Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „Brother's best friend“

This study examined the relative contributions of sex, social class, socioeconomic status of the family, and exercise behavior of significant others (father, mother, sister, brother, best friend) to the variability of physical activities of 13–15-year-old urban adolescents (N = 475). Physical activity was measured using 7-day physical activity recall. Family income was negatively correlated with physical activity of adolescents. Physical activity of the father, older brother, and best friend was associated with a higher activity level of adolescents (r = 0.24–0.33). Sex and social class of the families accounted for 18% of the variance of the adolescents’ physical activity. When the physical activity of the father, older brother, and best friend were entered into regression analysis, a total of 32% of the variation in adolescents’ physical activity was explained. Physical activity of adolescents is associated with sex, activity levels of significant others, and socioeconomic status of the family.

Abstract Adolescence is a vulnerable period for risk-taking tendencies, including binge drinking. The aim of this study was to examined the prevalence of binge drinking and its association with factors related to the consumption of alcoholic beverages by best friend, familial factors, socioeconomic status and religiosity. A Census of 633 students from public and private schools in Diamantina-MG was conducted. Participants completed a self-administered questionnaire, the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test-C (AUDIT-C) and, another on the consumption of alcohol by family and friends. Surveys inquiring about socioeconomic conditions were sent to parents/guardians. Descriptive and bivariate analyzes were performed (p < 0.05). The log-binomial model was used to calculate PR and 95% CI. The prevalence of binge drinking was 23.1%. The average age of onset of alcohol consumption was 10,8 years. Binge drinking was more prevalent among adolescents whose best friend [OR = 4.72 (95% CI 2.78-8.03)] and brother [PR = 1.46 (95% CI 1.10-1.92)] drink alcohol. Religiosity [PR = 0.40 (95% CI 0.27-0.62)] appeared as a possible protective factor. Our findings indicate that peer effects are important determinants of drinking and could be utilized as a potential target for interventions to reduce alcohol consumption rates.

AbstractBruce Springsteen's body of work contains a striking number of songs with homoerotic or queerly suggestive content. Moreover, his live performances often push the limits of the homosocial, ‘queering’ onstage relationships through everything from lingering kisses with the late saxophonist Clarence Clemons to intimate microphone sharing with guitarist and real-life best friend Stevie Van Zandt. In this paper I trace Bruce Springsteen's consistent performative engagement with queer desire over the course of his 40-year career through a close reading of both lyrics and performance (including onstage, and in video and still photography). I examine how Springsteen's queer lyrical content and performative acts contrast critically with dominant readings of his hypermasculine, ‘all-American’ image, and suggest that Springsteen's regular deployment of homosocial and homoerotic imagery in both lyrics and performance – far from being an exception to his more mainstream persona – actually constitute a kind of queer aesthetic vital to, and consistent with, his artistic vision of love and community.

This study analyzes why and for which countries the Turkish Foreign Ministry uses the word kardeş (brother) in its discourse, particularly during the AK Party (Justice and Development Party) era. The study reveals that if a country is Muslim or ethnically Turkic, it is called a brother country. Besides states, Muslim or Turkic minorities in other countries are included in the brotherhood category. On the other hand, non-Turkic and non-Muslim countries are described as a friend, an ally, or strategic partners. However, being a brother does not mean that Turkey has the best relations with a country. On the contrary, Turkey has better relations with non-brother countries as well. Yet, being a brother state means probable privileged status in relations. Besides elucidating the discourse in Turkish foreign policy, this study also tries to counter realist ideas that friendship is not possible in the world order, which is supposed to be anarchical. Besides literature review, interviews were made to write the article.

It can be seen that many Sangam pieces of literature have a peculiarity that is not present in any of the literature of Tamil. The Tamil community is proud of the Sangam literature. The third hundred of the Ainkurunooru are Kurinjithinai songs. They were written by Kapilar. Apart from the Ainkurunooru, the number of Agam songs he sang is approximately 103. Of these, 97 songs are Kurinjithinai songs. They include the long song Kurinjipattu. That is why he was referred to as Kurinji Kapilar. It is also a book based on ainkurunooru ainthinai distinctions. These represent the grammatical characteristics of moral standing. Morality is the expression of a woman's illicit love of morality, i.e., the union of the minds of a man and a woman without the knowledge of others. The fact that the woman expresses her love for the man to her friend, her friend to the nurse, the nurse to the mother, and the mother to the father, as well as to the brothers, is the study of the best depiction of the state of righteousness in the Sangam age.

