Discriminating Can Save Lives Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

Discriminating Can Save Lives - Essay Example s of suspicion and criminal activities that are more likely to happen while on the other hand, critics of racial profiling rejects the idea of racial profiling as an activity of violating human rights and greatly humiliates the race which has many drawbacks. This argumentative paper narrates the perspectives of both schools of thoughts in terms of racial profiling. United States of America is most notably being counted amongst the states that greatly contribute to the promotion racial profiling for the defense of state and security purposes. The mentioned action of United States is due to the fact that it suffered the heavy lost as a result of terrorist planes hijacks that de-structured world trade centre on 11 September 2001 (Muffler). At one hand, a great deal of Americans believes that racial profiling is necessary and productive because it reduces the chances of terrorist acts and suspicions. This account can be defended with the example from the history of hijacking in United States. It was observed that in 1972, about 28 US aircrafts were hijacked when there were no helpful techniques for screening were applied. After the implementation of racial profiling, hijacking was reduced to a greater extent. Thus defenders of racial profiling conclude that it is better to implement racial profiling in order to reduce the terrorist attack possibilities (Muffler). The criticism that comes against racial profiling is acceptable as constitution itself does not permit the law enforcement to separate some persons from rest of the crowd on the basis of race, religion or any other characteristic. The constitution does not even permits racial profiling on the basis of suspicion of criminals act. One more prosecutor account in terms of negativity of racial profiling is that the profiling of Arab is most strict and focused by the law and enforcement of Unites States because the terrorist who attacked world trade centre were Arab Muslims. As a result, it is more likely to

Strategy and Organizational Development Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Strategy and Organizational Development - Essay Example According to Ralph Lewis, organizational development is a new concept which is becoming popular with businesses. Ralph defines an organization as a conglomeration of more than 1 person with the same goals and objectives. There is usually a point where the members of an organization lose sight of what really brought them and appear disorganized. This is the part where organizational development comes in to bring an element of the organization. This can be achieved first by formulating a working strategy and implementing it to the members of that given organization.Based on Ralph, he classifies organizations basically into four quadrants. Each of the quadrants represents a given function performed by the organization. In his strategy to bring organizational development, will entail bringing this four quadrants of the organization to work in unison. The strategy was chosen basically has to engage in showing the organizational values, form an integrated link, task manage all people plus ensure resources are allocated to all quadrants. In ensuring the above, will be like re-energizing the four quadrants to work together in harmony. Ralph argues that the moment when the four quadrants of the organization are working with the same goal and everyone is contributing towards its achievement, that is how organizational development will be felt. Â  

Issues of War Monuments in Estonia

Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Empty Spaces and the Value of Symbols: Estonias War of Monuments from Another Angle * This article is the first published output from British Academy small research grant ref. SG-39197, entitled Public Monuments, Commemoration and the Renegotiation of Collective Identities: Estonia, Sweden and the â€Å"Baltic World† Since the summer of 2004, the new EU member state of Estonia has been in the throes of what is described as a War of Monuments. The events in question began in the town of Lihula in western Estonia, where a veterans group erected a stone tablet commemorating those Estonians who in World War Two donned German uniform and fought on the eastern front against the USSR. Bearing the inscription To Estonian men who fought in 1940 1945 against Bolshevism and for the restoration of Estonian independence, the Lihula stone became the latest of several monuments commemorating a group that most Estonians today regard as freedom fighters. In this case, however, the soldier depicted bore SS insignia. Hardly surprisingly, this fact elicited widespread international condemnation, notably from Russia, the EU and Jewish organisations. The groups behind the monument insisted that the men in question had had no truck with Nazism, and had only enlisted as a last resort in order to obtain access to arms w ith which to repel the Soviet invader. The display of the SS insignia nevertheless disregarded the taboo that surrounds the display of Nazi symbols in todays Europe. Also, while the vast majority of Estonian SS legionnaires did indeed sign up only in 1944 as the Soviet army advanced into their homeland, at least some had previously belonged to auxiliary police battalions which have been implicated in Nazi atrocities.1 Concerned to limit potential damage to Estonias international reputation, the government of the day ordered the removal of the monument. The police operation to carry out this order on 2 September 2004 nevertheless provoked clashes with local residents, while the political fallout from the episode contributed to the fall of Prime Minister Juhan Parts several months later. Critics of the government action argued that if the Lihula monument was to be construed as a glorification of totalitarianism, then the same logic should be applied to Soviet monuments that had been left standing following the restoration of Estonian independence in 1991. Singled out in this regard was the Bronze Soldier on T[otilde]nismgi in central Tallinn—a post-war monument erected on the unmarked grave of Soviet troops who fell during the taking of the city in 1944. For the vast majority of Estonians, the arrival of the Soviet Army signalled the replacement of one brutal occupying regime by another, whic h quickly resumed the arrests, executions and large-scale deportations previously witnessed during the first year of Soviet rule in 1940 41. This remains the dominant perception amongst Estonians today. The leaders of post-Soviet Russia, by contrast, have adhered steadfastly to the Soviet-era view of these events as marking the liberation of Estonia from fascism. The defeat of the Nazis during 1941 45 remains central to Russias self-understanding in the post-Soviet era; its  current leaders emphatically deny that the events of 1940 and 1944 in the Baltic states constituted a Soviet occupation, and refuse to acknowledge the suffering which the inhabitants of these countries experienced at the hands of the Soviet regime. Commentators in Russia have emphasised that they will brook no alternative interpretations of the Soviet Unions role in the events of 1939 45, and have therefore characterised calls for the removal of the T[otilde]nismgi monument as a manifestation of support for fascism. For many of the ethnic Russians who today make up nearly half of Tallinns population, the Bronze Soldier has also remained a locus of identification, providing the site for continued unofficial commemorations on 9 May, which was celebrated as Victory Day during the Soviet period. Red paint was thrown over the monument just prior to 9 May 2005, when several other Soviet war memorials were also attacked across the country, and a German military cemetery desecrated in Narva. The following year, this date again elicited tensions: local Russian youth mounted round-the-clock surveillance at the Bronze Soldier, while an Estonian nationalist counter-demonstration led to scuffles on 9 May (Alas 2006a). The monument was subsequently cordoned off by police pending a decision on its future. This formed the object of vigorous political debate ahead of the March 2007 parliamentary elections. Matters relating to the establishment and upkeep of public monuments in post-Soviet Estonia have for the mo st part fallen to local municipalities. In late 2006, however, new legislation was adopted giving central government the power to override local decision making in this regard. This provision was motivated expressly by a desire to remove the monument and the soldiers remains from the centre of Tallinn to the more peripheral setting of the military cemetery on the citys outskirts (Alas 2006a, 2006b, 2006c; Ranname 2006). The subsequent removal of the monument in late April 2007 provided the occasion for large-scale rioting in central Tallinn. On 9 May 2007 hundreds of people visited the monument at its new location in order to lay flowers. Issues of past or memory politics2 have assumed a growing prominence in recent scholarly work on Estonia and the other Baltic states, with a number of authors also highlighting the apparently divergent views of the past held by Estonians and Estonian Russians, and the obstacles that this poses in terms of societal integration (Hackmann 2003; Budryte 2005; Onken 2003, 2007a, 2007b). Publicly sited monuments are evidently central to any discussion of such issues: as recent events in Estonia have shown, they frequently act as catalysts eliciting both official and unsanctioned expressions of collective identity (Burch 2002a, 2004).3 Thus far, however, surprisingly little attention has been devoted to monuments within the relevant academic literature on Estonia. This article is intended as a contribution in this regard, but it approaches the issue from a slightly different angle. The War of Monuments has focused political and media attention upon two different cases, one involving a settlement that is predominantly ethnica lly Estonian by population (Lihula) and the other a capital city (Tallinn) that is almost equally divided between Estonians and Russians. This article shifts the focus to the overwhelmingly Russian-speaking city of Narva, which today sits on Estonias border with the Russian Federation. In particular, our study examines the local politics surrounding the Swedish Lion monument (see Figure 1), which was erected in the city in November 2000 on the 300th anniversary of the Battle of Narva between Sweden and Russia. The Lion monument relates to a past that is far less immediate than the events of 1940 45, but which, as we demonstrate, is still highly salient to contemporary identity politics within Estonia. How, for instance, was the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia framed and debated in a town where ethnic Russians and other Russian-speakers constitute 96% of the population? Equally significantly, todays Lion is depicted as the successor to a similar monument erected in 1936 during the period of Estonias inter-war independence. The reappearance of this symbol could therefore potentially be understood as part of a state-sponsored effort to banish the Soviet past and reconnect with a past Golden Age. Once again, one wonders how this was interpreted by a local population that was established in Narva as a direct consequence of the Soviet takeover and which, by dint of the legal continuity principle, mostly did not obtain the automatic right to Estonian citizenship after 199 1.4 Who then decided to erect the Lion monument, and why? What form did the commemoration of November 2000 take, and what are the main lines of public debate that have surrounded it? The current article will address these questions, and will also seek to link the Narva case to broader conceptual issues of identity politics and post-communist transition, particularly the current debate surrounding the possibilities for the development of a tamed liberal/multicultural nationalism in Central and Eastern Europe.5 Past politics and post-communism The dramatic events that have occurred in Europe