin’s controversial film Cruising (1980) offers a more nuanced portrayal of queer kinky men, even as the narrative is structured around violence.

It follows Steve Burns (Al Pacino), an undercover cop tracking a serial killer who stalks New York’s leather bar scene, a hub of gay BDSM culture. As the investigation proceeds, Burns begins to struggle with his own emerging queer desires. A final murder suggests Burns may now be the killer’s successor, driven by his own sexual ambivalence.

The production sparked co-ordinated, large-scale protests from gay rights groups, who feared it would reinforce homophobic attitudes and even provoke attacks.

Under pressure, the director prefaced the film with a disclaimer that it depicted only “one small segment” of the “homosexual world” and was not meant to represent it as a whole.




Read more:
Queer archives preserve activist history and provide strategies to counter hate


A dark film

While a powerful moment in gay activism, the campaign may have also reinforced a respectability politics that distanced “acceptable” homosexuality from leather culture, promiscuity and public sex.

But Cruising had its defenders. As renowned film scholar and critic Robin Wood argued, “the film’s real villain is revealed as patriarchal domination,” visible in the killer’s abusive father and in corrupt police officers whose cruelty and virulent homophobia permeate the film.

Friedkin also shot scenes in real leather bars and cast members of the leather community as extras, suggesting a more complicated relationship with the subculture it portrayed.

However one reads it, Cruising is a dark film. Forty-five years later, Pillion, which also collaborated with the leather community, places many of the same kinky elements in a much brighter light.




Read more:
Pup Play: Kink communities can help people build connections and improve their body image


Rewriting the script

While Cruising belongs to the erotic thriller tradition, Pillion unfolds as a romantic comedy. Colin (Harry Melling), a guileless, inexperienced man still living with his parents, discovers his “aptitude for devotion” with Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), a gruff leather dom biker who prefers wrestling to kissing as first base.

Trailer for Pillion.

The opposites-attract trope fuels much of the film’s humour. After their first back-alley tryst, Ray rebuffs Colin’s attempt to spend more time together and walks away. Colin — perfectly polite, even in rejection — calls after him, “Thank you!” It’s funny not because he’s kinky, but because his dogged niceness captures the familiar awkwardness of a post-hookup goodbye.

The films also confront different kinds of discrimination. In Cruising, homophobia is blatant and often brutal. In Pillion, homophobia is beside the point. Colin’s mother isn’t troubled that her son is gay, for example. If anything, she hopes he’ll find a boyfriend. What unsettles her is the structure of his 24/7 relationship with Ray, a form of BDSM in which dominance and submission extend into everyday life.

That tension comes to a head in a memorable dinner scene with Colin’s parents. Ray coolly calls her reaction “ignorant,” casting her discomfort as a form of kink-phobia.

Intimacy and authenticity

In both Cruising and Pillion, kink becomes the catalyst through which the protagonist discovers new dimensions of his sexuality. In Cruising, that awakening is framed through psychic fragmentation. In Pillion, it becomes a story of connection: to a lover, to a community and ultimately to oneself.

In a break from familiar BDSM film conventions, the relationship neither escalates toward violence, as earlier BDSM narratives often did, nor tidy itself into domestic respectability, as more hetero happily-ever-after versions have done.

Crucially, Colin’s submissiveness is not about growing small or effacing himself. Instead, he becomes increasingly able to articulate his needs and assert his own identity.

The one stereotype Pillion does reproduce, however, is the dominant who hides his feelings. Popular culture often portrays tops as emotionally shut down, whether they’re men or women.

In sinister portrayals such as Cruising or Basic Instinct, dominance bleeds into violence. But even in positive depictions, such as Fifty Shades of Grey and Secretary, the dominant character is initially closed-off or commitment-phobic.

Pillion largely repeats this pattern. Ray keeps Colin at arm’s length, strictly dictating the terms of their relationship before gradually allowing him closer — at least for a moment.