Migrant domestic workers provide essential services to the families they live with, but they are not considered a part of the family. As a group, they are not well-integrated into the society and often suffer from social isolation. In this article, we explore the potential health buffering effects of their personal network, in terms of family and friendship ties in both the local community and their home country. Existing literature provides inconsistent evidence on who and what matters more, with regard to the nature, strength, and geographic locations of individual personal networks. Using data from the Survey of Migrant domestic Workers in Hong Kong (2017), we find that family ties are extremely important. The presence of family members in Hong Kong as well as daily contact with family, regardless of location, are associated with better self-reported health. Only daily contact with friends in Hong Kong, not with friends in other countries, promotes better health. We also find evidence that the protective effects of family and friends networks depend on each other. Those foreign domestic workers with families in Hong Kong but also maintain daily contact with friends have the best self-reported health among all.

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.”1 1John Milton, Sonnet 19 The COVID-19 Pandemic has brought out most of the best (and some of the worst) in us. Much has been said, shared, even sung about health care workers as frontline heroes. Whether we indeed form the frontline, or man the last line of defense, due credit is being given to all “front-liners” – essential-service workers, drivers and delivery personnel, security guards, the military and police who literally serve in the trenches of this invisible war. Indeed, it is heartening to read the inspiring messages, hear the encouraging words, listen to the uplifting (sometimes funny) music and songs, witness the moving memes and cartoons, watch the refreshing dances and tributes, and receive the healing blessings and prayers on various media and social media platforms. Indeed, we are motivated to continue to work, so that others may safely stay home. Some of us have even been called upon to die, so that others may live. But so much less is and has been said about those who make our battle possible, who selflessly and silently took it upon themselves to clothe us with personal protective equipment, feed us, transport us, and even shelter us as we engage the unseen enemy. It is these heroes I wish to thank today. I certainly cannot thank them all, but I sincerely hope that those I do mention will represent the many others I cannot. Early on, my brother Elmer Lapeña and his Team Twilight group of “golfing enthusiasts and friends” (“company owners, executives, managers, engineers, technicians, entrepreneurs, and expats in the electronics, semiconductor, metalworking, automotive, aerospace, and packaging manufacturing industries”) responded to the call for better protection for frontliners with door-to-door deliveries of Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) to over 40 hospitals in the National Capitol Region, Rizal, Cavite, Laguna and Batangas including the Philippine General Hospital (PGH).2 On a personal note, Elmer and my sister-in-law Annette were closely monitoring our situation, going out of their way to obtain difficult-to-find PPEs for my wife Josie and myself, and our respective Departments of Family and Community Medicine (DFCM) and Otorhinolaryngology (ORL) at the PGH. For her part, our very dear friend Gigi Bautista Rapadas organized Project #HelpCovid19Warriors(HCW), to “go where the virus goes” and “help where help is needed and requested,” harnessing donations from ‘family, friends, and friends of friends” to procure PPE (as well as disinfectants, even canned goods) that were distributed “from Metro Manila to the provinces: Tuguegarao, Bataan, Bulacan, La Union, Nueva Vizcaya, Cavite,” moving from hospitals and health centers to correctional institutes.3 It is because of them that our PGH Department of ORL obtained very expensive but essential respirator hoods for added protection from aerosolized virus when conducting airway procedures, in addition to head-to-foot PPEs for use of the PGH DFCM in attending to PGH staff at the UP Health Service. Meanwhile, without fanfare, our dear friends Popot and Agnes (also my DLSU ’79 classmate) Lorenzana provided cooked meals for 1,000 persons daily. Working with on-the-ground social workers and with the 2KK Tulong sa Kapwa Kapatid Foundation, their Feeding Program “A thousand meals for poor communities” reached Payatas, Talayan, Pinyahan, Smokey Mountain, Maisan, Bagong Silang, Old Balara, Tatalon, Sta. Teresita, Sampaloc, and Sta. Ana, among more than 50 other communities. They generously responded to my wife’s request to provide meals for her community patients of the Canossa Health Center in Tondo. They have also provided meals for hospital staff of Amang Rodriguez Memorial Medical Center, the Medical City Hospital, Veterans Memorial Medical Center, Dr. Jose Fabella Memorial Hospital, Dr. Jose Rodriquez Memorial Hospital, Quezon City General Hospital, the San Lazaro Hospital, Valenzuela City Emergency and Lung Center of the Philippines. They continue this service which to date has provided for more than 32,000 meals, with corporate partners and private individuals joining the effort.4 Other De La Salle University (DLSU) College ‘79 batchmates who wish to remain anonymous obtained board approval of their endorsement to channel all the social development funds of their Maritime Multipurpose Cooperative for the next 3 years to the Philippine General Hospital. Adding their personal funds (and those solicited by their daughter and nephew), they took on the daunting task of sourcing and proving Powered Air Purifying Respirators (PAPRs) for our use. Another DLSU batchmate has been providing PPEs to various hospitals including PGH through their family corporation, Nobleland Ventures, Inc. Even their high school batch ’75 of Saint Jude Catholic School has donated boxes and boxes of PPEs to the PGH and other hospitals. Other DLSU ’79 classmates Bel and Bong Consing, and Timmy, Joy (and Tita Linda) Bautista have personally donated PPEs and funds for our COVID-19 operations, while classmate Fritz de Lange even sent over sweet mangoes for us to enjoy with our fellow frontliners. Generous donations also poured in from La Salle Green Hills (LSGH) High School ’76 friends Cris Ibarra, Norman Uy, Class 4E, and batchmates Tito and Pepper who wish to remain anonymous, as well as Menchit Borbon and her St. Theresa’s College Quezon City (STCQC) - Section 1 classmates. We even received overseas support from my LSGH 4B classmate Bingo Pantaleon from Yangon; my mom Libby, brother Bernie and Lilli, and friend Soyanto from Singapore, and sister Sabine from Germany. And how can we forget the regular frozen food deliveries of Jollibee chicken drumsticks and home-made Bulgogi and Tapa from our dear friends Ed and Aning Go? Perhaps the most touching gifts of all came from my eldest and youngest daughters Melay and Jica, who lovingly prepared and delivered much-appreciated meals to us, and middle child Ro-an, who with our son-in-law Reycay serenaded us with beautiful music that was appreciated by no less than Vice President Leni Robredo and featured by the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra.5 Their musical fund-raising campaign started with another haunting piece featuring my sister Nina and brother-in-law Kiko.6 As if that was not enough, Ro-an bakes cookies to raise funds for our ongoing COVID-19 operations at PGH, while Melay and Jica keep asking us what we want to eat next. These three count among those who have least, yet “put in everything ” from what little they have.7 These are but a few examples of those known personally to me- my family and friends. And there are many more. In the same way, every other doctor and front liner will have their own stories to tell, of friends, family even mere acquaintances who have come out of the shadows to help, to care, to share in whatever way they can, in fighting this battle with us. Let this be their tribute as well. Those of us who serve in the Philippine General Hospital have been called People Giving Hope.8,9 I believe that we do give hope because others give us hope in turn. I like to think that the inscription in the PGH lobby “They Also Serve Who Care and Share” honors these others in a special way who go over and beyond the call of duty. With apologies to John Milton, our heroes go way over and beyond “they also serve who only stand and wait.”

