It is not possible to read Heidegger's text without the image of his arm raised in the Nazi salute haunting it. The image compels us to examine Heidegger's philosophy in terms of its susceptibility to Nazi ideology. Heidegger's philosophy was inscribed at the end of the history of philosophy, a time when Nazism was on the rise and on its way to the renewal of German destiny. In paragraph six of Being and Time Heidegger outlined his agenda for the renewal of philosophy. The renewal necessitated the destruction of the errant history of ontology in order to retrieve the pure primordial experiences. The parallels between the forms of two agendas are coincidental. However, my work shows where they overlapped. I explore the consequence of this overlap by soliciting the 'first' text of philosophy, The Anaximander Fragment, that speaks about justice and injustice. Justice is also at issue in the text of Jacques Derrida. Derrida's primary resource is paragraph six of Heidegger's Being and Time, a fact that caused some of his readers to assimilate him to Heidegger. Derrida has tried to distance himself from Heidegger and in a late text he has offered us the prescriptive phrase, "Deconstruction is justice," to guide our reading of his text. The phrase invites us to examine Derrida's work in light of its saying. This is what I try to do. I show that a separation cannot be accomplished without a price, because whether an author intends it or not, justice is something ghostly and it keeps its own account. Heidegger's arm and Derrida's hand caught in the trap of paragraph six tell another story, different from the stories the authors tell. The limbs tell the story about the ghosts of justice.

At the end of a winter-long journey into manhood, Little Hawk returns to find his village decimated by a white man's plague and soon, despite a fresh start, Little Hawk dies violently but his spirit remains trapped, seeing how his world changes.

"I don't blame my executioners. I will pray God bless them. " So said General Tomoyuki Yamashita, Japan's most accomplished military commander, as he stood on the scaffold in Manila in 1946. His stoic dignity typified the man his U.S. Army defense lawyers had come to deeply respect in the first war crimes trial of World War II. Moments later, he was dead. But had justice been served? Allan A. Ryan reopens the case against Yamashita to illuminate crucial questions and controversies that have surrounded his trial and conviction, but also to deepen our understanding of broader contemporary issues-especially the limits of command accountability. The atrocities of 1944 and 1945 in the Philippines-rape, murder, torture, beheadings, and starvation, the victims often women and children-were horrific. They were committed by Japanese troops as General Douglas MacArthur's army tried to recapture the islands. Yamashita commanded Japan's dispersed and besieged Philippine forces in that final year of the war. But the prosecution conceded that he had neither ordered nor committed these crimes. MacArthur charged him, instead, with the crime-if it was one-of having "failed to control" his troops, and convened a military commission of five American generals, none of them trained in the law. It was the first prosecution in history of a military commander on such a charge. In a turbulent and disturbing trial marked by disregard of the Army's own rules, the generals delivered the verdict they knew MacArthur wanted. Yamashita's lawyers appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court, whose controversial decision upheld the conviction over the passionate dissents of two justices who invoked, for the first time in U.S. legal history, the concept of international human rights. Drawing from the tribunal's transcripts, Ryan vividly chronicles this tragic tale and its personalities. His trenchant analysis of the case's lingering question-should a commander be held accountable for the crimes of his troops, even if he has no knowledge of them-has profound implications for all military commanders.

Higher Education Hauntologies considers how higher education might benefit from thinking about Derrida’s notion of hauntology and its implications for a justice-to-come. It contributes to the imperative to rethink the university across and with/in global geopolitical spaces and thus, has appeal for both Southern and international contexts. The book includes ideas which push boundaries that previously served higher education teachers and scholars and proposes new imaginaries of higher education. Additionally, the collection makes a contribution to ongoing debates about the epistemological, ethical, ontological and political implications of hauntology in higher education policies and practices, particularly in line with contemporary concerns for more socially just possibilities and visions in higher education. This book will be of great interest for academics, researchers and postgraduate students of posthumanism and new materialism who are looking for new perspectives to engage with, and for those who are concerned about a justice-to-come in education, higher education, and educational theory and policy.

In February 1945, some 80,000 U.S. Marines attacked the heavily defended fortress that the Japanese had constructed on the tiny Pacific island of Iwo Jima. Leaders of the Army Air Forces said they needed the airfields there to provide fighter escort for their B-29 bombers. At the cost of 28,000 American casualties, the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Marine Divisions dutifully conquered this desolate piece of hell with a determination and sacrifice that have become legendary in the annals of war, immortalized in the photograph of six Marines raising the American flag on Mount Suribachi. But the Army Air Forces’ fighter operations on Iwo Jima subsequently proved both unproductive and unnecessary. After the fact, a number of other justifications were generated to rationalize this tragically expensive battle. Ultimately, misleading statistics were presented to contend that the number of lives saved by B-29 emergency landings on Iwo Jima outweighed the cost of its capture. In The Ghosts of Iwo Jima, Captain Robert S. Burrell masterfully reconsiders the costs of taking Iwo Jima and its role in the war effort. His thought-provoking analysis also highlights the greater contribution of Iwo Jima’s valiant dead: They inspired a reverence for the Marine Corps that proved critical to its institutional survival and its embodiment of American national spirit. From the 7th War Loan Campaign of 1945 through the flag-raising at Ground Zero in 2001, the immortal image of Iwo Jima has become a symbol of American patriotism itself. Burrell’s searching account of this fabled island conflict will advance our understanding of World War II and its continuing legacy for the twenty-first century. At last, the battle’s ghosts may unveil its ultimate, and most crucial, lessons.

Aspiring to be the fastest sprinter on his elite middle school's track team, gifted runner Ghost finds his goal challenged by a tragic past with a violent father.

This “novel of extraordinary humanity” (Madeleine Thien, author of Do Not Say We Have Nothing) from New York Times bestselling author Vaddey Ratner reveals “the endless ways that families can be forged and broken hearts held” (Chicago Tribune) as a young woman begins an odyssey to discover the truth about her missing father. Leaving the safety of America, Teera returns to Cambodia for the first time since her harrowing escape as a child refugee. She carries a letter from a man who mysteriously signs himself as “the Old Musician” and claims to have known her father in the Khmer Rouge prison where he disappeared twenty-five years ago. In Phnom Penh, Teera finds a society still in turmoil, where perpetrators and survivors of unfathomable violence live side by side, striving to mend their still beloved country. She meets a young doctor who begins to open her heart, confronts her long-buried memories, and prepares to learn her father’s fate. Meanwhile, the Old Musician, who earns his modest keep playing ceremonial music at a temple, awaits Teera’s visit. He will have to confess the bonds he shared with her parents, the passion with which they all embraced the Khmer Rouge’s illusory promise of a democratic society, and the truth about her father’s end. A love story for things lost and restored, a lyrical hymn to the power of forgiveness, Music of the Ghosts is a “sensitive portrait of the inheritance of survival” (USA TODAY) and a journey through the embattled geography of the heart where love can be reborn.