Pillion offers something rare in mainstream cinema: a queer kinky love story that neither pathologizes nor punishes its characters, nor ends with a big fat gay wedding. Instead, it combines the sweetness of a romantic comedy with the sexiness of the leather scene, capturing the poignancy of two imperfect people grappling toward intimacy.

The Conversation

Ummni Khan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Kinky caricature no more: How ‘Pillion’ is rewriting BDSM cinema – https://theconversation.com/kinky-caricature-no-more-how-pillion-is-rewriting-bdsm-cinema-276592

The West has long characterized Iran’s oil as a prize to be claimed

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Ian Wereley, Adjunct Research Professor, Department of History, Carleton University

With the recent outbreak of hostilities in the Persian Gulf, the focus of international attention has returned to one of the world’s most important energy chokepoints: the Strait of Hormuz.

Roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil passes through this narrow strait. Its closure, alongside U.S.-Israeli attacks on Iran’s oil infrastructure — including the strategic export hub on Kharg Island — has raised fears of a protracted conflict as fuel prices soar.

Most news coverage and analysis has focused on the immediate threats posed by missiles, drones and mines, and the global implications of the strait’s closure.

But beneath these headlines lies a much deeper story.

For more than a century, Iran has occupied a powerful place in the western imagination, characterized as a volatile region that sits atop one of the world’s largest oil reserves.

Working within the energy humanities sub-field, my research and teaching focus on the early history of oil in Iran and the development of western oil cultures during the early 20th century.

The discovery that reshaped an empire

The story begins in May 1908, when drillers financed by the British-Australian entrepreneur William Knox D’Arcy struck oil in the rugged foothills of the Zagros Mountains in southwestern Persia, known after 1935 as Iran.

The discovery reshaped the region and the global oil industry. In 1909, the Anglo-Persian Oil Company — the precursor to British Petroleum (BP) — was established to exploit the newly discovered oilfields.

Within a few years, the company constructed a 200-kilometre pipeline network and a vast oil refinery and export complex on Abadan Island in the Persian Gulf. The refinery remains the largest in Iran.

From Abadan, tankers transported oil through the Strait of Hormuz to global markets, eventually powering ships, vehicles and industry across Europe.

Iranian oil quickly became central to British imperial strategy. In 1914, on the eve of the First World War, the British government acquired a controlling stake in BP to secure fuel supplies for the Royal Navy, which had recently transitioned from coal to oil under First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill.

Churchill later described the discovery of Iranian oil as a remarkable windfall for Britain: “Fortune rewarded the continuous and steadfast facing of these difficulties…and brought us a prize from fairyland far beyond our brightest hopes.”

From that moment onward, oil from Iran became deeply intertwined with the industrial and military power of the British Empire.




Read more:
Iran’s history has been blighted by interference from foreign powers


Imagining Persia and petroleum

After the war, BP shifted its focus from military supply to mass consumption, launching an elaborate marketing campaign to shape how British audiences understood Iran and its oil.

During the 1920s, British newspapers carried thousands of advertisements depicting Persian landscapes, history, culture and natural resources.

Among the most striking was the 12-part “Persian Series” in 1925, which paired evocative artwork with stories of British engineers operating in remote and challenging environments to provide fuel for the modern world.

Scenes of jagged mountain passes, desert caravans and ancient religious sites in Iran were juxtaposed with narratives of western technological mastery.

These messages extended beyond print. At the British Empire Exhibition of 1924-25, attended by more than 27 million visitors, BP constructed a full-scale replica of a traditional Iranian caravanserai, combining stylized cultural imagery with displays of modern oilfield equipment.

Persian symbolism was also embedded in the built environment created by BP. The company’s London headquarters, Britannic House (completed in 1925), featured sculptures of Iranian figures in traditional dress, their bodies displayed as captured loot from a distant resource frontier.

In the 1930s, BP further expanded their audience through films about life in Iran, screened for free at trade shows and fairs.

A narrative of commercial conquest

My PhD research describes how BP’s representations of Iran normalized the idea that western societies like Britain depended on energy drawn from the Middle East, and that controlling those resources was necessary and justified.