B.S. Johnson’s The Unfortunates (1969) and Anne Carson’s Nox (2010) are among the most formally inventive and materially unique literary responses to personal loss. The first novel-in-a-box in English literature, The Unfortunates is a poignant account of the premature death of Johnson’s best friend Tony Tillinghast. Also contained in a box, Carson’s elegy is printed on a 25-metre-long concertinaed scroll, which contains a collage of textual and visual fragments of various artefacts connected with Carson’s dead brother. This article considers the implications of certain visual and tactile properties of both works for their representation of loss and the work of mourning, as theorized by Sigmund Freud and Jacques Derrida. It argues that both the card-shuffle structure and the scroll format accentuate the ongoingness of mourning and convey scepticism about the possibility of any closure. The article also examines the significance of encasing the contents of both elegies in coffin-like boxes and the importance of their extensive use of fragmentation.

Since the new president of the United States Trump wield power people began to doubt the political situation, which thus led to the novel 1984 jump to the top in the list of the best seller. Public concern is that whether George Orwell’s allegorical purpose will be realized. Definitely 1984 is known as an anti-totalitarian novel describing the ethical disorder, the revolting principles, the absurd disciplines and ideological deformation of the “Big Ocean” country under the domination of “Big Brother”. People living there are forced to fall into ethical dilemma. They have changed their rational thoughts into irrational ones. Besides, they give up their identity of blood relatives and principles of making friends and empower irrationality to control humanity. This article intends to analyze the trauma made by the totalitarian government from the aspects of ethical consciousness.

It was hypothesized that (i) a person is less oriented to abide by the law if he is deficient in lower order needs (e.g., physiological, safety or love needs) than in deficiency of higher order needs (e.g., esteem, social or self-actualization needs), and (ii) the probability of an individual's (A) breaking the law to do something in favour of a person (B) depends on the relationship between A and B. The probability decreases in the following order of relationships: brother/sister, best friend, acquaintance, stranger. Two hypothetical dilemmas were used to study the cultural and age differences in law-abiding orientation of 220 English adolescents and 47 English adults (mean ages in years were 15.50 and 25.83, respectively) in London, and 353 Chinese adolescents and 136 Chinese adults (mean ages in years were 16.81 and 21.24, respectively) in Hong Kong. The general findings supported the above hypotheses. Also (i) there was a positive relation between age and law-abiding orientation and (ii) the Chinese were more oriented to abide by the law than the English.

