sujithxavier TWAILR: Reflections

A Criollo Farang (ፈረንጅ): Situated Reflections of a Colombian Socio-Legal Researcher doing Archival Work in Ethiopia

Lady Justice at the Addis Ababa University School of Law. Photo: Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín (2024).

Drawing on the tradition of TWAIL engagement with the praxis, Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín1 traces how his liminal identities (between Europeanness and non-Europeanness) have shaped his scholarship as a Latin American researcher situated in Europe while working in the archives in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

TWAILR: Reflections ~ 81/2026

De Pura Cepa

For more than five centuries, Latin American criollos and criollas have learned how to navigate the ambiguous racial category into which we were born into. The term, as Obregón aptly highlighted, is one of the many inheritances of the Spanish colonial Empire in the Americas.2 Sitting almost at the top of a pyramid of a complicated taxonomy of racial categories called the casta system, the category criollos referred specifically to españoles americanos (“Spanish Americans”). That is, individuals of European descent born in the New World, but never quite Spaniards, a distinction reserved for those who were born in the Old World and classified as peninsulares (after the Iberian Peninsula). We, criollos and criollas, were their extra-European sons and daughters.3 And yet, criollos were never seen as entirely Spanish: and we were widely regarded by the peninsulares “as impure or defective Europeans suspected of having mixed with the Native or African population.”4 But at the same time, the criollos ruled, under the strict supervision of the peninsulares over the non-European peoples of the empire, which were classified rigidly into different castas according to their racial status. Neither truly European nor entirely non-European —such ambiguous liminality sits at the very heart of the criollo identity.

And, unsurprisingly, this ambiguity also sat at the heart of the independent Republics the criollos constructed after they overthrew the Peninsular Viceroys to elect their own Presidents.5 My ancestors proudly abolished the special privileges of the hated peninsular elites and instead established allegedly “post-racial” Republics.6 They eliminated, in the same breath, some of the ancient protections (fueros) of the non-European peoples —which partially explains why some Indigenous peoples and Afro-Colombians fought to preserve the Spanish Crown in the age of revolutions.7 In principle, these new Republics were no longer ruled by the lineage of blood but were open to talent.8 But in practice, these new Republics were dominated by the criollo establishment —which saw itself as the vanguard of modern liberalism, even if awkwardly transplanted to non-European shores.9

If European polity-making in the nineteenth century was premised on what Dalle Mulle, Rodogno, & Bieling have called “the myth of homogeneity,”10 for the criollo Republics the opposite was true. Our national myth was one of mestizaje (“racial mixedness,” similar to what the “French Americans” have called métissage).11 In theory —but again, not in practice— we were all racially mixed. According to this theory, it was just a sheer coincidence that the distribution of power and land loosely followed the curve of European vis-à-vis non-European ancestry.12 In this sense, the post-racial promise of Republican equality was grafted upon the already existing class-based unequal order.

And, for all the differences between the two Americas, this story was quite similar on both sides of the border that would later come to ossify around the Río Bravo.13 This is why Anderson did not hesitate —rightly— in grouping together the elites of the nascent USA and the southern Republics under the common category of “Creole Pioneers” of nation-making in his landmark monograph Imagined Communities.14 In what follows, I focus mostly on my own polity of birth, but remain convinced that much work remains to be done to think about the “Americas” as a whole in relation to these questions.15

In Colombia, criollo identity took on a distinctly geographical dimension: while the post-independence “Spanish Americans” ruled from cold cities that were perched up high in plateaus or mountains that suited the weather preferences of their European forebears, they looked with suspicion towards the mestizos and mestizas who inhabited the sunbaked coasts and thick jungles of the lowlands. This is especially true given that this is where most Indigenous peoples and Afro-Colombians reside today, partially because these areas were beyond the pale of colonial and Republican authorities —they are the zones where the state “always comes too late.”16 From my city, Bogotá, generations of criollos imagined themselves living in Paris as they governed a country that they did not entirely understand —let alone control.17 Absurdly, for a period the city was given the nickname “the Athens of South America.” A character in Gabriel García Márquez’ novel Love in the Time of Cholera hit the nail on the head when he noted that in a century of life, he had seen how the central elites “make new constitutions, new laws, new wars every three months, but we [in the coast] are still living in colonial times.”18