BP’s interwar marketing campaigns did more than promote its brand of gasoline. They helped construct a broader cultural understanding of Iran, its people and its oil resources.

The Zagros Mountains became the setting for a vast storytelling project about technological and cultural conquest in the Middle East.

Oil was presented as an exotic prize held captive beneath inhospitable landscapes, captured by western oil companies cast as heroic pioneers, and brought back for the enjoyment of British motorists. Oil development was marketed not as exploitation, but as an inevitable component of western modernity.

Meanwhile, Iranians appeared only at the margins, either as labourers or collateral damage in the larger drama of oil. “Gone are the captains and kings,” proclaimed one BP advertisement. “Their citadels are crumbled to dust.”

A century later, the great game for oil continues in Iran

In his 1978 book Orientalism, Palestinian literary scholar Edward Said observed:

“Always there lurks the assumption that although the western consumer belongs to a numerical minority, he is entitled either to own or to expend (or both) the majority of the world’s resources. Why? Because he, unlike the Oriental, is a true human being.”

That presumption has shaped western attitudes toward oil-producing regions for more than a century. In Iran specifically, it has led to a repeating cycle of conflict over its oil resources, with Iranian leaders often characterized as dangerous, unpredictable and greedy.

In 1953, the United Kingdom and the United States conspired to overthrow Iran’s elected prime minister, Mohammad Mossadegh, after he nationalized Iran’s oil industry.




Read more:
How the CIA toppled Iranian democracy


In the 1920s, the perceived dangers associated with Iran were largely environmental: mountains to cross, deserts to traverse and infrastructure to build.

Today, the dangers are far more complex and geopolitical in nature, with risks focused on nuclear proliferation, religious conflicts and disruptions to global markets.

Yet, the underlying logic of the current war with Iran remains strikingly familiar: western military might is being marshalled to eliminate threats and capture the oil western leaders seek to control.

The Conversation

Ian Wereley previously received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

ref. The West has long characterized Iran’s oil as a prize to be claimed – https://theconversation.com/the-west-has-long-characterized-irans-oil-as-a-prize-to-be-claimed-278379

Langues officielles : le risque du nivellement par le bas

Source: The Conversation – in French – By Anne Levesque, Associate professor, Faculty of Law, L’Université d’Ottawa/University of Ottawa

La Loi sur les langues officielles vise à garantir des services gouvernementaux de qualité égale en français et en anglais. Or, certaines situations récentes révèlent une logique inverse : certaines institutions répondent aux plaintes linguistiques en réduisant l’accès à certains services ou contenus pour l’ensemble du public, plutôt que d’élever les standards pour tous.


En tant que spécialistes de l’histoire, des droits des minorités linguistiques et de l’égalité, nous estimons que cette approche mérite une attention particulière. Elle semble difficilement conciliable avec l’esprit de la Loi sur les langues officielles et pourrait également affaiblir la confiance du public envers les institutions appelées à en assurer l’application.

Un cadre juridique clair

Depuis son adoption en 1969, la Loi sur les langues officielles établit les bases du bilinguisme de l’appareil fédéral et garantit que les minorités francophones et anglophones du Canada puissent recevoir la même qualité de services lorsqu’elles interagissent avec les institutions fédérales. Ces garanties sont enchâssées dans la Charte canadienne des droits et libertés, la loi suprême du pays, en 1982.

Depuis sa modernisation en 2023, la Loi sur les langues officielles reconnaît non seulement l’égalité réelle du français et l’anglais dans les services et les communications avec le public, mais aussi l’obligation des institutions fédérales de prendre des mesures positives pour favoriser la réalisation de l’égalité réelle du français et de l’anglais. L’objectif de la loi a toujours été la progression et l’amélioration du niveau des services pour tous, et non de le tirer vers le bas. Or, certains incidents récents illustrent le contraire.