This essay questions a critical consensus about Thoreau's first book, A Week on the Concord an Merrimack Rivers, as a pastoral elegy for his brother and best friend, John. Reading A Week from a geographical perspective, this essay argues that Thoreau anticipated professional geographers by eighty years in conducting a dynamic analysis of the transformation of New England's landscape. Thoreau re-creates through description and narration the appearance and disappearance of the pastoral, the Native-American, and the industrailized landscape along the two rivers. Presenting these ladnscapes in dynamic interrelation with one another against the backdrop of New England's still wild nature, Thoreau historicizes New England's changing topography and thereby criticizes the American pastoral myth about a timeless "golden age" of the "New English Canaan." This reading encourages us to regard Thoreau not only as a private literary artist but also as a scientist and social satirist. This essay also reveals Thoreau's geographic imagination, an important aspect of his mind that has been overlooked so far by Thoreau critics and the general reading public alike.

AbstractIn 1829 Pushkin visited his brother and friends in the Caucasus Corps, going on to participate in the capture of Erzurum. This marked a decisive shift in the international balance of power. Victory over Persia in 1827 and Turkey in 1829 transformed Russia into the dominant force in the Middle East for a generation until the Crimean War. Spectacular success was an almost accidental by-product of the 1825 Decembrist Revolt. Many serving Decembrists had been reduced to the ranks and exiled south. A transient, fractious combination of prudent commander and free spirits rose to rare quality of achievement. Pushkin's A Journey to Arzrum (Erzurum) celebrates his friends’ part in delivering for Russia and salutes the Russia they stood for. The literary challenge was steep. Its text had to pass muster with an infuriated Tsar Nicholas, his “personal censor”. Pushkin's skilfully drafted and structured narrative met the test, contriving at the same time to accommodate a pervasive running commentary and political messages about reconciliation, combining the best of Russia's talents and a better future. Typically innovative and beautifully written, the travelogue conducts the reader on a lively tour of the Caucasus with a rich store of incident and issues along the way.

Bertram Neville Brockhouse was born on 15 July 1918 in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada. His grandfather was a miner who emigrated to North America from England. He became active in a strike to unionize the mines and to protest against the poor working conditions; as a result he had to leave mining. He then, with his son, Israel Bertram Brockhouse, went homesteading in Southern Alberta with a small farm and domestic animals, where his son married Mabel Emily Brockhouse (née Neville), who had grown up in Illinois and belonged to a family of English Americans. They had a family of four, the eldest of whom was Bertram Neville, known to his friends and family as Bert. He had a sister, Alice, and two younger brothers, Robert, who died in infancy, and Gordon, who became a civil engineer for the railroad. The homestead was on the Milk River close to the Canada–USA border and the local school was a one–room elementary school a couple of miles from the farm. Bert was a nominal attendee at this school but did not remember learning to read or to do simple arithmetic there.

From the moment Jesus was hung on the cross, Christians have been compelled to address the fact of evil within God's creation. For the most part we have made the mistake of addressing this reality by logical means. It is not that there are no logical solutions to the apparent contradiction between the fact of evil and an omnipotent and benevolent God. The difficulty is far more fundamental. Logical solutions or answers do not address the fact of sin, evil and suffering in the world. At best, they are innocuous. At worst, they are destructive. For example, a pastor presiding at a funeral may well have an answer or two to the inevitable question raised by the grieving, 'Why did Jack have to die so young?' She might say that the wages of sin are death, and she might even speculate thatjack died young because he was such an accomplished sinner. Moreover, it is at least conceivable that our pastor could be correct in herjudgment!!! Nevertheless, those gathered would be right to be angry if the pastor said such a thing because her answer did not address the issue. Indeed, no answer can. The people gathered do not need answers. They already have biological, psychological and even theological answers. The people longfor presence instead. To be sure, they long for the presence of their departed loved one, but they require the presence of friends, relatives and God. The theodicy issue is addressed by such presence. The theodicy issue does not simply pose a question to be answered. It creates a context in which ministry may happen.

Basil of Caesarea (AD 329–378), his brother, Gregory of Nyssa (335–394), and their friend, Gregory Nazianzen (328–389), are a group of three great Christian thinkers of the late 4th century AD known as the ‘Cappadocian Fathers’. All were steeped in the culture of traditional Hellenism, and at the same time were great theologians and leaders who steered the Christian church of the eastern Roman empire in the turbulent years of the late 4th century. Theologically they are best known for bringing to a close the Arian controversy that had wracked the Christian church for most of the 4th century. Basil, called ‘the Great’ in the Christian tradition for his leading role in steering the Arian controversy to a conclusion, is also known for his reforms of the unruly ascetic movement in Asia Minor, documented in such works as his Asketikon. As a result of his labours he effectively established Greek cenobitic (common-life) monasticism. But his influence as a preceptor of Christian monasticism was destined to spread far, both east in Syria and in the Latin West. A Latin translation was an important source of the Rule of St Benedict, which set the tone of western monasticism for many centuries to come.