over the past two decades have entailed a profound redefinition of collective identities at a variety of scales—national, supranational, regional and local. The end of the Cold War, the demise of the USSR, and the consequent processes of EU and NATO enlargement, all occurring within the overall context of economic globalisation and growing movement of population, have led communities and groups across the continent to revisit existing understandings of who We are and where We are going. Since historical memory is an essential component in the construction of collective identity, this process has necessarily involved renegotiation of the Past as well as debates concerning the Present and Future. Like all forms of identity politics, such memory work is contested, being embedded in complex †¦ power relations that determine what is remembered (or forgotten) by whom, and for what end (Gillis 1994, p. 3). In a similar vein, Graha m et al. (2000, pp. 17 18) remind us that heritage is time-specific and thus its meaning(s) can be altered as texts are re-read in changing times, circumstances and constructs of place and scale. Consequently, it is inevitable that such knowledges are also fields of contestation.6 Publicly sited monuments offer a particularly useful way into researching this phenomenon, since they provide us with a tangible manifestation of some memory work process. The memorial function of such objects can take the form of carefully choreographed gatherings at times of heightened political awareness, or precise moments of commemorative anniversaries. Wreaths might be laid; silence observed; political rallies enacted; pageants performed. Other actions might be characterised more by spontaneity: collective grief at a sudden, tragic event, or an iconoclastic attack on a memorial construed in negative terms. Individuals and groups will attach different, often mutually exclusive meanings to particular monuments. Moreover, such meanings are shifting and contingent: what constitutes an eloquent memorial at one particular moment in time (for instance during an annual commemoration) might become a mute, invisible monument for the rest of the year. In this regard, being ignored is as s ignificant as being noticed.7 Political changes in the present can radically alter the import of a memorial, without any physical change on its part. This reiterates that the context of the monument is intrinsic to meaning. Context, however, can also be physically rendered, as with the shifting of a memorial/monument from some focal point to somewhere more peripheral and less visible. Issues of collective identity have proved especially challenging in those states that have been created or recreated following the collapse of the USSR. These are for the most part configured as classic unitary nation states, and yet in nearly all cases, processes of state and nation building have been effectuated on the basis of societies that are deeply polyethnic or multinational in character (Brubaker 1996; Smith et al. 1998; Smith 1999). Moreover, nearly all of the states in question have painful pasts with which they need to come to terms (Budryte 2005, p. 1). In relation to this region, Paul Gready (2003, p. 6) reminds us that stripped of the fossilising force of Cold War politics, nationalism has become central to political transitions, both as a means and an end. Narratives of history that focus exclusively on the titular nationality and its subjugation and suffering at the hands of former colonial regimes invariably elicit opposition from minority groups, which can easily f rame their own exclusivist narratives of history along the same lines. Indeed, as the Estonian case exemplifies very well, conflicting narratives of the past can be seen as an integral part of the triadic nexus of nationalist politics—the relationship between nationalising states, national minorities and external national homelands—discerned by Rogers Brubaker in his 1996 work Nationalism Reframed (Pettai 2006). In using the past for present purposes, political and intellectual elites in the Baltic and other Central and Eastern European states have also had to take account of the requirements of integration with the European Union, which in the Estonian and Latvian cases especially, has entailed significant changes to the direction of nation-building (Smith 2002a, 2002b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005; Budryte 2005; Kelley 2004; Galbreath 2005). EU-supported state integration strategies launched at the start of the twenty-first century have set the goal of creating integrated multicultural democracies which will enable representatives of the large non-titular, non-citizen population to preserve certain aspects of their distinct culture and heritage as they undergo integration into the polity and the dominant societal culture (Lauristin Heidmets 2002). According to a number of authors writing on the politics of the past and of memory, these efforts to promote an integrated multicultural society necessar ily require all the parties involved to engage with a process of democratising history. Democratisation in this context would imply that history is no longer used extensively for political purposes, alternative readings are allowed to challenge dominant master narratives, a plurality of guardians of memory is tolerated, and that rather than merely stressing the suffering endured by ones own nation, historical narratives recognise that other groups suffered equally, and that the nation in question served as both a bystander and a perpetrator as regards the suffering of others (see Onken 2003, 2007a; Budryte 2005). A significant step in this direction came during 1998, when all three Baltic states established historical commissions.8 Composed of academic experts from home and abroad (in the Estonian case exclusively the latter), these bodies have been called upon to produce an independent assessment of events during the Nazi and Soviet occupations of 1940 91, and have already begun to publish their findings (Onken 2007b). However, developments such as the Estonian War on Monuments and the Baltic Russian dispute over the commemoration held in Moscow to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the end of World War Two (Onken 2007a) underline the extent to which the past is still underpinning conflictual political dynamics in the present. In this regard, Russias increasing reliance on the Soviet past for nation-building purposes and its indiscriminate blanket accusations of fascist tendencies in the Baltic states prompt Baltic politicians to insist that Soviet communism should join Nazism as one of the great evils against which contemporary European values should be defined. As is the case with other aspects of post-communist transition, however, a focus on the state level tells us only so much about the renegotiation of identity in post-socialist Central and Eastern Europe. In this highly complex multi-ethnic environment, the sub-state regional level cannot be disregarded (Batt 2002). A focus on the sub-state level appears especially apposite as far as the study of Estonias public monuments is concerned, for, until now at least, decisions in this area have rested with local rather than with national government. Furthermore, one can point to different political logics that obtain at national and local level. As a result of the citizenship law adopted in the aftermath of independence, ethnic Estonians have constituted a comfortable majority of the national electorate during 1992 2007. The local election law of 1993, however, stipulates that while citizens alone can run for office, all permanent residents have the right to vote, regardless of citizenship status. This has meant that the ethnic composition of the electorate has in some cases been wholly different at municipal level. In this regard, the outright repudiation of the Soviet past displayed by local elites in Lihula stands in marked contrast to trends observable in the capital Tallinn, where Russian-speakers make up almost half the population, and Russian and pro-Russian parties, such as the Centre Party (Keskerakond), have been able to obtain a significant foothold in local politics. This contrast became evident not least in 1995, when the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II brought calls for the removal of the Bronze Soldier. The city council, however, tried instead to imbue this monument with an alternative meaning: a Soviet-era plaque referring to the liberation of Tallinn by the Red Army in 1944 was replaced by one that reads simply to the fallen of World War Two. This step can be read as an effort to inculcate some kind of shared understanding of a highly contentious past within a deeply multi-ethnic setting. What trends, however, can one identify in the more homogeneously Russian pe riphery that is Narva? Estonias new best friend. The rediscovery of Estonias Swedish past The return of the Swedish Lion monument to Narva, as one local newspaper described it (Sommer-Kalda 2000), can be seen in many ways as the culmination of a process of Swedish re-engagement with the eastern Baltic Near Abroad that began in 1990 with the establishment of a Swedish consulate in Tallinn. With considerable financial resources now being made available to support processes of economic and political transition in Estonia, Swedish cultural attach Hans Lepp began to explore how past cultural links might be utilised in the service of what he has termed soft diplomacy.9 Historic ties with Scandinavia have assumed an important place within the discourse of the ruling ethnic Estonian political elite since the 1990s, where they have been used to support the notion of a Return to Europe—or, more broadly, a Return to the Western World following the end of Soviet occupation (Lauristin et al. 1997; Smith 2001, 2003a, 2003b). Within this framework, the period 1561 1710, when Sweden progressively extended its dominion over much of the territory of present-day Estonia and Latvia, is remembered as the Happy Swedish time, which is said to have brought about a considerable improvement in the lot of the Estonian peasantry, before serfdom was returned to its former rigour following entry to the Russian empire. Hans Lepp and his diplomatic colleagues were alive to the possibility of trading on this feeling of goodwill in order to make Sweden Estonias best friend in the Baltic region, with all that this implied in terms of political and economic influence.10 It quickly became apparent, however, that Swedish assistance was most needed in Narva and its surrounding region of Ida-Virumaa. Quite apart from the socio-economic and environmental challenges posed by this largely Russian-populated border region, rising nationalism in neighbouring Russia raised the prospect that the local inhabitants might look eastwards towards Moscow rather than westwards towards Tallinn, with drastic implications for regional stability and security.11 In this specific context history had particular potential as a resource, given the important place of the Battle of Narva of 1700 within the Swedish historical imagination. Although the opening salvo in a disastrous war that saw the Baltic provinces ceded to Russia,12 the first Battle of Narva was nevertheless a remarkable victory by the troops of King Charles XII (often referred to as the Lion of the North) against the numerically superior forces of Peter the Great. In this respect, Eldar Efendiev, who as Mayor of Narva planned the November 2000 commemoration of the battle, claimed in an interview with the authors that Swedes know three dates—the birthday of Gustav Vasa; the birthday of the present King; and the date of the Battle of Narva.13 The significance of the latter event had been seen already in the inter-war period with the installation of a Lion monument on the battlefield site in 1936.14 Already prior to his appointment as cultural attach in 1990, Hans Lepp—then Curator of the art collections at the Swedish Royal Palace in Stockholm—suggested to Efendiev (at that time Head of the Narva Museum) that the restoration of the Lion monument might help to foster closer ties