À lire aussi :
Ontario : les droits des francophones les plus marginalisés menacés


Une course vers le bas

Un des cas les plus récents concerne une plainte contre le registraire de la Cour suprême du Canada pour ne pas avoir rendu disponibles certaines décisions en français. Le juge en chef avait alors affirmé qu’il n’était « pas utile » de traduire en français les jugements rendus en anglais par ses prédécesseurs avant 1969, une position des plus étonnantes.

Plutôt que de se conformer aux recommandations du Commissaire aux langues officielles, la Cour a choisi de retirer les décisions en anglais de son site web, privant ainsi le public de l’accès à cette jurisprudence. Bien que certains efforts aient depuis été faits pour rendre certaines décisions disponibles, la question demeure toujours devant les tribunaux.




À lire aussi :
Pour lutter contre l’assimilation des francophones au Canada, il faut s’attaquer à l’anglonormativité


Une autre illustration récente concerne la Bibliothèque du Parlement : une étude historique sur les interventions des sénateurs francophones au Sénat du Canada a révélé que les comptes rendus officiels des débats n’étaient pas publiés en français avant 1896, contrairement aux obligations prévues par la Loi constitutionnelle de 1867.

Cette loi stipule clairement que « dans la rédaction des archives, procès-verbaux et journaux respectifs de ces chambres, l’usage de ces deux langues sera obligatoire ». Or, le sténographe du Sénat a capté les débats en verbatim de 1874 à 1896 en anglais seulement, ce qui explique en partie l’absence actuelle de versions françaises pour cette période.

Suite à son enquête sur la question, le Commissaire aux langues officielles a recommandé que la Bibliothèque traduise et publie ces débats dans les deux langues officielles du Canada. Toutefois, plutôt que de rendre ces documents accessibles en français, la Bibliothèque a choisi de retirer tous les débats historiques de son site web, un choix qui prive l’ensemble des citoyens d’un pan essentiel du patrimoine politique canadien. Dorénavant, un chercheur souhaitant consulter les ressources en anglais pour cette période de notre histoire devra formuler une demande écrite à la Bibliothèque du Parlement, afin que l’accès ne constitue pas une communication au public au sens de la Loi.


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La suppression d’un contenu disponible en anglais parce qu’il n’existe pas en français, au lieu de le rendre bilingue, constitue un exemple typique de ce que les spécialistes des droits à l’égalité désignent comme du « nivellement par le bas ». Une telle logique rappelle des réactions observées dans le sud des États-Unis lorsque les piscines réservées aux Blancs étaient jugées discriminatoires. Plutôt que de les ouvrir à tous, certaines municipalités, notamment à Jackson au Mississippi, ont choisi de la fermer. Cette affaire est désormais citée comme un exemple classique et tristement célèbre d’égalité vidée de sa substance.

Les institutions fédérales qui sont titulaires d’obligations en matière de langues officielles ne devraient pas s’inspirer des pratiques d’(in) égalité du sud des États-Unis des années 1970, où des arguments techniques servaient à légitimer la ségrégation raciale. Clairement, le retrait de services ou de documents en anglais par la Cour suprême et la Bibliothèque du Parlement ne contribue en rien à la protection des droits des minorités francophones.

Une forme de représailles

Ces mesures constituent plutôt une forme de représailles à l’égard de celles et ceux qui osent faire valoir leurs droits. Pire encore, elles peuvent alimenter le ressentiment de la majorité, qui pourrait à tort leur reprocher de ne plus avoir accès à une communication qui était jadis disponible dans leur langue.

Suivant le principe de l’exemplarité, ces institutions fédérales devraient prendre acte des recommandations du Commissaire aux langues officielles, plutôt que chercher des moyens techniques pour échapper à leurs obligations légales envers les minorités d’expression française. Si même la Cour suprême du Canada considère qu’il est trop coûteux de servir les francophones et de protéger les droits des minorités linguistiques, qu’en sera-t-il des entreprises privées, ou de gouvernements provinciaux ou territoriaux ? Le risque est évident : une normalisation du nivellement par le bas, une réduction des protections et, à terme, une érosion du principe même de l’égalité réelle.