Sam Shepard is not just a “western essayist”, but one who has the capacity to assess contemporary American culture through the symbols and topics of conventional Western American writing. His plays follow the liquidation of American society, in which characters are no more coordinated into their reality by adherence to habitual qualities and standards. Shepard raises the icons of this convention to send them slamming from a more prominent stature, delineates the whole-world destroying end of customary American society in which long-held qualities, especially those celebrated in Western American writing, are ceremonially exorcized to make space for some new, up till now unheard of America. Shepard’s plays don’t advance sequentially to these ends. Shepard, depicts the search for home within contemporary American culture. In this paper, we are focusing on Shepard’s selected plays to depict the failure of family reintegration into Home or Family. Shepard’s Fourteen Hundred Thousand (1967), The Unseen Hand (1972) and Mad Dog Blues (1972). Fourteen Hundred Thousand - is a play about Husband and Wife who tries to build a bookshelf. The Unseen Hand - is a play about Morphan brothers who lives far away from their home. Mad Dog Blues - this play is all about a couple of best friends who were unhappy with their misguided lives set off to discover a treasure.

This paper aims at analyzing how the trauma inflicted by the First World War is described by Vera Brittain in her autobiographical novel Testament of Youth (1933). The author, who shares many features in common with Virginia Woolf – regarding witnessing and writing about trauma – also lost her loved ones to the War: her fiancé, Roland Leighton, her brother, Edward Brittain, and her friend, Victor Richardson.For Vera Brittain and some of her contemporaries, nursing became a woman‟s experience of taking part in the male-dominated realm of the First War. From treating wounds to listening to injured soldiers‟ talks, First War nurses grasped the geographies of men‟s bodies and minds, something regarded as “improper” by most parents whose daughters were born between the late Victorian and early Edwardian ages. Nursing was the closest a woman could get to the battleground in those days; in Brittain‟s case, for instance, the only safe way to see Roland again. V.A.D. nursing also allowed many women to evolve from tactile experience to the subjective activity of writing about the War, and Brittain‟s Testament of Youth may be regarded as one of its best examples.What may account for the title Testament of Youth is the thought Brittain kept that writing about the distress she and her contemporaries felt due to war would probably have an impact on coming generations. She leaves a “testament” of a terrible incident that would more likely recede; yet, she acknowledges that, whatever may happen, it would never surpass the impact that the First War had on her generation of young women, who were deprived of the innocence of their youth.

The 3 Idiots is a movie of India. This movie has launched at 2009th and as a favorite movies in Bollywood. The 3 Idiots get appreciate of international movies. It’s movies adopt from best seller of novel by Chetan Bhagat, “Five Point Someone”. The 3 Idiots bring the social criticism about social and cultural, like about social value. By that argue, this study aims to explore the sign and message of Islamic value in the movies. Qualitative approach used in this study. Specially, semiotic analysis of Ferdinand De Saussure use in this study. Both point of Ferdinand De Saussure semiotic are; signifier and Signified, Langue and Parole, so Syntagmatic and Associative. For message analysis of da’wa will be doing to explore an message of da’wa in the movies. It’s movies share an five message of da’wa; first, theologies as such represented how to motivate about awareness to God. Second, about the education, as such the criticism for education system. Thirt, the solidarity. In solidarity does explore how to help to brother or friends. Fourd, a harmony of religiousity. Five, amar ma’ruf nahi munkar or the motivated to do the possitive value and then be counter to negative value. The messages did constructed as beautifully. Signifier and signified or symbol had used to represent of meaning. The langue and parole has constructed with syntagmatic and association for to present the grand message, as such ‘idiots attitude’. All signs constructed systematically and beautifully. So, the audience can to get the meaning.

‘The Kite Runner’ is the debut novel written by Afghan American author Khaled Hosseini. This novel is the story of Amir and Hassan, who struggles to find their space in the world because of the after-effects and fallout from a series of traumatic childhood events.The story is told by its lead character Amir who is a Pashtun belongs to the upper social class. Hassan is a Hazara who belongs to a socially backward class. Both Amir and Hassan are inseparable best friends until the day when Amir witnesses Hassan being raped by Aseef. Amir could not do anything to save Hassan and also ignores the incident and hides in silence. Rather, he drives away Hassan from his home with a false accusation to forget his trauma. But it actually intensified his guilt and trauma. Later, political instability in Afghanistan forces Amir and his father to flee to Pakistan and later to the United States. Years later Amir gets a call from his uncle when he becomes aware that Hassan has been killed and that he was Amir’s half-brother. He also learns that Hassan’s son Sohrab is in Taliban’s clutches. Amir takes it as a call for his redemption and sets to Taliban ruled Afghanistan to save Sohrab and bring him back to the United States. This study focuses on the role of guilt leading to psychological trauma, socio-cultural factors effecting the individual's and the collective trauma, and also analysing the recovery process of the traumatised characters. The message of this narrative is that social stratification of individuals or groups makes them an easy victim. A broader understanding of social equality can help in preventing traumatic evils thereby creating a safer society.