Indeed, in the lowlands, criollos often emphasize their Europeanness —contrasting their “refinement” with that of their fellow mestizos. In Europe, however, criollos tend to emphasize their non-Europeanness instead: where the exotic promise of the New Continent continues to hold some of its appeal. More often than not, we, criollos are cruelly reminded of our non-Europeanness by our former Spanish overlords. The old tension, partially caused by “civilizational jealousy,” between criollos and peninsulares was never resolved —they just call us sudacas now (ie. “those from the South”). But criollos and criollas have learned to wear their badge of racial “impurity” with pride too —to, like Pessoa, make a victory out of our defeat; to furnish an identity out of our confusion.19

Me? I, turned around in disbelief, to make sure that there was no one else —perhaps a real European— standing behind me. “Yes, you, Farang.” Me, a farang —a criollo farang?

I have seen countless criollos and criollas exploit this liminality with great skill —and perhaps even performed such tricks myself! Ah yes, how many criollos proudly boast of their familiarity with the latest fads in French literature when they find themselves deep within the lowlands of their mestizo polities; but at the same would quickly dash Europeans with their skills in dances that owe plenty to the cultural influences of the peoples reduced to slavery and colonization. We made our lives, as Bacilos (a band of criollos from Bogotá that emigrated to Miami, of all places) puts it “following the confused model of a Europe that here [in the Americas] never really came into being.”20 Neither entirely here nor purely from there —we can cherry-pick our inheritance from both the European and non-European lifeworlds. This was true for generations of mestizo elites of the past,21 and it continues to hold for the trigueño scholars of today.22 I am not rushing to innocence either. I moved from Colombia to Europe to pursue graduate studies more than seven years ago —and this liminality has followed me in every step of the way. In this reflection, drawing on a robust tradition of TWAIL engagement with the praxis of intellectual life,23 I trace how this liminal identity has shaped my scholarly work, in both Europe and Africa.

A Lost Son of the Franks

This long background might help you, as a reader, to understand my surprise when, on a sunny morning roughly a year ago, I was suddenly interpellated in the streets of Addis Ababa by the call of “Farang.”24 Me? I, turned around in disbelief, to make sure that there was no one else —perhaps a real European— standing behind me. “Yes, you, Farang.” Me, a farang —a criollo farang? Indeed, this term —written in Amharic as ፈረንጅ— has long been used to refer to European foreigners in Ethiopia. It harkens back to a Persian word coined during the age of the crusader kings, and several countries of Western Asia and North Africa use a similar term to refer today to the descendants of the invading Franks of earlier times. As a student of modern Ethiopian history, I had come to understand that not every foreigner is a farang, but that every European “expat” is. I owe to my friend Fekade Abebe, rather than the history books, that I know that many other Amharic words are informally, and rather loosely, used to other foreigners: ህንድ; ቻይና; አረብ; and ጥቁር. Hence my surprise, that sunny morning, to see that in the eyes of my Ethiopian interlocutor I was, in fact, a European. Never —not even for a split second— had the Swiss office cantonal de la population et des migrations in Geneva, nor any of the Ausländerämter in Germany with which I had engaged extensively for the last couple of years ever seen me as a European. During a trip to Australia in 2024, where I wrote this reflection, I was reminded that I was not —in fact— a European at every step of the way: from the gruelling visa application to the endless series of hurdles one must overcome to “travel while being Colombian.” My passport had been that of a Latin American criollo —and as such, my right to stay in the Old Continent or to reach one of its settler antipodes had always been tied to my status as a student or as a “high-skilled” worker (whatever that means). Colombia’s international fame as a drug exporting country does not make travelling easy, to be sure. And yet, for a brief instant in Addis Ababa, I was a farang. A criollo farang!