Si une personne à mobilité réduite ose se plaindre d’un bâtiment inaccessible, ne serait-il moins coûteux de simplement fermer le bâtiment pour tous plutôt que de construire une rampe ? Cette manière d’appréhender l’égalité devrait alerter toutes les minorités, et pas uniquement les francophones.

Il est temps que les institutions fédérales prennent leurs responsabilités au sérieux en matière de langues officielles. La protection des droits linguistiques doit être une priorité, et non un fardeau à éviter. La Cour suprême et la Bibliothèque du Parlement ont l’occasion de montrer la voie : au lieu de chercher des excuses et de réduire l’accès, elles doivent investir dans l’inclusion et l’égalité réelle. L’avenir des droits linguistiques au Canada dépend de leur capacité à élever le standard pour tous, et non à le tirer vers le bas.

La Conversation Canada

Yves Y. Pelletier est l’auteur de la plainte déposée au Commissariat aux langues officielles. Historien de formation, il souhaitait analyser les interventions des sénateurs franco‑ontariens. Cette démarche l’a mené à constater que les débats du Sénat n’étaient pas disponibles en français.

Anne Levesque et François Larocque ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur poste universitaire.

ref. Langues officielles : le risque du nivellement par le bas – https://theconversation.com/langues-officielles-le-risque-du-nivellement-par-le-bas-277905

Trump’s new child care subsidy rules compound an already dire situation for providers and families

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Beth Kania-Gosche, Professor of Education, Missouri University of Science and Technology

Students play with toys in a basin of soapy water at a child care center in New Britain, Conn., in March 2025. Mark Mirko/Connecticut Public via Getty Images

I live in the small city of Rolla, Missouri, where half the child care centers have closed in the past six years. In the past year, my state has lost 1,771 child care slots due to closures.

This problem isn’t isolated to Rolla – child care providers are closing in other rural areas. Some of the challenges these centers face are widespread. U.S. child care workers typically earn little money, yet child care costs are high for many families.

Approximately 1.4 million children whose families are low-income benefit from child care subsidies, which means the federal and state government partially cover the cost of child care. States typically receive federal funding that they match and then give to subsidize individual children’s care at child care centers.

In early January 2026, the Trump administration announced that it had temporarily frozen federal child care subsidy payments to all states because of fraud concerns in Minnesota.

A group of states – Minnesota, New York, California, Illinois and Colorado – then sued the Trump administration. A federal judge ruled on Jan. 26 that the administration must deliver nearly US$10 billion in federal child care subsidies to these states.

The new policy also creates new verification rules – like stricter proof of parents’ employment – that are making it more time-consuming and complicated to receive subsidies.

Despite the lawsuit, these other new subsidy rules remain in place – meaning that, among other things, child care providers have to do more paperwork and receive reimbursement from the federal government later than they typically do.

A woman leans over three babies and toddlers who are sitting on the floor among plastic toys. One of them is crying.
A child care worker cares for young children in the infant room at TLC for Tots day care center in Nampa, Idaho, in November 2024.
Melina Mara/The Washington Post via Getty Images

An already tough situation

Already, many child care providers are struggling to keep their doors open.

I am a professor and the chair of the education department at Missouri University of Science and Technology. I help prepare my students – future teachers – to become the next generation of educators. Part of my job is also supporting our campus child development center, which cares for babies and young children of staff, faculty and students.

Across the nation, over 14 million children potentially need child care, but only 10 million slots exist.

Even if parents can find child care, its high cost can be prohibitive, sometimes leading to young parents with low-paying jobs leaving the workforce.

How child care subsidies work

Placing an infant in an early childhood or day care center can cost parents annually an average of $15,000. These costs can rise up to more than $28,000 in places like Washington, D.C.

While subsidies can help offset the high cost of child care, only approximately 15% of children whose families are eligible for subsidies receive them.

The federal government distributes subsidies to designated state agencies that are responsible for contracting with providers and verifying family eligibility. States must match some of these funds. Parents then apply through their state to receive a subsidy.