between Narva and Sweden in the present. Lepp subsequently pursued the idea of restoring the Lion with Narva city council in his roles as Swedish cultural attach to Estonia and member of the Swedish Institute. Not surprisingly, however, planning the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia was a potentially fraught endeavour in a town where Russian-speakers now made up 96% of the population. Narva: Eastern, Western or in-between? The more essentialising geopolitical discourses of the post-Cold War era would see Narva as sitting on the westward side of the border that divides Western Christianity from Eastern Orthodoxy. Those who discern a Huntingdonian civilisational fault line between Estonia and Russia could point by way of evidence to the presence of two great fortresses—one German, one Russian—on the respective banks of the Narova River that separates Narva from its neighbouring settlement of Ivangorod and which today marks the state border with the Russian Federation. Not unnaturally, however, the citys past is rather more complex. As noted on the current website of the city government, Narva has not merely served as a defensive outpost and site of struggle between competing regional powers, but has also constituted a locus for trade and interaction between West and East, not least during the period when the city belonged to the Hanseatic League.15 From its foundation in the twelfth century to 1558, Narva did indeed constitute the easternmost point of the province of Estland, which was ruled first by the Danes and later by the German Livonian Order. Neighbouring Ivangorod takes its name from Tsar Ivan III, who ordered the construction of a fortress on the western border of his realm following Muscovys annexation of Novgorod in the late fifteenth century. Muscovy subsequently conquered Narva during the mid-sixteenth century Livonian wars, controlling the city from 1558 to 1581. The city then came under Swedish rule for 120 years following the Livonian Wars, a period which is described on the webpage of todays city government as Narvas Golden Age.16 For nearly three and a half centuries, Narva and Ivangorod functioned in effect as a single composite settlement, first under Swedish rule and then later during the tsarist period, when Narva came under the joint jurisdiction of the Estland and Saint Petersburg Gubernii of the Russian Empire. The conjoined status of the two towns persisted after 1917, when the inhabitants of the Narva district voted in a July referendum to join the province of Estland created following the February Revolution.17 After a brief spell of Bolshevik control during late 1918 to early 1919, when Narva functioned as the seat of the abortive Estonian Workers Commune, both towns were incorporated into the Estonian Republic under the terms of the 1920 Treaty of Tartu. It was only after the Soviet occupation in 1945 that the border was redrawn so as to place Ivangorod in the territory of the Russian Republic of the USSR. Although this division was little more than an administrative formality within a Soviet cont ext, the frontier revision set the scene for the establishment of a fully functioning state border between the two towns after 1992. The Narva that emerged from the Soviet period is almost completely unrecognisable from the one that existed prior to World War Two. Previously characterised as the baroque jewel of Northern Europe, the city was quite literally reduced to rubble in 1944 during fierce fighting between German and Soviet forces in eastern Estonia. While at least some historic buildings—notably the castle and the town hall—were restored, the ruins were for the most part demolished and the city entirely remodelled on the Soviet plan. As was the case with Knigsberg (Kaliningrad), Narva was inhabited by both different inhabitants and a different ideology after 1945 (Sezneva 2002, p. 48). The previous residents, having been evacuated by the occupying Nazi regime, were not allowed to return by its Soviet successor, and were replaced by workers from neighbouring Russia, who oversaw a process of Soviet-style industrialisation in the region. Today, Estonians make up less than 5% of the towns inhabit ants. As part of Narvas transformation into a Soviet place, new monuments were erected to commemorate the fallen of the Great Patriotic War and of the brief period of rule by the Estonian Workers Commune.18 All remaining traces of the pre-war Estonian Republic were swept away following the Soviet re-conquest of 1944. The 1936 Swedish Lion monument, which had been erected at the approaches to the city during a visit by the Swedish Crown Prince, was destroyed by artillery fire and the bronze lion removed by German forces during their retreat. This monument did not reappear under Soviet rule. The authorities did, however, restore and maintain objects linked to the citys Russian past, such as the two tsarist-era monuments to Russian soldiers killed in the battles of 1700 and 1704. As the movement for Estonian independence gathered momentum between 1988 and 1991, Narva gained a reputation as a bastion of support for the maintenance of Soviet power. The city government that came to office in December 1989 set itself resolutely against political change, demanding autonomy for north-east Estonia within the context of a renewed Soviet federation and, in August 1991, voicing support for the abortive Moscow coup which precipitated the collapse of the USSR. The Council was promptly dissolved in the aftermath of Estonian independence; yet, remarkably, its former leaders were allowed to stand in new elections, and were returned to power in October 1991, albeit on a turnout of only 30%. As ethnic tensions mounted in Estonia between 1991 and 1993, and Narvas economy went into freefall, local leaders again set themselves in opposition to central government policies that were designed to engineer a decisive political and economic break with the Soviet past. The last stand o f the Soviet-era leadership came in the summer of 1993: with fresh local elections scheduled for the autumn, the city government organised an unofficial referendum on local autonomy, in which it gained a 97% majority in favour on an officially proclaimed 55% turnout of local voters. With the national government standing firm and refusing to acknowledge the legality of the vote, and no support forthcoming from neighbouring Russia, a growing section of the local political elite appeared to accept that intransigent opposition to the new state order was blocking any prospect of achieving much needed economic renewal. These circles now called upon the existing leadership to give up power peacefully, which it did in October 1993 (Smith 2002b). At the time, the referendum of July 1993 was widely regarded as secessionist in intent. Available evidence, however, would seem to suggest that redrawing physical borders was not on the agenda: the aim was rather to tip the overall political balance within Estonia in favour of the Russian-speaking part of the population and, in this way, to bring Estonia as a whole more firmly within the ambit of Russia and the CIS. In this way, the leadership hoped both to retain power and to restore the citys previous economic ties with the East as well as developing new links with the West (Smith 2002b).19 While Soviet constituted the principal identity marker for Estonias Russian-speaking population prior to 1991, this did not preclude the development of a simultaneous strong identification with the specific territory of the Estonian SSR (widely identified in other republics as the Soviet West or the Soviet Abroad), and with the local place of residence. Between 1989 and 1991, the movement to ass ert Estonian sovereignty gained support from a significant minority (perhaps as much as one third) of local Russian-speakers, who could subscribe to a vision of Estonia as an economic bridge between East and West. Such feelings were by no means absent in Narva, where the 1989 census revealed that seven out of 10 residents had actually been born in Estonia (Kirch et al. 1993, p. 177). Even so, the collapse of the USSR inevitably created something of an identity void as far as Estonias Russian-speakers were concerned. Despite perceptions of discrimination, recent survey work has confirmed a growing identification with the Estonian state (Kolst2002; Budryte 2005; Ehin 2007) as well as significant support for EU membership. Most Russians, however, have scarcely been able to identify themselves with any notion of Estonian national community, with local place of residence and ethnicity serving as the prime markers of identity (Ehin 2007). Despite having an obvious cultural affinity with Russia and with the transnational Russian community across the territory of the former Soviet Union, a population raised in the different socio-cultural setting of the Baltic has found it hard to conceive of actually living in Russia or to identify politically with the contemporary Russian state. It is with this complex identity that the post-1993 leadership in Narva has had to reckon. The Estonian law on local elections passed in May 1993 stipulated that non-citizens could vote but not stand for office. This excluded much of the local population from seeking election, including a substantial proportion of the Soviet-era leadership. Ahead of the October 1993 poll in Narva, however, the state was able to co-opt elements of the local political elite through a process of accelerated naturalisation on the grounds of special services rendered to the state. The elections of October 1993 saw a strong turnout by local voters, and brought to power a coalition of locally based parties and interest groups. The city governments elected during the period 1993 2005—a period when the national-level Centre Party attained the dominant position within local politics—were far more ready than their predecessors to embrace the new political economy of post-socialism, and thus better placed to cooperate both with central government and with Western partners within the wid er Baltic Sea area. In this regard, the commemoration of the Battle of Narva and the installation of the Swedish Lion can be understood as an attempt to create a narrative of the citys past capable of underpinning growing ties with Sweden in the present. These ties assumed a particular significance after 1995, when Swedish textile firm Boras Wfveri purchased a 75% stake in Narvas historic Kreenholm Mill, then the citys second-largest employer. According to Raivo Murd, the ethnic Estonian who served as Mayor of Narva from 1993 to 1996, the investment was proof that Narva was finally beginning to shed the Red image that had prevailed under the former political dispensation.20 In a clear sign of its determination to break with the Soviet past, the city government appointed in October 1993 removed Estonias last remaining statue of Lenin, which had remained standing in the central Peters Square in Narva during the first two years of Estonian independence. The subsequent period has seen the installation of new monuments commemorating—inter alia—the victims of Stalinist deportations during the 1940s and key moments in the transition to Estonian independence during 1917 20. The Old Narva Society founded by surviving pre-1944 residents of Narva also put up a number of commemorative plaques marking the sites of churches and other key buildings from the pre-war city. Yet the post-1993 political e Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Empty Spaces and the Value of Symbols: Estonias War of Monuments from Another Angle * This article is the first published output from British Academy small research grant ref. SG-39197, entitled Public Monuments, Commemoration and the Renegotiation of Collective Identities: Estonia, Sweden and the â€Å"Baltic World† Since the summer of 2004, the new EU member state of Estonia has been in the throes of what is described as a War of Monuments. The events in question began in the town of Lihula in western Estonia, where a veterans group erected a stone tablet commemorating those Estonians who in World War Two donned German uniform and fought on the eastern