Albrecht Fröhlich was one of the major mathematicians of the latter half of the twentieth century. He will be remembered as one of the few who have succeeded in creating a new subject: he was the creator of Galois module structure, which is now an important branch of algebraic number theory. He died in Cambridge on 8 November 2001, much loved and much honoured. Despite his relaxed persona and happy maturity, his early life was turbulent: he was a Jew, and left school abruptly when he and his family were forced to flee from the Hitler persecution. Thereafter, he completely broke the conventional mould for mathematicians, because he did not attend university till he was very nearly 30 years old and did his most important work when he was nearly 60 years old. He was elected to the Fellowship of the Royal Society in 1976, joining his elder brother Herbert, who had been elected in 1951*.Ali (as he was always called by his friends) was born in Munich on 22 May 1916; he was the youngest of the three children of Julius and Frida Fröhlich, a Jewish couple who hailed from Rexingen in the Black Forest; his sister, Betti, had been born in Rexingen in 1904 and his brother, Herbert, in 1905. He attended Volksschule, and then the Wittelsbacher Gymnasium from 1926 to 1933; his school reports record that his work in history and religion was of outstanding (‘hervorragend’) quality and his work in mathematics and science was praiseworthy (‘lobenswort’), but his English and Latin were poor. In 1933, Hitler came to power, and life became impossible for Jewish families; the Fröhlichs had made no secret of their origins, and Ali made no secret of his opinionsindeed, he joined a Jewish left–wing discussion group* and one day walked home in full view of the Nazi offices with the pockets of his shorts stuffed full of pamphlets. A party of Brownshirts beat up Julius and came looking for Ali. The local policeman, who had an apartment above the Fröhlichs and was still a decent human being, had the presence of mind to arrest Ali as an ‘enemy of the state’. Ali was released the next morning, but the policeman's wife's reaction when she saw Ali was to ask, ‘Are you still here?’. Ali took the hint and left immediately. The people in the French Consulate were very helpful, and by that evening Ali was in Alsace; his father and mother followed soon afterwards.

In behalf of our family, allow me to start by thanking each and everyone’s offering of support and prayers. Indeed, we are having a most difficult time facing this loss. We desperately try and search for answers hoping to appease the hurt. I remember during his last days, Papa turned to his Bible and one of his favorite chapters was from Psalms: “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalms 46:10), a passage that I have come across to dwell on. Most of you probably received Dr. Jesus Co’s passing in shock. Unbeknownst to you, we have been dealing with his illness for about six months. And we know there are unending questions about the how, when and even why, but kindly indulge me in giving you a glimpse into his journey. Jess, as his friends endearingly called him has been most passionate about his work. He cared deeply for his patients. He was so articulate and well-versed and could talk about anything under the sun. Papa had a voracious appetite in reading and learning not limited to his field. He challenged us into healthy debates in all of our specialties -gastroenterology, pediatrics and especially ENT, but unfortunately he was no match for my mom’s showbiz knowledge. He was an avid sportsman as well- in golf and lately, one of his other loves, fishing. My dad’s happiest moments would be spending time with his grandchildren teaching them how to fish. I could go on endlessly with this tribute for he excelled in various endeavors. But let me just share with you that he was first and foremost a family man. He was the eldest of 10 children hailing from Binalonan, Pangasinan. His brothers and sisters addressed him as “manong” for he was almost like the head of their family since “angkong” died. I remember my aunts and uncles visiting often and heeding his advice. As my mom’s better half, he doted on her. Their lives were so much intertwined and the best way to describe it is through their favorite love song- “I can’t stop loving you.” Surely, there are precious moments that only the two of them will treasure. It must have been a pleasant surprise to him that the stork delivered four girls. He instilled in us to strive for excellence and accept defeat as a stepping stone. One of my fondest recollections of when I was younger was losing a dog- back then it seemed like such a tragedy. I was inconsolable and amidst my cries he tenderly imparted a pearl of his many wisdoms about life’s reality: There will be challenges and battles to bear and sometimes our best recourse is to be silent. For God is strong when we are at our weakest. It was heartbreaking to see him physically deteriorate but despite this, he pursued his dedication for his work and kept his dignity in times of suffering. We earnestly pray that beyond our words we were able to provide him with comfort and ease his pain. Certainly, we would want to focus only on the joys of his life as it is painful to recall how tirelessly he fought and tried to overcome his sickness. His strength, character and unwavering faith carried him through until he eventually succumbed to the Lord’s calling. Friends and family, let us celebrate how Dr. Jesus Co has inspired us to persevere and trust wholeheartedly in the Lord. We can be still and be at peace in the knowledge that God’s grace will suffice and take care of all our needs. Thank you.

