What We Are Reading Today: The Imperial Nation by Josep M. Fradera 

Updated 11 October 2018
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What We Are Reading Today: The Imperial Nation by Josep M. Fradera 

  • The book offers a sweeping examination of four of the modern powers and asks how the history of monarchical empires shaped these new nations

Translated by Ruth MacKay

Historians view the late 18th and early 19th centuries as a turning point when imperial monarchies collapsed and modern nations emerged. Treating this pivotal moment as a bridge rather than a break, The Imperial Nation offers a sweeping examination of four of these modern powers — Great Britain, France, Spain, and the US — and asks how, after the great revolutionary cycle in Europe and America, the history of monarchical empires shaped these new nations.

Josep Fradera explores this transition, paying particular attention to the relations between imperial centers and their sovereign territories and the constant and changing distinctions placed between citizens and subjects.

Fradera argues that the essential struggle that lasted from the Seven Years’ War to the 20th century was over the governance of dispersed and varied peoples: Each empire tried to ensure domination through subordinate representation or by denying any representation at all. 

The most common approach echoed Napoleon’s “special laws,” which allowed France to reinstate slavery in its Caribbean possessions. 

The Spanish and Portuguese constitutions adopted “specialness” in the 1830s; the US used comparable guidelines to distinguish between states, territories, and Indian reservations; and the British similarly ruled their dominions and colonies. In all these empires, the mix of indigenous peoples, European-origin populations, slaves and indentured workers, immigrants, and unassimilated social groups led to unequal and hierarchical political relations. Fradera considers not only political and constitutional transformations but also their social underpinnings. 


Lebanese filmmaker turns archival footage into a love letter to Beirut

Updated 28 February 2026
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Lebanese filmmaker turns archival footage into a love letter to Beirut

LONDON: Lebanese filmmaker Lana Daher’s debut feature “Do You Love Me” is a love letter of sorts to Beirut, composed entirely of archival material spanning seven decades across film, television, home videos and photography.

The film premiered at the 82nd Venice International Film Festival in September and has since traveled to several regional and international festivals.

Pink Smoke (2020) by Ben Hubbard. (Supplied)

With minimal dialogue, the film relies heavily on image and sound to reconstruct Lebanon’s fragmented history.

“By resisting voiceover and autobiography, I feel like I had to trust the image and the shared emotional landscape of these archives to carry the meaning,” Daher said.

A Suspended Life (Ghazal el-Banat) (1985) by Jocelyne Saab. (Supplied)

She explained that in a city like Beirut “where trauma is rarely private,” the socio-political context becomes the atmosphere of the film, with personal memory expanding into a collective experience — “a shared terrain of emotional history.”

Daher said: “By using the accumulated visual representations of Beirut, I was, in a way, rewriting my own representation of home through images that already existed."

Whispers (1980) by Maroun Bagdadi. (Supplied)

Daher, with editor Qutaiba Barhamji, steered clear of long sequences, preferring individual shots that allowed them to “reassemble meaning” while maintaining the integrity of their own work and respecting the original material, she explained.

The film does not feature a voice-over, an intentional decision that influenced the use of sound, music, and silence.

The Boombox (1995) by Fouad Elkoury. (Supplied)

“By resisting the urge to fill every space with dialogue or score, we created room for discomfort,” Daher said, adding that silence allows the audience to sit with the image and enter its emotional space rather than being guided too explicitly.

 The film was a labor of love, challenging Daher personally and professionally.

“When you draw from personal memory, you’re not just directing scenes, you’re revisiting parts of yourself and your childhood,” she said. “There’s vulnerability in that.”