front against the USSR. Bearing the inscription To Estonian men who fought in 1940 1945 against Bolshevism and for the restoration of Estonian independence, the Lihula stone became the latest of several monuments commemorating a group that most Estonians today regard as freedom fighters. In this case, however, the soldier depicted bore SS insignia. Hardly surprisingly, this fact elicited widespread international condemnation, notably from Russia, the EU and Jewish organisations. The groups behind the monument insisted that the men in question had had no truck with Nazism, and had only enlisted as a last resort in order to obtain access to arms w ith which to repel the Soviet invader. The display of the SS insignia nevertheless disregarded the taboo that surrounds the display of Nazi symbols in todays Europe. Also, while the vast majority of Estonian SS legionnaires did indeed sign up only in 1944 as the Soviet army advanced into their homeland, at least some had previously belonged to auxiliary police battalions which have been implicated in Nazi atrocities.1 Concerned to limit potential damage to Estonias international reputation, the government of the day ordered the removal of the monument. The police operation to carry out this order on 2 September 2004 nevertheless provoked clashes with local residents, while the political fallout from the episode contributed to the fall of Prime Minister Juhan Parts several months later. Critics of the government action argued that if the Lihula monument was to be construed as a glorification of totalitarianism, then the same logic should be applied to Soviet monuments that had been left standing following the restoration of Estonian independence in 1991. Singled out in this regard was the Bronze Soldier on T[otilde]nismgi in central Tallinn—a post-war monument erected on the unmarked grave of Soviet troops who fell during the taking of the city in 1944. For the vast majority of Estonians, the arrival of the Soviet Army signalled the replacement of one brutal occupying regime by another, whic h quickly resumed the arrests, executions and large-scale deportations previously witnessed during the first year of Soviet rule in 1940 41. This remains the dominant perception amongst Estonians today. The leaders of post-Soviet Russia, by contrast, have adhered steadfastly to the Soviet-era view of these events as marking the liberation of Estonia from fascism. The defeat of the Nazis during 1941 45 remains central to Russias self-understanding in the post-Soviet era; its  current leaders emphatically deny that the events of 1940 and 1944 in the Baltic states constituted a Soviet occupation, and refuse to acknowledge the suffering which the inhabitants of these countries experienced at the hands of the Soviet regime. Commentators in Russia have emphasised that they will brook no alternative interpretations of the Soviet Unions role in the events of 1939 45, and have therefore characterised calls for the removal of the T[otilde]nismgi monument as a manifestation of support for fascism. For many of the ethnic Russians who today make up nearly half of Tallinns population, the Bronze Soldier has also remained a locus of identification, providing the site for continued unofficial commemorations on 9 May, which was celebrated as Victory Day during the Soviet period. Red paint was thrown over the monument just prior to 9 May 2005, when several other Soviet war memorials were also attacked across the country, and a German military cemetery desecrated in Narva. The following year, this date again elicited tensions: local Russian youth mounted round-the-clock surveillance at the Bronze Soldier, while an Estonian nationalist counter-demonstration led to scuffles on 9 May (Alas 2006a). The monument was subsequently cordoned off by police pending a decision on its future. This formed the object of vigorous political debate ahead of the March 2007 parliamentary elections. Matters relating to the establishment and upkeep of public monuments in post-Soviet Estonia have for the mo st part fallen to local municipalities. In late 2006, however, new legislation was adopted giving central government the power to override local decision making in this regard. This provision was motivated expressly by a desire to remove the monument and the soldiers remains from the centre of Tallinn to the more peripheral setting of the military cemetery on the citys outskirts (Alas 2006a, 2006b, 2006c; Ranname 2006). The subsequent removal of the monument in late April 2007 provided the occasion for large-scale rioting in central Tallinn. On 9 May 2007 hundreds of people visited the monument at its new location in order to lay flowers. Issues of past or memory politics2 have assumed a growing prominence in recent scholarly work on Estonia and the other Baltic states, with a number of authors also highlighting the apparently divergent views of the past held by Estonians and Estonian Russians, and the obstacles that this poses in terms of societal integration (Hackmann 2003; Budryte 2005; Onken 2003, 2007a, 2007b). Publicly sited monuments are evidently central to any discussion of such issues: as recent events in Estonia have shown, they frequently act as catalysts eliciting both official and unsanctioned expressions of collective identity (Burch 2002a, 2004).3 Thus far, however, surprisingly little attention has been devoted to monuments within the relevant academic literature on Estonia. This article is intended as a contribution in this regard, but it approaches the issue from a slightly different angle. The War of Monuments has focused political and media attention upon two different cases, one involving a settlement that is predominantly ethnica lly Estonian by population (Lihula) and the other a capital city (Tallinn) that is almost equally divided between Estonians and Russians. This article shifts the focus to the overwhelmingly Russian-speaking city of Narva, which today sits on Estonias border with the Russian Federation. In particular, our study examines the local politics surrounding the Swedish Lion monument (see Figure 1), which was erected in the city in November 2000 on the 300th anniversary of the Battle of Narva between Sweden and Russia. The Lion monument relates to a past that is far less immediate than the events of 1940 45, but which, as we demonstrate, is still highly salient to contemporary identity politics within Estonia. How, for instance, was the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia framed and debated in a town where ethnic Russians and other Russian-speakers constitute 96% of the population? Equally significantly, todays Lion is depicted as the successor to a similar monument erected in 1936 during the period of Estonias inter-war independence. The reappearance of this symbol could therefore potentially be understood as part of a state-sponsored effort to banish the Soviet past and reconnect with a past Golden Age. Once again, one wonders how this was interpreted by a local population that was established in Narva as a direct consequence of the Soviet takeover and which, by dint of the legal continuity principle, mostly did not obtain the automatic right to Estonian citizenship after 199 1.4 Who then decided to erect the Lion monument, and why? What form did the commemoration of November 2000 take, and what are the main lines of public debate that have surrounded it? The current article will address these questions, and will also seek to link the Narva case to broader conceptual issues of identity politics and post-communist transition, particularly the current debate surrounding the possibilities for the development of a tamed liberal/multicultural nationalism in Central and Eastern Europe.5 Past politics and post-communism The dramatic events that have occurred in Europe over the past two decades have entailed a profound redefinition of collective identities at a variety of scales—national, supranational, regional and local. The end of the Cold War, the demise of the USSR, and the consequent processes of EU and NATO enlargement, all occurring within the overall context of economic globalisation and growing movement of population, have led communities and groups across the continent to revisit existing understandings of who We are and where We are going. Since historical memory is an essential component in the construction of collective identity, this process has necessarily involved renegotiation of the Past as well as debates concerning the Present and Future. Like all forms of identity politics, such memory work is contested, being embedded in complex †¦ power relations that determine what is remembered (or forgotten) by whom, and for what end (Gillis 1994, p. 3). In a similar vein, Graha m et al. (2000, pp. 17 18) remind us that heritage is time-specific and thus its meaning(s) can be altered as texts are re-read in changing times, circumstances and constructs of place and scale. Consequently, it is inevitable that such knowledges are also fields of contestation.6 Publicly sited monuments offer a particularly useful way into researching this phenomenon, since they provide us with a tangible manifestation of some memory work process. The memorial function of such objects can take the form of carefully choreographed gatherings at times of heightened political awareness, or precise moments of commemorative anniversaries. Wreaths might be laid; silence observed; political rallies enacted; pageants performed. Other actions might be characterised more by spontaneity: collective grief at a sudden, tragic event, or an iconoclastic attack on a memorial construed in negative terms. Individuals and groups will attach different, often mutually exclusive meanings to particular monuments. Moreover, such meanings are shifting and contingent: what constitutes an eloquent memorial at one particular moment in time (for instance during an annual commemoration) might become a mute, invisible monument for the rest of the year. In this regard, being ignored is as s ignificant as being noticed.7 Political changes in the present can radically alter the import of a memorial, without any physical change on its part. This reiterates that the context of the monument is intrinsic to meaning. Context, however, can also be physically rendered, as with the shifting of a memorial/monument from some focal point to somewhere more peripheral and less visible. Issues of collective identity have proved especially challenging in those states that have been created or recreated following the collapse of the USSR. These are for the most part configured as classic unitary nation states, and yet in nearly all cases, processes of state and nation building have been effectuated on the basis of societies that are deeply polyethnic or multinational in character (Brubaker 1996; Smith et al. 1998; Smith 1999). Moreover, nearly all of the states in question have painful pasts with which they need to come to terms (Budryte 2005, p. 1). In relation to this region, Paul Gready (2003, p. 6) reminds us that stripped of the fossilising force of Cold War politics, nationalism has become central to political transitions, both as a means and an end. Narratives of history that focus exclusively on the titular nationality and its subjugation and suffering at the hands of former colonial regimes invariably elicit opposition from minority groups, which can easily f rame their own exclusivist narratives of history along the same lines. Indeed, as the Estonian case exemplifies very well, conflicting narratives of the past can be seen as an integral part of the triadic nexus of nationalist politics—the relationship between nationalising states, national minorities and external national homelands—discerned by Rogers Brubaker in his 1996 work Nationalism Reframed (Pettai 2006). In using the past for present purposes, political and intellectual elites in the Baltic and other Central and Eastern European states have also had to take account of the requirements of integration with the European Union, which in the Estonian and Latvian cases especially, has entailed significant changes to the direction of nation-building (Smith 2002a, 