Past Presidents of the PSO-HNS especially founding President Dr. Tierry Garcia, President of the PBO-HNS Dr. Rudy Nonato, Presidents of the chapters and Chairs of the subspecialty groups, co-Fellows of the society, friends, guests, ladies and gentlemen. At the threshold of the 60th anniversary of this venerable society, I stand here today as the humble recipient of your trust and confidence as your President. As a child I have seen the photos of the heroic founders and had been witness to the lasting friendship between them. I was in high school when my father, Dr. Armando T. Chiong, Sr. became the 10th President of the organization. I now follow my brother, President Dr. Armando Chiong, Jr. to continue the programs he started. Such laudable programs started by the past years’ BOT with the advocacy map, public awareness, chapter and institutional initiatives will be continued. With the funding earmarked from the proceeds of the Diamond Jubilee celebration on April 2016, Research and Academic programs will be strengthened and the society’s journal the PJO-HNS will move for even more international recognition. The breadth and the depth of human capacity to help one another is limitless. The same can be said for our organization whose dedicated fellows strive for excellence in their clinical practice with honor and integrity. Make no mistake that it is a privilege being here amongst you my co-dreamers for a society that will be recognized not only for its international standing, its global perspective, its innovations but for its sincere quest for helping raise the quality of lives to heal the sick among our countrymen and render the best ENT care possible at an affordable cost and of wider availability. We thank our mentors for the great example they have given us, their wisdom and good counsel so all of us 694 fellows united can champion the cause of the patients we serve. The PSO-HNS will use all its available resources to move the organization forward to work more closely with partners in industry, government, non-government, academic institutions and each fellow, chapter, and subspecialty group will be supported by your BOT in these endeavors. Lead, we will. Serve with dedication in our best capacity for sure and we trust in your full support of our institution. We stand proud of this prestigious society of the best experts in ENT care. The growth of PSO-HNS from the ‘heroic 9’ to 694 in 60 years is phenomenal. Challenges, there will be always be but in the end we will know that more is yet to be done and the future brilliant because the legacy will always remain. See you all in the anniversary ball in February and the Jubilee celebration in April, 2016 organized by Dr. Dan Poblete. Good evening to you all.