As I continued walking down the street after rejecting my interpellator’s offer of a city tour, I wondered what gave my Europeanness away. To be sure, this conversation had occurred not far from the fancy hotel where I was staying, in the heart of Addis Ababa’s Kazančiz neighbourhood. I had decided to stay there, like many other farangs, because of its immediate proximity to the United Nations (UN) compound in Addis Ababa. Given that I was going to spend a month carrying out archival work for my doctoral dissertation and forthcoming monograph on the material history of the “Africa Hall” Building (site of the UN Economic Commission for Africa),25 it was very convenient to stay right around the corner from my archival site.26 From the hotel’s terrace —again, like many other farangs— I could easily watch the sun set over the UN’s compound against the city’s skyline. And even if I was not, in fact, a farang, my interpellator was right insofar as the source of my funding. This research trip would have been impossible without the support of a national European funding agency—and my whole excursion was tightly regulated by the institution in which I was enrolled as a researcher. Given their assessment of the security situation, like a farang, I had to report back to Geneva each week to let them know that I was still alive. I knew that my European peers had to do the same when they went to Colombia. As such, I concluded with a sigh that, even if I had never felt like a farang, I could not blame my interpellator for thinking that my temporal status as a funded PhD candidate in Europe made me look like one. Europeanness, perhaps, is more than a racial category —it might be a particular “way of being in the world.”27

This was particularly fitting because, from the moment I first laid my eyes on the city, Addis Ababa strongly reminded me of Bogotá. Indeed, we are talking of two capital cities perched on high mountains, both besieged by a constant smell of coffee and incense —although in the Ethiopian capital the whiff of the latter far outranked the former. They have served as the temperate seat for highlander Europeanized elites that rule —or claim to rule— two vast countries with extensive warm and unruly lowlands. One difference is that, in Ethiopia, the schism between the cold mountain cities and the scorching deserts and burning coasts has a religious character: posing northern Amharic-speaking Christian highlanders against Animist and Muslim lowlanders and southerners from a very diverse set of ethnicities. In Colombia, we all claim to be Catholic and mestizos —but that has not made our civil wars any bit less brutal than the inner-Ethiopian struggles. Both countries are famous —if at all— for the export of coffee and of images of violence on the global marketplace (see, for instance, here and here). Both were torn, but in different ways, by European inter-imperial rivalry and the Cold War. While Addis Ababa is a new capital created to govern an old polity, Bogotá is an old colonial ruin that serves as the capital of a relatively recent Republic. Both cities, in their own way, dream of being European. But their dazzling city centres are surrounded by the nightmare of urban modernity: the shanty towns that have long characterized the great cities of the South in our planet of slums.28

The Dream of Europe, Stuff of American and African Nightmares

As I drank coffee atop my hotel terrace in a neighbourhood named after an Italian construction company (one of the many remnants of Ethiopia’s short period of colonial occupation), I realized that we criollos of the Americas and the dwellers of Addis Ababa had much to learn from each other.29 Ultimately, we have all been playing the same game: running a never-ending race to catch up with Europe (to paraphrase Emtseva, who herself was writing about her experience as someone from Central Asia) while at the same time not losing our identity as non-Europeans.30 We do not wish to be farangs, not even by accident. But we want to play their game. We cannot entirely imagine a world without the legacy of Europe’s towering hyperreality —with its dazzling centuries of lights and its genocidal dark sides, to use Chakrabarty’s Provincializing Europe.31 He uses this term to refer to the fact that —because of the hold both narratives of imperialism and nationalism have over the colonized— the spectre of Europe remains present even in our strongest attempts to forget the so-called Old Continent. In that sense, “the project of provincializing Europe must realize within itself its own impossibility.”32 This is how I have always tried to make sense of the closing sentences of Chakrabarty’s groundbreaking intervention: “[f]or at the end of European imperialism, European thought is a gift to us all. We can talk of provincializing it only in an anticolonial spirit of gratitude.”33 Even the critique of Eurocentrism itself cannot be disentangled from the Continent’s legacy.34 That means that us, in the formerly colonized world, we all are, in a way, criollos and criollas. We might have been American “pioneers,” but our conundrum as non-European Europeans is by now a truly global one.35

Still salty after being called a European precisely in a year marked by the inexorable expiration of my Swiss residence permit, I started to plan my hypothetical revenge. I wondered, not without some malice, if an Ethiopian colleague would also be misread as a European in Bogotá. The closest we have to farang in Colombia is gringo, the term we use to refer to our Unitestatesean northern neighbours. A famous story, even if ultimately false, of its etymology comes from the phrase “green go!” (referring to the uniforms of US soldiers posted abroad) —a good example of how strained relations are between us the criollos of the sister republics of the Americas after the abuses of the so-called “American century.”