2002b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005; Budryte 2005; Kelley 2004; Galbreath 2005). EU-supported state integration strategies launched at the start of the twenty-first century have set the goal of creating integrated multicultural democracies which will enable representatives of the large non-titular, non-citizen population to preserve certain aspects of their distinct culture and heritage as they undergo integration into the polity and the dominant societal culture (Lauristin Heidmets 2002). According to a number of authors writing on the politics of the past and of memory, these efforts to promote an integrated multicultural society necessar ily require all the parties involved to engage with a process of democratising history. Democratisation in this context would imply that history is no longer used extensively for political purposes, alternative readings are allowed to challenge dominant master narratives, a plurality of guardians of memory is tolerated, and that rather than merely stressing the suffering endured by ones own nation, historical narratives recognise that other groups suffered equally, and that the nation in question served as both a bystander and a perpetrator as regards the suffering of others (see Onken 2003, 2007a; Budryte 2005). A significant step in this direction came during 1998, when all three Baltic states established historical commissions.8 Composed of academic experts from home and abroad (in the Estonian case exclusively the latter), these bodies have been called upon to produce an independent assessment of events during the Nazi and Soviet occupations of 1940 91, and have already begun to publish their findings (Onken 2007b). However, developments such as the Estonian War on Monuments and the Baltic Russian dispute over the commemoration held in Moscow to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the end of World War Two (Onken 2007a) underline the extent to which the past is still underpinning conflictual political dynamics in the present. In this regard, Russias increasing reliance on the Soviet past for nation-building purposes and its indiscriminate blanket accusations of fascist tendencies in the Baltic states prompt Baltic politicians to insist that Soviet communism should join Nazism as one of the great evils against which contemporary European values should be defined. As is the case with other aspects of post-communist transition, however, a focus on the state level tells us only so much about the renegotiation of identity in post-socialist Central and Eastern Europe. In this highly complex multi-ethnic environment, the sub-state regional level cannot be disregarded (Batt 2002). A focus on the sub-state level appears especially apposite as far as the study of Estonias public monuments is concerned, for, until now at least, decisions in this area have rested with local rather than with national government. Furthermore, one can point to different political logics that obtain at national and local level. As a result of the citizenship law adopted in the aftermath of independence, ethnic Estonians have constituted a comfortable majority of the national electorate during 1992 2007. The local election law of 1993, however, stipulates that while citizens alone can run for office, all permanent residents have the right to vote, regardless of citizenship status. This has meant that the ethnic composition of the electorate has in some cases been wholly different at municipal level. In this regard, the outright repudiation of the Soviet past displayed by local elites in Lihula stands in marked contrast to trends observable in the capital Tallinn, where Russian-speakers make up almost half the population, and Russian and pro-Russian parties, such as the Centre Party (Keskerakond), have been able to obtain a significant foothold in local politics. This contrast became evident not least in 1995, when the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II brought calls for the removal of the Bronze Soldier. The city council, however, tried instead to imbue this monument with an alternative meaning: a Soviet-era plaque referring to the liberation of Tallinn by the Red Army in 1944 was replaced by one that reads simply to the fallen of World War Two. This step can be read as an effort to inculcate some kind of shared understanding of a highly contentious past within a deeply multi-ethnic setting. What trends, however, can one identify in the more homogeneously Russian pe riphery that is Narva? Estonias new best friend. The rediscovery of Estonias Swedish past The return of the Swedish Lion monument to Narva, as one local newspaper described it (Sommer-Kalda 2000), can be seen in many ways as the culmination of a process of Swedish re-engagement with the eastern Baltic Near Abroad that began in 1990 with the establishment of a Swedish consulate in Tallinn. With considerable financial resources now being made available to support processes of economic and political transition in Estonia, Swedish cultural attach Hans Lepp began to explore how past cultural links might be utilised in the service of what he has termed soft diplomacy.9 Historic ties with Scandinavia have assumed an important place within the discourse of the ruling ethnic Estonian political elite since the 1990s, where they have been used to support the notion of a Return to Europe—or, more broadly, a Return to the Western World following the end of Soviet occupation (Lauristin et al. 1997; Smith 2001, 2003a, 2003b). Within this framework, the period 1561 1710, when Sweden progressively extended its dominion over much of the territory of present-day Estonia and Latvia, is remembered as the Happy Swedish time, which is said to have brought about a considerable improvement in the lot of the Estonian peasantry, before serfdom was returned to its former rigour following entry to the Russian empire. Hans Lepp and his diplomatic colleagues were alive to the possibility of trading on this feeling of goodwill in order to make Sweden Estonias best friend in the Baltic region, with all that this implied in terms of political and economic influence.10 It quickly became apparent, however, that Swedish assistance was most needed in Narva and its surrounding region of Ida-Virumaa. Quite apart from the socio-economic and environmental challenges posed by this largely Russian-populated border region, rising nationalism in neighbouring Russia raised the prospect that the local inhabitants might look eastwards towards Moscow rather than westwards towards Tallinn, with drastic implications for regional stability and security.11 In this specific context history had particular potential as a resource, given the important place of the Battle of Narva of 1700 within the Swedish historical imagination. Although the opening salvo in a disastrous war that saw the Baltic provinces ceded to Russia,12 the first Battle of Narva was nevertheless a remarkable victory by the troops of King Charles XII (often referred to as the Lion of the North) against the numerically superior forces of Peter the Great. In this respect, Eldar Efendiev, who as Mayor of Narva planned the November 2000 commemoration of the battle, claimed in an interview with the authors that Swedes know three dates—the birthday of Gustav Vasa; the birthday of the present King; and the date of the Battle of Narva.13 The significance of the latter event had been seen already in the inter-war period with the installation of a Lion monument on the battlefield site in 1936.14 Already prior to his appointment as cultural attach in 1990, Hans Lepp—then Curator of the art collections at the Swedish Royal Palace in Stockholm—suggested to Efendiev (at that time Head of the Narva Museum) that the restoration of the Lion monument might help to foster closer ties between Narva and Sweden in the present. Lepp subsequently pursued the idea of restoring the Lion with Narva city council in his roles as Swedish cultural attach to Estonia and member of the Swedish Institute. Not surprisingly, however, planning the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia was a potentially fraught endeavour in a town where Russian-speakers now made up 96% of the population. Narva: Eastern, Western or in-between? The more essentialising geopolitical discourses of the post-Cold War era would see Narva as sitting on the westward side of the border that divides Western Christianity from Eastern Orthodoxy. Those who discern a Huntingdonian civilisational fault line between Estonia and Russia could point by way of evidence to the presence of two great fortresses—one German, one Russian—on the respective banks of the Narova River that separates Narva from its neighbouring settlement of Ivangorod and which today marks the state border with the Russian Federation. Not unnaturally, however, the citys past is rather more complex. As noted on the current website of the city government, Narva has not merely served as a defensive outpost and site of struggle between competing regional powers, but has also constituted a locus for trade and interaction between West and East, not least during the period when the city belonged to the Hanseatic League.15 From its foundation in the twelfth century to 1558, Narva did indeed constitute the easternmost point of the province of Estland, which was ruled first by the Danes and later by the German Livonian Order. Neighbouring Ivangorod takes its name from Tsar Ivan III, who ordered the construction of a fortress on the western border of his realm following Muscovys annexation of Novgorod in the late fifteenth century. Muscovy subsequently conquered Narva during the mid-sixteenth century Livonian wars, controlling the city from 1558 to 1581. The city then came under Swedish rule for 120 years following the Livonian Wars, a period which is described on the webpage of todays city government as Narvas Golden Age.16 For nearly three and a half centuries, Narva and Ivangorod functioned in effect as a single composite settlement, first under Swedish rule and then later during the tsarist period, when Narva came under the joint jurisdiction of the Estland and Saint Petersburg Gubernii of the Russian Empire. The conjoined status of the two towns persisted after 1917, when the inhabitants of the Narva district voted in a July referendum to join the province of Estland created following the February Revolution.17 After a brief spell of Bolshevik control during late 1918 to early 1919, when Narva functioned as the seat of the abortive Estonian Workers Commune, both towns were incorporated into the Estonian Republic under the terms of the 1920 Treaty of Tartu. It was only after the Soviet occupation in 1945 that the border was redrawn so as to place Ivangorod in the territory of the Russian Republic of the USSR. Although this division was little more than an administrative formality within a Soviet cont ext, the frontier revision set the scene for the establishment of a fully functioning state border between the two towns after 1992. The Narva that emerged from the Soviet period is almost completely unrecognisable from the one that existed prior to World War Two. Previously characterised as the baroque jewel of Northern Europe, the city was quite literally reduced to rubble in 1944 during fierce fighting between German and Soviet forces in eastern Estonia. While at least some historic buildings—notably the castle and the town hall—were restored, the ruins were for the most part demolished and the city entirely remodelled on the Soviet plan. As was the case with Knigsberg (Kaliningrad), Narva was inhabited by both different inhabitants and a different ideology after 1945 (Sezneva 2002, p. 48). The previous residents, having been evacuated by the occupying Nazi regime, were not allowed to return by its Soviet successor, and were replaced by workers from neighbouring Russia, who oversaw a process of Soviet-style industrialisation in the region. Today, Estonians make up less than 5% of the towns inhabit ants. As part of Narvas transformation into a Soviet place, new monuments were erected to commemorate the fallen of the Great Patriotic War and of the brief period