Families generally pay the rest of their child care center costs on a sliding scale.

The exact requirements for receiving child care subsidies vary across states, both when it comes to families and providers. Often, states require that parents are working or are in school, and that they make less than a certain income.

In New York, a family of four could qualify if they earn up to nearly $110,000 each year. In Florida, a family of four could earn as much as about $56,000 a year and qualify.

The amount families receive in subsidies also varies, but getting them could save a family approximately $10,000 a year in a place like Seattle.

Getting a child care spot isn’t a guarantee

It can be difficult for families to apply for and receive child care subsidies. It requires extensive paperwork, and families often have to spend hours on the phone and deal with confusing instructions about how to receive the benefits.

In some states, there is a wait list to receive a child care subsidy.

In March 2026, Missouri started a child care subsidy waitlist. Before, families used to be able to receive child care subsidies immediately after approval, if they could find a provider. Now, families must wait until funding becomes available.

Providers may be reluctant to accept subsidies to help pay for a child’s care, in part because of the additional work of submitting a child’s attendance records to the state and verifying other information. Some providers simply cannot afford to gamble on delayed payments, which happened during the 2025 federal shutdown, for example.

In Missouri, child care center providers had their subsidy payments delayed for months when the state simply switched to a new system to process payments in 2023 and 2024.

Some states, including Arkansas and Oregon, have also cut their own funding for child care subsidies over the past few years.

Rural and other underserved communities are particularly hard hit by any subsidy delays and cuts.

When there is high demand for child care, there is little incentive for providers to accept subsidies and receive state reimbursement six weeks later, after they file extensive paperwork. The alternative for some providers is to largely enroll wealthier families to pay the full cost of care.

The math doesn’t work

The child care industry faces other challenges.

Despite some recent wage increases, child care workers are among the lowest-paid professionals in the U.S. They earn, on average, about $15 an hour, depending on where they live. They often do not receive other benefits like insurance or retirement.

Child care workers earn so little in part because child care centers typically run on thin margins. They often do not make a profit, unless they are part of a large, national chain, like Bright Horizons.

Most child care providers are small businesses, whether they are run out of a designated center or someone’s private home. Unlike K-12 public school districts, these child care providers typically do not receive any government funding.

If a child care provider raises the wages of child care workers too much, and subsequently increases its tuition rates, most families cannot afford to send their kids there – especially babies.

At the child care center on my campus, for example, raising child care worker wages from $15 to $17 an hour would cost over $85,000 annually. We would need to raise tuition rates by $1,000 per year, per child, to offset that cost.

The younger the children that a center has in a program, the more child care workers it needs to employ. In Missouri, for example, state regulations require that there is one caregiver for every four babies in a child care center.

A person wearing a green shirt holds a sign that says in purple and black 'I spend $21,000 a year on child care.'
People hold signs lamenting high child care costs as they attend a news conference on universal child care in November 2024 in New York City.
Michael M. Santiago/Getty Images

No clear way forward

There are 16,000 fewer child care providers in the country than there were before the COVID-19 pandemic.

The federal government distributed $53 billion to support the child care industry during the pandemic in 2020 and 2021. Nearly all child care providers received money as part of this funding. But the money that kept some centers afloat during that time has now been spent.

Now, it remains difficult for many families to find affordable child care within a reasonable distance.

While the Trump administration’s freeze on child care subsidies may never take effect, the stricter verification rules are already making an impossible situation for families a whole lot worse. And if subsidies are cut off as well, more American families will simply be unable to afford child care.

The Conversation

Beth Kania-Gosche is the Missouri University of Science & Technology education department chair. Part of the department includes the on campus Child Development Center, which is contracted with Missouri DESE to receive childcare subsidy. The Child Development Center also received state covid relief funds for childcare. She is the current president of the Missouri Association of Colleges for Teacher Education.

ref. Trump’s new child care subsidy rules compound an already dire situation for providers and families – https://theconversation.com/trumps-new-child-care-subsidy-rules-compound-an-already-dire-situation-for-providers-and-families-275295