Could a hypothetical Ethiopian researcher, funded by an Unitedstatesean or European institution, who came to study Colombia’s peace process and stayed in a fancy hotel in a neighborhood close to our own UN Mission be misread as an Afro-Unitedstatestean gringo? Why not? I sighed in relief. Our former conquerors, I quickly remembered, have also coined their own way to refer to the gringos and other Northern Europeans who have supposedly now colonized Spain: guiri. In a world that increasingly claims to see no races anymore, I cannot but notice that our urban dictionaries are still replete with identities shaped around racial slurs from yesteryear. And when we engage in field work (broadly understood), we do not leave these identities parked at home. We wear them as we venture into the archive or engage in ethnographic methods. They linger in our skins —haunting testaments of the afterlives of centuries of past wars and revolutions.

A Non-European Europeanist

To say that there are many Norths in South and Souths in the North is by now a known statement.36 My concluding reflection instead is that, as researchers, we continue to inhabit in the world of the racial castas we have long taken as abolished. This is true even for “proper” Europeans: think of how the uses of guiri signal deep rooted animosities between “Western” Europe and its “Southern” or “Eastern” neighbours. Even within a single seemingly “homogenous” European polity, “civilizational” anxieties continue to recreate many Easts and Souths within the very North (I am thinking now of the tensions I saw while living in Belgium, Italy, Germany, or even within the United States of North America). Our identities are never fixed but are always renegotiated and recalibrated in relation to others —and the looming shadow of Europe’s hyperreality.37

My concern is that this dynamic is not captured by the vocabulary of “privilege” or the binary between Europe and the non-European radical Other —two particularly trendy ways of understanding the situated production of knowledge in today’s Anglo-Unitedstatesean academic discourse. These two tools, in my view, stabilize identities in ways that are hardly reconcilable with the actual power dynamics that govern the geopolitics of knowledge. I hope that anyone who has tried to classify an author as “from the Global South” might understand my point: Europe’s hyperreality haunts such efforts and provides a relentless series of turtles that go all the way down. Instead, I wish to foreground hybridity.

I, for instance, as a criollo, have never hesitated to lecture Europeans about their own history. Just as how many of my European or Unitedstatesean peers have trained themselves to become specialists of Latin America, I see my career as that of a Latin American Europeanist. But this often raises eyebrows among my colleagues. We are quite used to the following dynamic: cosmopolitan European scholars can become specialists of the non-European world; but non-European elite scholars are expected to only master their own, presumedly exotic, corner of the world. (Because of the “special relationship” between North Atlantic polities, there is a more robust tradition of an Unitedstatesean expertise on Europe and vice versa —but this rarely includes the other tip of the former triangular trade route into the South Atlantic world). In the worst-case scenario, many of my non-European friends have been forced to turn into comparativists, dedicated to the cross-study of their polity of origin with that in which they are pursuing their graduate studies. But the idea that one would turn to a non-European specialist to understand European history or society continues to be counter intuitive.

This became clear to me when I had the opportunity to teach a course on modern European history in Nancy, in the heart of the borderlands of the lost Kingdom of Lotharingia some years ago —and it quickly dawned on me that I was the only non-European present in my own classroom.38 But when it comes to engaging —as a Latin criollo— with Ethiopian or African history, I proceed with much more caution. Despite my initial misgivings, I was thankful to be reminded on that sunny Ethiopian morning that, in certain places of our painfully unequal earth, I am nothing else than another arrogant farang.