of rule by the Estonian Workers Commune.18 All remaining traces of the pre-war Estonian Republic were swept away following the Soviet re-conquest of 1944. The 1936 Swedish Lion monument, which had been erected at the approaches to the city during a visit by the Swedish Crown Prince, was destroyed by artillery fire and the bronze lion removed by German forces during their retreat. This monument did not reappear under Soviet rule. The authorities did, however, restore and maintain objects linked to the citys Russian past, such as the two tsarist-era monuments to Russian soldiers killed in the battles of 1700 and 1704. As the movement for Estonian independence gathered momentum between 1988 and 1991, Narva gained a reputation as a bastion of support for the maintenance of Soviet power. The city government that came to office in December 1989 set itself resolutely against political change, demanding autonomy for north-east Estonia within the context of a renewed Soviet federation and, in August 1991, voicing support for the abortive Moscow coup which precipitated the collapse of the USSR. The Council was promptly dissolved in the aftermath of Estonian independence; yet, remarkably, its former leaders were allowed to stand in new elections, and were returned to power in October 1991, albeit on a turnout of only 30%. As ethnic tensions mounted in Estonia between 1991 and 1993, and Narvas economy went into freefall, local leaders again set themselves in opposition to central government policies that were designed to engineer a decisive political and economic break with the Soviet past. The last stand o f the Soviet-era leadership came in the summer of 1993: with fresh local elections scheduled for the autumn, the city government organised an unofficial referendum on local autonomy, in which it gained a 97% majority in favour on an officially proclaimed 55% turnout of local voters. With the national government standing firm and refusing to acknowledge the legality of the vote, and no support forthcoming from neighbouring Russia, a growing section of the local political elite appeared to accept that intransigent opposition to the new state order was blocking any prospect of achieving much needed economic renewal. These circles now called upon the existing leadership to give up power peacefully, which it did in October 1993 (Smith 2002b). At the time, the referendum of July 1993 was widely regarded as secessionist in intent. Available evidence, however, would seem to suggest that redrawing physical borders was not on the agenda: the aim was rather to tip the overall political balance within Estonia in favour of the Russian-speaking part of the population and, in this way, to bring Estonia as a whole more firmly within the ambit of Russia and the CIS. In this way, the leadership hoped both to retain power and to restore the citys previous economic ties with the East as well as developing new links with the West (Smith 2002b).19 While Soviet constituted the principal identity marker for Estonias Russian-speaking population prior to 1991, this did not preclude the development of a simultaneous strong identification with the specific territory of the Estonian SSR (widely identified in other republics as the Soviet West or the Soviet Abroad), and with the local place of residence. Between 1989 and 1991, the movement to ass ert Estonian sovereignty gained support from a significant minority (perhaps as much as one third) of local Russian-speakers, who could subscribe to a vision of Estonia as an economic bridge between East and West. Such feelings were by no means absent in Narva, where the 1989 census revealed that seven out of 10 residents had actually been born in Estonia (Kirch et al. 1993, p. 177). Even so, the collapse of the USSR inevitably created something of an identity void as far as Estonias Russian-speakers were concerned. Despite perceptions of discrimination, recent survey work has confirmed a growing identification with the Estonian state (Kolst2002; Budryte 2005; Ehin 2007) as well as significant support for EU membership. Most Russians, however, have scarcely been able to identify themselves with any notion of Estonian national community, with local place of residence and ethnicity serving as the prime markers of identity (Ehin 2007). Despite having an obvious cultural affinity with Russia and with the transnational Russian community across the territory of the former Soviet Union, a population raised in the different socio-cultural setting of the Baltic has found it hard to conceive of actually living in Russia or to identify politically with the contemporary Russian state. It is with this complex identity that the post-1993 leadership in Narva has had to reckon. The Estonian law on local elections passed in May 1993 stipulated that non-citizens could vote but not stand for office. This excluded much of the local population from seeking election, including a substantial proportion of the Soviet-era leadership. Ahead of the October 1993 poll in Narva, however, the state was able to co-opt elements of the local political elite through a process of accelerated naturalisation on the grounds of special services rendered to the state. The elections of October 1993 saw a strong turnout by local voters, and brought to power a coalition of locally based parties and interest groups. The city governments elected during the period 1993 2005—a period when the national-level Centre Party attained the dominant position within local politics—were far more ready than their predecessors to embrace the new political economy of post-socialism, and thus better placed to cooperate both with central government and with Western partners within the wid er Baltic Sea area. In this regard, the commemoration of the Battle of Narva and the installation of the Swedish Lion can be understood as an attempt to create a narrative of the citys past capable of underpinning growing ties with Sweden in the present. These ties assumed a particular significance after 1995, when Swedish textile firm Boras Wfveri purchased a 75% stake in Narvas historic Kreenholm Mill, then the citys second-largest employer. According to Raivo Murd, the ethnic Estonian who served as Mayor of Narva from 1993 to 1996, the investment was proof that Narva was finally beginning to shed the Red image that had prevailed under the former political dispensation.20 In a clear sign of its determination to break with the Soviet past, the city government appointed in October 1993 removed Estonias last remaining statue of Lenin, which had remained standing in the central Peters Square in Narva during the first two years of Estonian independence. The subsequent period has seen the installation of new monuments commemorating—inter alia—the victims of Stalinist deportations during the 1940s and key moments in the transition to Estonian independence during 1917 20. The Old Narva Society founded by surviving pre-1944 residents of Narva also put up a number of commemorative plaques marking the sites of churches and other key buildings from the pre-war city. Yet the post-1993 political e

Abraham Lincoln :: essays research papers

Abraham Lincoln Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth President of the United States. He served from 1861- 1865. People referred to him as " Honest Abe." During the Civil War Lincoln helped with the North, in doing this the North selected him for a second time in 1864. In all of his time he never wavered from his primary goal- to save the Union and also he saw the nation through it's most dreadful experience, war between Americans. In the beginning- Abraham was born on February 12, 1809. Him ad his family moved a couple of times from place to place. With helping on the farm and managing to get in some schooling at a local school. He learned how to read and write. His full size grew to be 6'4. The middle years- In 1832, as a captain of the Militia Company, he went off to the Black Hawk War. Soon after the War he ran for the Illinois legislature and lost. Afterward with a partner, he opened his own general store but went broke. In 1834, as a Whig, he was elected to the legislature and served four terms. But in the meantime, he read enough law to finally become a lawyer and in 1837 he moved to Springfield. Here he attended legislative sessions, practiced law, and met his future wife. Family life- Abraham's wife was Mary Todd; she was a Kentucky born girl. They were soon married on November 4, 1842. They had together four kids, Robert, Edward, William, and Thomas. But Edward died shortly before his fourth birthday, William died in the White House of typhoid at only age eleven, and also son Thomas died in 1871 at age eighteen right before adulthood. Being the President- In 1846, Lincoln won election to the U.S. House of Representatives. He served up until 1849, then returned to Springfield. In the 1850's he returned to politics. He spoke out against slavery extension. In 1856 he became a Republican. Two years later he ran for U.S. Senate, but lost however. He won the President nomination on the third ballot and won. He was elected President on November 6, 1861. In November 1863, Lincoln dedicated the Gettysburg battlefield, in a short speech known as the Gettysburg Address. It summed up the Civil War and it's meaning to the Americans.

Nostradamus and his Quatrains

Michel Nostradamus was a 16th century French physician and astrologer who had the figure of a prophet as perceived by his disciples. However, Nostradamus’ predictions were usually muddled and obscure before so-called predicted event but crystal-clear after the event had occurred. He wrote four-line verses that were particularly meaningless until an event had occurred; hence, the verse of prediction was considered as â€Å"shoehorned† into a prophecy, which can be sometimes classified as retroprophecy of his quatrains or four verses predictions. Hence, within this study, the discussion aims to link the concepts of quatrains with Nostradamus’ predictions. Michel de Nostredame, born in December 14, 1503 and died in July 2, 1566, had been considered as one of the mythical seers of prophetic fields. Nostradamus had been his popular name throughout ages, and with this, the subject of prophecies links with his name. The French so-called â€Å"prophet† by his disciples was significantly known for his poetic quatrains that depict some sort of indirect and unclear predictions. However, the magic of his statement only occurs right after its occurrence. Most of his prophecies revolved in world state issues but try to conceal their meanings with the literary way in Nostradamus writings. Discussion Overview on the Concept of Quatrains From the historical perspective, Nostradamus’ quatrains had been published in 1555, which he entitled Centuries. His book contained his visions and all his predictions about the future of the world. Nostradamus was able to conceptualize 10 chapters of the book with 100 quatrains present each except for chapter 7, which only contained 42 quatrains. In addition, the quatrains of Nostradamus did not indicate any signs of time or date; hence, the actual interpretations of these predictions became vague and somehow literary severed. The quatrains in his book had this jumbled characters and the arrangements of its meaning took a long time before being organized. Most evidently, Nostradamus used the literary poetic style of four-lines in a verse or known as Quatrains. The most evident characteristic of his statements was the absolute use of figure of speech that made it hard for the reader to interpret the predictions initially; however, these statements somehow magically revealed their meaning right after the event had passed. The quatrains of Nostradamus, according to the book of Cannon (1992), contained obscure and foreign words wherein beneath possessed severely unexplainable interpretations (4). Although some can be interpreted, most of Nostradamus quatrains had used the vague identities of the statements in order to conceal their true meaning for a while. Cannon (1992) added that most of Nostradamus’ statements had not been interpreted in satisfactory manner so far (4). Nostradamus’ quatrains were so vague that they could have applied to many possible events, or symbolisms that could be convoluted with many possible interpretations. Nostradamus was able to cleverly disguise the meaning behind his quatrains in order to confuse those attempting to interpret the prophecies before their fulfillment. As supported by Oliver (2004), Nostradamus’ quatrains were hand-written in Old French, which could be very difficult to translate (11). Through these clever literary disguises, Nostradamus was able to veil the predictions prior to its occurrence; hence, saving the world from preparing prior to tragic events or future world disasters. Out of more than 900 prophecies of Nostradamus, none of them comprised of date, which further complicated the interpretations of these quatrains. However, despite of the vague identities and thoughts of Nostradamus’ quatrains, he had used some patterns that could be used as guides in understanding his quatrains. Although, most of the modern observers and readers did not considered the applications of Nostradamus’ predictions towards the globally occurring events.   