Greg Bankoff

Fire has shaped human evolution, social organisation, and technological development, yet modern fire science remains anchored in categories derived largely from Western experience: wildland fires, the wildland–urban interface, and urban conflagrations. These frameworks obscure a fourth, largely overlooked regime – village fire – rural settlements that lack the structural protections, materials, and services characteristic of urban areas. In the Philippines, where rural settlement dominated into the twentieth century, village fire was the principal way people encountered fire risk. Using evidence from the Historical Data Papers (1951), this study reconstructs a village fire regime marked by highly combustible construction, new technological sources of ignition, and the recurrent weaponisation of flame in conflict. Contrary to the urban ‘fire gap’, village fires did not decline but intensified, occasionally acting as catalysts for community renewal. Recognising village fire as a distinct category challenges Western-derived fire typologies and broadens the environmental history of fire.

Vessels of every kind, from ocean-going liners and steamers to sailing ships and local craft, plied the waters of the Philippine archipelago in the late nineteenth century, providing the only means of timely and cost-effective travel to destinations within, between and beyond the islands. Yet the vulnerability of this maritime world to typhoons remains little studied, even though ships at anchor were often as exposed to cyclonic winds as those at sea. Drawing on contemporary newspapers, published letters and official reports, this article examines the typhoon season of 1881 as a case study through which to explore the wider history of storm-related losses in Philippine shipping and the damages inflicted on vessels and crews. More than a human tragedy, these disasters also carried far-reaching economic and environmental consequences, underscoring the centrality of maritime risk in the everyday life of the archipelago.

Volcanoes are talked about as if they are one and the same thing. If they are differentiated, they are referred to as active or inactive, and classified according to their structure and composition. Volcanoes, however, do not mean the same thing to all people. Mount Mayon in Albay province, Philippines, is a case in point. Through interviews with a volcanologist, an engineer, a politician, a historian, and a local resident, this paper explores what people think a volcano is and the risks it poses. These informants do not share a common narrative. Their personal storylines are embedded in public narratives that are fixed in time and place, and master narratives that reflect the social values and standards of their group or profession. How stories are told, what is said, and the context within which they emerge constitute an institutional narrative that is important to understanding better how people perceive risk and improving disaster risk management.

Rich volcanic soils have long attracted human settlements, which have traded the risk of eruption against the benefits of higher agricultural yields. Yet little research has been done on how societies have normalised the risks and adapted to living in proximity to volcanoes, or how those modifications, in turn, might have influenced the effects of eruptions and their consequent hazards. In short, people have co-evolved with volcanoes to create 'co-volcanic societies'. By looking closely at the Philippines and focusing on one region of southern Luzon around Mount Mayon, this article addresses the question of how people and the volcano have 'co-adapted' to living in proximity to one another over time. It also suggests that to make societies more resilient to volcanic hazards, a better understanding of this relationship is required not only to improve current disaster risk reduction policies but even to inform everyday urban planning and civil engineering decisions.

This article explores the environmental, historical and cultural factors that influence civic engagement among rural communities in contemporary Kazakhstan. It traces how forms of nomadic communitarianism as a response to the vicissitudes of life on the open Steppe merged with the imposed collectivism of Soviet society in such a manner that the two were able to coexist together in both policy and practice. Drawing on fieldwork among a number of villages in South Kazakhstan, we argue that, together, the nomadic and Soviet pasts still constitute the core values at work in rural communities, influencing the structure of local power relations and the nature of group association and cooperative venture. Rather than disappearing, these values, if anything, are re-emerging as part of an attempt to legitimise Kazakh culture as the core identity of the modern nation state.

There is an assumption that with the disintegration of the Soviet Union, the Second World ceased to exist. Yet the demise of the Communist bloc as a geopolitical reality did not mean that it stopped exerting a defining influence over how people think and behave. This article examines how the postsocialist state in Kazakhstan deals with potential crises such as earthquakes and the extent to which the Soviet legacy still shapes intellectual debates, state structures, and civil society organisations in in that country. Drawing on fieldwork and interviews, this paper re‐examines the Second World in its historical context and re‐establishes it as a conceptual framework for considering disaster risk reduction in the former Soviet bloc. It argues that it is essential to pay attention to this legacy in Kazakhstan both in policy and practice if earthquake risk reduction is to be made more effective.