  1. This piece was originally prepared in the framework of the collective project “the legal afterlife of war and revolution” led by the fearless Marika Sosnowski (University of Melbourne). I am grateful to Miki, the other members of our group, and those who participated in our workshops in Naarm/Melbourne (November 2024) at the Peter McMullin Centre on Statelessness and Oñati/Oñate (April 2025) at the International Institute for the Sociology of Law for their encouragement and comments, as well as to Fekade Abebe, Hatem Elliesie, Agathe Mora, and the TWAILR Editorial Collective for their feedback on a final version of this reflection. Moreover, it was pleasure to present the piece at the panel discussion “Multiperspectivism in International Legal Scholarship” held in Berlin on 12 March 2026 —very grateful to Anne Peters, Christian Marxsen, & Leon Seidl for the invitation and to my fellow panellists Fuad Zarbiyev and Kalika Mehta for the discussion. The usual caveat applies. ORCID: https://orcid.org/0000-0003-4294-4379. Contact: d.quiroga.villamarin@nyu.edu — daniel.quiroga@graduateinstitute.ch.
  2. Liliana Obregón, “Between Civilisation and Barbarism: Creole Interventions in International Law,” Third World Quarterly 27, no. 5 (2006): 815–32.
  3. One could include criolle or criollx. In relation to this, see further Ed Morales, “Latinx: Reserving the Right to the Power of Naming,” Chicanx-Latinx Law Review 39, no. 1 (2023): 209–26.
  4. Obregón, “Between Civilisation and Barbarism,” p. 818.
  5. Tamar Herzog, “Independence(s): What Is a Revolutionary Law?,” in The Cambridge History of Latin American Law in Global Perspective, ed. Thomas Duve and Tamar Herzog (Cambridge University Press, 2024) 250–82.
  6. Jason McGraw, “Race, or the Last Colonial Struggle in Latin America,” Age of Revolutions, March 12, 2018, https://ageofrevolutions.com/2018/03/12/race-or-the-last-colonial-struggle-in-latin-america/.
  7. Marcela Echeverri, Indian and Slave Royalists in the Age of Revolution: Reform, Revolution, and Royalism in the Northern Andes, 1780-1825 (Cambridge University Press, 2017).
  8. Greg Grandin, America, América: A New History of the New World (Penguin Press, 2025), pp. 195-198.
  9. James E. Sanders, The Vanguard of the Atlantic World: Creating Modernity, Nation, and Democracy in Nineteenth-Century Latin America (Duke University Press, 2014).
  10. Emmanuel Dalle Mulle, Davide Rodogno, and Mona Bieling, eds., Sovereignty, Nationalism, and the Quest for Homogeneity in Interwar Europe (Bloomsbury, 2023).
  11. Ellen Jones and Federico Navarrete, “The Myth of Mestizaje,” Los Angeles Review of Books, November 27, 2020, https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/the-myth-of-mestizaje/ (accessed 6 May 2025).
  12. Giulia Torino, “Hidden in Plain Sight: How Racism Shapes Latin American Cities,” KCL, October 23, 2024, https://www.kcl.ac.uk/how-racism-shapes-latin-american-cities.
  13. Which, since the war of 1846-1848, has served as the border between the US and the Southern Republics. See Michael A. Blaakman et al., eds., The Early Imperial Republic: From the American Revolution to the U.S.–Mexican War (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2023).
  14. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Revised edition (Verso, 2016) 47-66.
  15. Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín, “See Paris and Die: The Ambiguities of Creole International Law in the Americas (1775-1910),” in The Cambridge History of International Law, Vol VII “Western International Law, eds. Miloš Vec and Paulina Starski (Cambridge University Press, forthcoming in 2026). See also Laura Betancur-Restrepo et al., “Introduction” in Oxford Handbook of International Law and the Americas, ed. Liliana Obregón et al. (Oxford University Press, forthcoming in 2026).
  16. Julieta Lemaitre Ripoll, El estado siempre llega tarde: la reconstrucción de la vida cotidiana después de la guerra (Siglo Veintiuno Editores, 2019).
  17. Quiroga-Villamarín, “See Paris and Die: The Ambiguities of Creole International Law in the Americas (1775-1910).”
  18. Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera, trans. Edith Grossman (Penguin Books, 2007), p. 324.
  19. Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, trans. Richard Zenith (New York: Penguin Books, 2003).
  20. Bacilos, “Cuestión de madera,” (2000) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WpbvXK6IW0. My own translation.
  21. Arnulf Becker Lorca, Mestizo International Law: A Global Intellectual History 1842-1933 (Cambridge University Press, 2014).
  22. Luis Eslava, “Trigueño International Law: On (Most of) the World Being (Always, Somehow) Out of Place,” in Out of Place: Fieldwork and Positionality in Law and Society, ed. Lynette J. Chua and Mark Fathi Massou (Cambridge University Press, 2024), 160–87.