As for the explorers of Nostradamus’ predictions, they had considered the quatrains of Nostradamus’ as predictions of the future; however, from the term itself, a prediction should fist be relayed and interpreted prior to the occurrence of the events. With the proposed argument of Diamond (2004), after the President Kennedy was shot, everyone jumped on the Nostradamus quatrain bandwagon and said that through his quatrain, he had clearly predicted the Kennedy shooting. However, this is not predicting since predicting means successfully calling a circumstance prior to its occurrence rather than using post-hoc reasoning to explain something (161). From his supporting statement, the predictions of Nostradamus and the vagueness of his quatrains had somehow initiated the concept of retroprophecy or the revealing of truth to his prophecy only after its occurrence. Despite of diverse critics on Nostradamus’ quatrains and predictions it conceived, some of these were extraordinarily and undeniably accurate. According to Goldberg (1999), the style of predictions made by Nostradamus may or may not be intentionally being veiled for future assumptions of interpreters (218). The retrograde characteristics of Nostradamus’ prophecy cannot be entirely considered as due to his intention of hiding it to the readers, since he had conceptualized this during his time and possibly without the knowledge of the changing French language. However, arguments would rise from this reason, since Nostradamus did not only use Old French language to veil his prophecy but also his figurative way of expressing his predictions. Arguments on whether or not to consider the validity of Nostradamus’ predictions aroused because of the retrograde characteristics of his predictions. On the other hand, the mystery of these quatrains was more understood in relation with American society and, as against to the early translations, the European society. As the twentieth century entered in, some of the predictions of Nostradamus regained its clarity and application not with the European society, but most often to the United States (e.g. September 11, 2001 bombing, etc.). As supported by McClaine (2000), Nostradamus had mentioned the birth of different personages who were born after his death and the rise of nations that were unknown or unthinkably despicably in his day (20). Nostradamus’ predictions may even faced this character of revealing itself right after the scenario occurred; however, his quatrains had somehow considerably predicted most of the events occurring within the global context, most especially with the American society; hence, the quatrains of Nostradamus did provide significant means of hiding its meaning and further exposing it right after fulfillment. Nostradamus and his Predictions Many of Nostradamus’ readers had long attempted to translate the prophecies in his statements. Unfortunately, even the original translations were not as accurate as it seems, and so far, no significant changes in the translations had been made. Adding into the complexities of Nostradamus’ quatrains, the Old French meanings had been modified by time for the last 400 years; hence, most of the words can no longer be applied to the translations of modern French.   Two points were common to his predictions, which were the presence of allegory and deep literary disguise. According to Ned (1999), the predictions of Nostradamus utilized codes, patterns and oracles that had been camouflaged in references to the past and molded in to rhyme of verses (8). Nostradamus simply wrote down the prophesies that arrived to his thinking; however, he was able to document it properly without further giving patterns via place, time, or events. From the complex meaning and diverse possible interpretations from Nostradamus’ predictions, it should have been easier if Nostradamus’ indicated the dates of his predictions; however, as supported by Halley (1999), Nostradamus himself did not consider placing it for good reasons (8). Overall, the vocabularies that Nostradamus used within his predictions were approximately 8,000 words; however, some of these, despite of similar means, were used in differently in a poetical form. As supported by Thurston (2004), some of the predictions in his quatrains seem unarguable accurate, and particularly fulfilled in his own society and time (39). However, only few of Nostradamus quatrains would possess significant linkage to historical events. The sense of ambiguity and enigma still governed the multiplicity of meanings in his predicting quatrains. Some of the skeptics would consider the predictions of Nostradamus by either problematic or significantly true. In the sense of being problematic, Thurston (2004) argued that some of the articles in Nostradamus’ predictions were impossible to have been conceptualized or even grasped (e.g. aircraft vessels, guns, sky-scrape buildings, etc.) four hundred years before its actual occurrence (39). On the other hand, the same reason could be applied to justify Nostradamus’ realistic predictions since there were no possible means to grasp these ideas except for truthfully seeing them through predictions (Desrosiers 46). For the sake of interpretations, some critiques in this study would defend the presence of pattern in Nostradamus’ predictions; however, Welch (2000), argued that Nostradamus’ punctuations were wildly erratic, apparently following no particular rule or pattern (7). There were no patterns employed in any of Nostradamus predictions in order to facilitate the revealing of his quatrains message only after the occurrence of the incident. In some perspective, Popkin (1992) provided the statement that even Nostradamus claimed that his capacity to predict came as a divine providence from God, which allowed him to predict the coming future (182). According to his argument, Nostradamus had to ensure that the revelations of his quatrains will only occur after the events had already pass in order to avoid the change of predictions and the future. If human civilization can to obtain control over these predictions, the chances of its failed occurrence will be likely since humans will eventually prepare prior to the event’s occurrence (Frank 204). Somehow, Nostradamus had to ensure the retrograde character of his quatrains in order to protect predictions stored with it, and further prevent warnings from ever arriving to human thinking. An Analysis to Nostradamus Four-Line Verses The disguises of Nostradamus’ quatrains involved various confusing parts because of some sort of punch lines that he had incorporated, which, if interpreted correctly, could provide a new picture of interpretation. In one example, Nostradamus’ Quatrain 87 from Chapter 1 says (cited in Oliver 12): Great symbols on fire in the center of the mainland Will cause trembling in the towers of New York City Two great skyscrapers will be continuously attacked, This is when Arethuse turn-around to a new course. This has been one of the famous quatrains from Nostradamus’ prediction, which gained its popularity during the bombing of 1993. Civilians and believers of Nostradamus’ predictions had thought that this was the fulfillment of his statements; however, things went clearer during the September 11, 2001 attack in the World Trade Center twin towers. According to Oliver (2004), quatrain 87 refers to the World Trade Center as the French Old English suggest, â€Å"Enno-sigee†, which connoted enno as great one and sigee as standing silent; hence, depicting the great ensigns of the New York skyline (12). After the event had occurred, the statements from media repeatedly reported the downfall or incident of the symbols of American capitalism or in translation, the great ensigns or symbolisms (Ward 117). Lastly, the Arethuse in the last statements of Nostradamus’ prophecy did not actually appeared in the modern context of French language, but rather considered to be the Old French language. From etymological analysis, Arethus could be translated to Aerthuse and if interpreted right, â€Å"Are† should mean air, while â€Å"thuse† should mean tubes. If these words were translated, it could somehow mean â€Å"air-tubes† or â€Å"air-vessels†, which if interpreted with the statements, â€Å"this is when Arethuse turn-around to a new course†, could mean the aircraft that changed its course to hit the twin towers during the September 11, 2001 disaster  Ã‚   (Oliver 12-13). Hence, as for the thesis of this study and with this statement analysis, the predictions of Nostradamus could be composed of vague and unclear statements; however, upon the fulfillment of events, these prophecies revealed their meaning to the readers with correct interpretations. This was only one of the many prophecies of Nostradamus that provided a significant character of being â€Å"retroprophecy† or revealing of predictions after its fulfillment. Ironically, Nostradamus distributed his Centuries of 1955 in order for men to possess basis that these significant global events were destined and already plotted, but clearly not to warn or save humanity from the impending disasters and conflicts that future had in store for human civilization. Conclusion In response to the thesis of the study, Nostradamus had indeed utilized a retrograde feature for his quatrains or four-line verses in order to hide the predictions from humans preventing them to possess warnings and prepare for the upcoming future. Evidently, Nostradamus purposively disguised and used Old French in order to conceal the meanings, provide multiple interpretations, and hide the actual predictions of his quatrains. However, after the fulfillment of the given statement had been fulfilled, the events were being revealed to human minds. Scholars had suggested possible patterns in his quatrains that may hold access to deciphering his predictions; however, so far, little portions of success had been made due to the complexities his quatrains. Works Cited Cannon, Dolores. Conversations with Nostradamus: His Prophecies Explained. Ozark Mountain Publishing, 1992. Desrosiers, Gilbert. An Introduction to Revelation: A Pathway to Interpretation. Continuum International Publishing Group, 2000. Diamond, Leonard. Alien Conscious: Sixty Years of Abduction Experiences. Gate Way Publishers, 2004. Frank, Joseph. The Atlantis Encyclopedia. Career Press, 2005. Goldberg, Bruce. Astral Voyages: Mastering the Art of Soul Travel. Llewellyn Worldwide, 1999. Halley, Ned. Complete Prophecies of Nostradamus. Wordsworth Editions, 1999. McClaine, Lee. Across Centuries: Nostradamus, Apocalypse, Destiny and the Great Millennium. Universal Publishers, 2000. Oliver, Edward. Trail Of Prophecy. Virtualbookworm Publisher, 2004. Popkin, Richard. The Third Force in Seventeenth-century Thought. BRILL, 1992. Thurston, Mark. Edgar Cayce's Predictions for the 21st Century. Star Enterprises International Inc., 2004. Ward, Charles A. Oracles of Nostradamus. NuVision Publications, 2007. Welch, R W. Comet of Nostradamus: August 2004-Impact!. Llewellyn Worldwide, 2000.   

Direct and Indirect Taxes in India

A Direct tax is a kind of charge, which is imposed directly on the taxpayer and paid directly to the government by the persons (juristic or natural) on whom it is imposed. A direct tax is one that cannot be shifted by the taxpayer to someone else. The some important direct taxes imposed in India are as under: Income Tax: Income Tax Act, 1961 imposes tax on the income of the individuals or Hindu undivided families or firms or co-operative societies (other tan companies) and trusts (identified as bodies of individuals associations of persons) or every artificial juridical person. The inclusion of a particular income in the total incomes of a person for income-tax in India is based on his residential status. There are three residential status, viz. , (i) Resident & Ordinarily Residents (Residents) (ii) Resident but not Ordinarily Residents and (iii) Non 72 Residents. There are several steps involved in determining the residential status of a person. All residents are taxable for all their income, including income outside India. Non residents are taxable only for the income received in India or Income accrued in India. Not ordinarily residents are taxable in relation to income received in India or income accrued in India and income from business or profession controlled from India. Corporation Tax: The companies and business organizations in India are taxed on the income from their worldwide transactions under the provision of Income Tax Act, 1961. A corporation is deemed to be resident in India if it is incorporated in India or if it’s control and management is situated entirely in India. In case of non resident corporations, tax is levied on the income which is earned from their business transactions in India or any other Indian sources depending on bilateral agreement of that country. Property Tax: Property tax or ‘house tax' is a local tax on buildings, along with appurtenant land, and imposed on owners. The tax power is vested in the states and it is delegated by law to the local bodies, specifying the valuation method, rate band, and collection procedures. The tax base is the annual ratable value (ARV) or area-based rating. Owner-occupied and other properties not producing rent are assessed on cost and then converted into ARV by applying a percentage of cost, usually six percent. Vacant land is generally exempted from the assessment. The properties lying under control of Central are exempted from the taxation. Instead a ‘service charge' is permissible under executive order. Properties of foreign missions also enjoy tax exemption without an insistence for reciprocity. Inheritance (Estate) Tax: An inheritance tax (also known as an estate tax or death duty) is a tax which arises on the death of an individual. It is a tax on the estate, or total value of the money and property, of a person who has died. India enforced estate duty from 1953 to 1985. Estate Duty Act, 1953 came into existence w. e. f. 15th October, 1953. Estate Duty on agricultural land was discontinued under the Estate Duty (Amendment) Act, 1984. The levy of Estate Duty in respect of property (other than agricultural land) passing on death occurring on or after 16th March, 1985, has also been abolished under the Estate Duty (Amendment) Act, 1985. Gift Tax: Gift tax in India is regulated by the Gift Tax Act which was constituted on 1st April, 1958. It came into effect in all parts of the country except Jammu and Kashmir. As per the Gift Act 1958, all gifts in excess of Rs. 25,000, in the form of cash, draft, check or others, received from one who doesn't have blood relations with the recipient, were taxable. However, with effect from 1st October, 1998, gift tax got demolished and all the gifts made on or after the date were free from tax. But in 2004, the act was again revived partially. A new provision was introduced in the Income Tax Act 1961 under section 56 (2). According to it, the gifts received by any individual or Hindu Undivided Family (HUF) in excess of Rs. 50,000 in a year would be taxable. Indirect Tax: An indirect tax is a tax collected by an intermediary (such as a retail store) from the person who bears the ultimate economic burden of the tax (such as the customer). An indirect tax is one that can be shifted by the taxpayer to someone else. An indirect tax may increase the price of a good so that consumers are actually paying the tax by paying more for the products. The some important indirect taxes imposed in India are as under: Customs Duty: The Customs Act was formulated in 1962 to prevent illegal imports and exports of goods. Besides, all imports are sought to be subject to a duty with a view to affording protection to indigenous industries as well as to keep the imports to the minimum in the interests of securing the exchange rate of Indian currency. Duties of customs are levied on goods imported or exported from India at the rate specified under the customs Tariff Act, 1975 as amended from time to time or any other law for the time being in force. Under the custom laws, the various types of duties are leviable. (1) Basic Duty: This duty is levied on imported goods under the Customs Act, 1962. (2) Additional Duty (Countervailing Duty) (CVD): This is levied under section 3 (1) of the Custom Tariff Act and is equal to excise duty levied on a like product manufactured or produced in India. If a like product is not manufactured or produced in India, the excise duty that would be leviable on that product had it been manufactured or produced in India is the duty payable. If the product is leviable at different rates, the highest rate among those rates is the rate applicable. Such duty is leviable on the value of goods plus basic custom duty payable. (3) Additional Duty to compensate duty on inputs used by Indian manufacturers: This is levied under section 3(3) of the Customs Act. (4) Anti-dumping Duty: Sometimes, foreign sellers abroad may export into India goods at prices below the amounts charged by them in their domestic markets in order to capture Indian markets to the detriment of Indian industry. This is known as dumping. In order to prevent dumping, the Central Government may levy additional duty equal to the margin of dumping on such articles. There are however certain restrictions on imposing dumping duties in case of countries which are signatories to the GATT or on countries given â€Å"Most Favoured Nation Status† under agreement. (5) Protective Duty: If the Tariff Commission set up by law recommends that in order to protect the interests of Indian industry, the Central Government may levy protective anti-dumping duties at the rate recommended on specified goods. 6) Duty on 73 Bounty Fed Articles: In case a foreign country subsidises its exporters for exporting goods to India, the Central Government may impose additional import duty equal to the amount of such subsidy or bounty. If the amount of subsidy or bounty cannot be clearly deter mined immediately, additional duty may be collected on a provisional basis and after final determination, difference may be collected or refunded, as the case may be. (7) Export Duty: Such duty is levied on export of goods. At present very few articles such as skins and leather are subject to export duty. The main purpose of this duty is to restrict exports of certain goods. (8) Cess on Export: Under sub-section (1) of section 3 of the Agricultural & Processed Food Products Export Cess Act, 1985 (3 of 1986), 0. 5% ad valorem as the rate of duty of customs be levied and collected as cess on export of all scheduled products. (9) National Calamity Contingent Duty: This duty was imposed under Section 134 of the Finance Act, 2003 on imported petroleum crude oil. This tax was also leviable on motor cars, imported multi-utility vehicles, two wheelers and mobile phones. (10) Education Cess: Education Cess is leviable @ 2% on the aggregate of duties of Customs (except safeguard duty under Section 8B and 8C, CVD under Section 9 and anti-dumping duty under Section 9A of the Customs Tariff Act, 1985). Items attracting Customs Duty at bound rates under international commitments are exempted from this Cess. (11) Secondary and Higher Education Cess: Leviable @1% on the aggregate of duties of Customs. 12) Road Cess: Additional Duty of Customs on Motor Spirit is leviable and Additional Duty of Customs on High Speed Diesel Oil is leviable by the Finance Act (No. 2), 1998. and the Finance Act, 1999 respectively. (13) Surcharge on Motor Spirit: Special Additional Duty of Customs (Surcharge) on Motor Spirit is leviable by the Finance Act, 2002. Central Excise Duty: The Central Government levies excise duty under the Central Excise Act, 1944 and the Central Excise Tariff Act, 1985. Central excise duty is tax which is charged on such excisable goods that are manufactured in India and are meant for domestic consumption. The term â€Å"excisable goods† means the goods which are specified in the First Schedule and the Second Schedule to the Central Excise Tariff Act 1985. It is mandatory to pay Central Excise duty payable on the goods manufactured, unless exempted eg; duty is not payable on the goods exported out of India. Further various other exemptions are also notified by the Government from the payment of duty by the manufacturers. Various Central Excise are: (1) Basis Excise Duty: Excise Duty, imposed under section 3 of the ‘Central Excises and Salt Act’ of 1944 on all excisable goods other than salt produced or manufactured in India, at the rates set forth in the schedule to the Central Excise tariff Act, 1985, falls under the category of Basic Excise Duty In India. (2) Special Excise Duty: According to Section 37 of the Finance Act, 1978, Special Excise Duty is levied on all excisable goods that come under taxation, in line with the Basic Excise Duty under the Central Excises and Salt Act of 1944. Therefore, each year the Finance Act spells out that whether the Special Excise Duty shall or shall not be charged, and eventually collected during the relevant financial year. (2) Additional Duty of Excise: Section 3 of the ‘Additional Duties of Excise Act’ of 1957 permits the charge and collection of excise duty in respect of the goods as listed in the Schedule of this Act. (4) Road Cess: (a) Additional Duty of Excise on Motor Spirit: This is leviable by the Finance Act (No. 2), 1998. (b) Additional Duty of Excise on High Speed Diesel Oil: This is leviable by the Finance Act, 1999. 5) Surcharge: (a) Special Additional Duty of Excise on Motor Spirit: This is leviable by the Finance Act, 2002. (b) Surcharge on Pan Masala and Tobacco Products: This Additional Duty of Excise has been imposed on cigarettes, pan masala and certain specified tobacco products, at specified rates in the Budget 2005-06. Biris are not subjected to this levy. (6) National Calamity Contingent Duty (NCCD): NCCD was levied on pan masala and certain specified tobacco products vide the Finance Act, 2001. The Finance Act, 2003 extended this levy to polyester filament yarn, motor car, two wheeler and multi-utility vehicle and crude petroleum oil. (7) Education Cess: Education Cess is leviable @2% on the aggregate of duties of Excise and Secondary and Higher Education Cess is Leviable @1% on the aggregate of duties of Excise. (8) Cess – A cess has been imposed on certain products. Service Tax: The service providers in India except those in the state of Jammu and Kashmir are required to pay a Service Tax under the provisions of the Finance Act of 1994. The provisions related to Service Tax came into effect on 1st July, 1994. Under Section 67 of this Act, the Service Tax is levied on the gross or aggregate amount charged by the service provider on the receiver. However, in terms of Rule 6 of Service Tax Rules, 1994, the tax is permitted to be paid on the value received. The interesting thing about Service Tax in India is that the Government depends heavily on the voluntary compliance of the service providers for collecting Service Tax in India. Sales Tax: Sales Tax in India is a form of tax that is imposed by the Government on the sale or purchase of a particular commodity within the country. Sales Tax is imposed under both, Central Government (Central Sales Tax) and State Government (Sales Tax) Legislation. Generally, each State follows its own Sales Tax Act and levies tax at various rates. Apart from sales tax, certain States also imposes additional charges like works contracts tax, turnover tax and purchaser tax. Thus, Sales Tax Acts as a major revenue-generator for the various State Governments. From 10th April, 2005, most of the States in India have supplemented sales tax with a new Value Added Tax (VAT).

To Kill Mockingbird essays

To Kill Mockingbird essays One theme of the novel To Kill A Mockingbird is the transition from innocence to experience. At the beginning of the story To Kill A Mockingbird Scouts world is limited to the boundaries of immediate neighborhood. She feels safe and secure, and totally confident that the way things are done in her home is not just the right way, but also the only way. The arrival of Dill, who comes from a broken home and has lived in another state, gives Scout her first hint of a variety of many experiences beyond her narrow horizons. Then, Scouts first day of school in Maycomb is not necessarily correct. She also learns that sometimes it is necessary to compromise in order to get along. Even though Scouts teachers ideas about how to teach reading may be wrong, Scout must respect her teachers authority. Her own father advises her to ignore the teachers ban on reading at home, but to pretend to go along with the teachers methods in the classroom. This kind of social hypocrisy is new to Scout, and sh e is surprised to hear her very own moral father Atticus advocating it. As the story progresses, Scout encounters other numerous examples of the complexity of human motivation. Sometimes characters that do evil things, such as Mayella Ewell, are nevertheless more pitiful than hateful. On the other hand, it is possible for some individuals to do the right thing for quite unexpected reasons. Mr. Underwood does not like blacks and is a mean-spirited person in general, yet he alone helps Atticus during the quarrel at the jail. By the final chapters of the novel, Scout has learned that good and justice do not necessarily triumph every time. Harmless individuals such as Tom Robinson and Boo Radley can become victims through no fault of their own. Sometimes the system can do nothing to defend them. In one of the final scenes of the story, the sheriff puts compassion ahead of the letter of the law so th...