  23. Obiora C. Okafor, “Praxis and the International (Human Rights) Law Scholar: Toward the Intensification of TWAILian Dramaturgy,” Windsor Yearbook of Access to Justice 33 (2016): 1–35; Usha Natarajan et al., “Introduction: TWAIL – on Praxis and the Intellectual,” Third World Quarterly 37, no. 11 (2016): 1946–56; Georges Abi-Saab, “The Third World Intellectual in Praxis: Confrontation, Participation, or Operation behind Enemy Lines?,” Third World Quarterly 37, no. 11 (2016): 1957–71; Antony Anghie, “Rethinking International Law: A TWAIL Retrospective,” European Journal of International Law 34, no. 1 (2023): 7–112.
  24. Robert Knox, “Subject Positions,” TWAILR: Reflections #39, 2021, https://twailr.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/20211101-Knox-Subject-Positions-.pdf.
  25. Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín, Architects of a Better World: Democracy, Law, and the Century of International Parliaments, 1899-1999 (Oxford University Press, forthcoming) Chapter VI.
  26. See also Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín, “International Law, Internationally: Meditations on an Organisational Pilgrimage into the Disciplines of Global Law and Policy,” in Unbound Jurisprudence: Representing Time, Space, and Movement in Global Legal Theory, ed. Luis Eslava and Daniel R. Quiroga-Villamarín (Cambridge University Press, forthcoming) Chapter XIII.
  27. To paraphrase Amia Srinivasan, The Right to Sex (Bloomsbury, 2021) 110. See further Makau Mutua, “Critical Race Theory and International Law: The View of an Critical Race Theory and International Law: The View of an Insider-Outsider,” Villanova Law Review 45 (2000): 841–54;  E. Tendayi Achiume and Aslı Bâli, “Race and Empire: Legal Theory Within, Through and Across National Borders,” UCLA Law Review 67 (2021): 1386–431.
  28. Mike Davis, Planet of Slums, Paperback edition (Verso, 2017).
  29. This point was also made by the current Vice President —herself an Afro-Colombian social leader— as she inaugurated the country’s Embassy in Ethiopia as part of a broader strategy of engagement with the African continent. See “Vice President Francia Márquez Reopened the Colombian Embassy in Ethiopia and Reaffirmed the Goal of Continuing to Open New Pathways for Reconnection with Africa.,” August 26, 2025, https://www.vicepresidencia.gov.co/prensa/Paginas/Vice-President-Francia-Marquez-reopened-the-Colombian-Embassy-in-Ethiopia-and-reaffirmed-the-goal-of-continuing-to-open-new.aspx. See also Lorca, Mestizo International Law.  See also B. S. Chimni, “Prolegomena to a Class Approach to International Law,” European Journal of International Law 21, no. 1 (2010): 57–82.
  30. Julia Emtseva, “Practicing Reflexivity in International Law: Running a Never-Ending Race to Catch Up with the Western International Lawyers,” German Law Journal 23, no. 5 (2022): 756–68.
  31. Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference, 2nd Ed. with a new preface (Princeton University Press, 2008).
  32. Ibid, p. 45.
  33. Ibid, p. 255.
  34. This is why some critics of Chakrabarty accuse him instead of having a “postcolonial spirit of surrender.” See Vasant Kaiwar, “Silences in Postcolonial Thought,” Economic and Political Weekly 40, no. 34 (2005): 3732–38. p. 3735. I myself agree with Chakrabarty’s reading on this, but I could see why anticolonial scholars (including some of my colleagues involved in the editing of this piece) might disagree. Indeed, it seems that the TWAIL movement has much to gain from sustained engagement in relation to the differences to the different intellectual movements within it—especially (but not limited to) the tensions between postcolonial and decolonial traditions. On this, see further Gianmaria Colpani, “Crossfire: Postcolonial Theory between Marxist and Decolonial Critiques,” Postcolonial Studies 25, no. 1 (2022): 54–72.
  35. Here I am using “American” in reference to the continent. For the single country, I regularly use “Unitedstatesean” instead.
  36. Luis Eslava, “TWAIL Coordinates,” in Research Handbook on Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL), ed. Antony Anghie et al. (Edward Elgar Publishing, 2025) 10-22.
  37. Sujith Xavier and Amar Bhatia, “Race and Ethnicity in International Law on the Americas: From a ‘Regime of Truth’ to a “‘Dynamic of Indifference,’” in Oxford Handbook of International Law and the Americas, ed. Liliana Obregón et al. (Oxford University Press, 2026).
  38. Simon Winder, Lotharingia: A Personal History of Europe’s Lost Country (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2019).