Who was Clara?By Kaj ThaningIn this essay the author describes his search for Clara Bolton and her acquaintance with among others Benjamin Disraeli and the priest, Alexander d’Arblay, a son of the author, Fanny Burney. He gives a detailed account of Clara Bolton and leaves no doubt about the deep impression she made on Grundtvig, even though he met her and spoke to her only once in his life at a dinner party in London on June 24th 1830. Kaj Thaning has dedicated his essay to Dr. Oscar Wood, Christ Church College, Oxford, and explains why: “Just 30 years ago, while one of my daughters was working for Dr. Oscar Wood, she asked him who “Mrs. Bolton” was. Grundtvig speaks of her in a letter to his wife dated June 25th 1830. Through the Disraeli biographer, Robert Blake, Dr. Wood discovered her identity, so I managed to add a footnote to my thesis (p. 256). She was called Clara! The Disraeli archives, once preserved in Disraeli’s home at Hughenden Manor but now in the British Museum, contain a bundle of letters which Dr. Wood very kindly copied for me. The letters fall into three groups, the middle one being from June 1832, when Clara Bolton was campaigning, in vain, for Disraeli’s election to parliament. Her husband was the Disraeli family doctor, and through him she wrote her first letter to Benjamin Disraeli, asking for his father’s support for her good friend, Alexander d’Arblay, a theology graduate, in his application for a position. This led to the young Disraeli asking her to write to him at his home at Bradenham. There are therefore a group of letters from before June 1832. Similarly there are a number of letters from a later date, the last being from November 1832”.The essay is divided into three sections: 1) Clara Bolton and Disraeli, 2) The break between them, 3) Clara Bolton and Alexander d’Arblay. The purpose of the first two sections is to show that the nature of Clara Bolton’s acquaintance with Disraeli was otherwise than has been previously assumed. She was not his lover, but his political champion. The last section explains the nature of her friendship with Alex d’Arblay. Here she was apparently the object of his love, but she returned it merely as friendship in her attempt to help him to an appointment and to a suitable lifelong partner. He did acquire a new position but died shortly after. There is a similarity in her importance for both Grundtvig and d’Arblay in that they were both clergymen and poets. Disraeli and Grundtvig were also both writers and politicians.At the age of 35 Clara Bolton died, on June 29th 1839 in a hotel in Le Havre, according to the present representative of the Danish Institute in Rouen, Bent Jørgensen. She was the daughter of Michael Peter Verbecke and Clarissa de Brabandes, names pointing to a Flemish background. On the basis of archive studies Dr. Michael Hebbert has informed the author that Clara’s father was a merchant living in Bread Street, London, between 1804 and 1807. In 1806 a brother was born. After 1807 the family disappears from the archives, and Clara’s letters reveal nothing about her family. Likewise the circumstances of her death are unknown.The light here shed on Clara Bolton’s life and personality is achieved through comprehensive quotations from her letters: these are to be found in the Danish text, reproduced in English.Previous conceptions of Clara’s relationship to Disraeli have derived from his business manager, Philip Rose, who preserved the correspondence between them and added a commentary in 1885, after Disraeli’s death. He it is who introduces the rumour that she may have been Disraeli’s mistress. Dr. Wood, however, doubts that so intimate a relationship existed between them, and there is much in the letters that directly tells against it. The correspondence is an open one, open both to her husband and to Disraeli’s family. As a 17-year-old Philip Rose was a neighbour of Disraeli’s family at Bradenham and a friend of Disraeli’s younger brother, Ralph, who occasionally brought her letters to Bradenham. It would have been easy for him to spin some yarn about the correspondence. In her letters Clara strongly advocates to Disraeli that he should marry her friend, Margaret Trotter. After the break between Disraeli and Clara it was public knowledge that Lady Henrietta Sykes became his mistress, from 1833 to 1836. Her letters to him are of a quite different character, being extremely passionate. Yet Philip Rose’s line is followed by the most recent biographers of Disraeli: the American, Professor B. R. Jerman in The Young Disraeli (1960), the English scholar Robert Blake, in Disraeli (1963) and Sarah Bradford in Disraeli (1983). They all state that Clara Bolton was thought to be Disraeli’s mistress, also by members of his own family. Blake believes that the originator of this view was Ralph Disraeli. It is accepted that Clara Bolton 7 Grundtvig Studier 1985 was strongly attracted to Disraeli, to his manner, his talents, his writing, and not least to his eloquence during the 1832 election campaign. But nothing in her letters points to a passionate love affair.A comparison can be made with Henrietta Sykes’ letters, which openly burn with love. Blake writes of Clara Bolton’s letters (p. 75): “There is not the unequivocal eroticism that one finds in the letters from Henrietta Sykes.” In closing one of her letters Clara writes that her husband, George Buckley Bolton, is waiting impatiently for her to finish the letter so that he can take it with him.She wants Disraeli married, but not to anybody: “You must have a brilliant star like your own self”. She writes of Margaret Trotter: “When you see M. T. you will feel so inspired you will write and take her for your heroine... ” (in his novels). And in her last letter to Disraeli (November 18th 1832) she says: “... no one thing could reconcile me more to this world of ill nature than to see her your wife”. The letter also mentions a clash she has had with a group of Disraeli’s opponents. It shows her temperament and her supreme skill, both of which command the respect of men. No such bluestockings existed in Denmark at the time; she must have impressed Grundtvig.Robert Blake accepts that some uncertainty may exist in the evaluation of letters which are 150 years old, but he finds that they “do in some indefinable way give the impression of brassiness and a certain vulgarity”. Thaning has told Blake his view of her importance for Grundtvig, and this must have modified Blake’s portrait. He writes at least: “... she was evidently not stupid, and she moved in circles which had some claim to being both intellectual and cosmopolitan.”He writes of the inspiration which Grundtvig owed to her, and he concludes: “There must have been more to her than one would deduce by reading her letters and the letters about her in Disraeli’s papers.” - She spoke several languages, and moved in the company of nobles and ambassadors, politicians and literary figures, including John Russell, W.J.Fox, Eliza Flower, and Sarah Adams.However, from the spring of 1833 onwards it is Henrietta Sykes who portrays Clara Bolton in the Disraeli biographies, and naturally it is a negative portrait. The essay reproduces in English a quarrel between them when Sir Francis Sykes was visiting Clara, and Lady Sykes found him there. Henrietta Sykes regards the result as a victory for herself, but Clara’s tears are more likely to have been shed through bitterness over Disraeli, who had promised her everlasting friendship and “unspeakable obligation”. One notes that he did not promise her love. Yet despite the quarrel they all three dine together the same evening, they travel to Paris together shortly afterwards, and Disraeli comes to London to see the them off. The trip however was far from idyllic. The baron and Clara teased Henrietta. Later still she rented a house in fashionable Southend and invited Disraeli down. Sir Francis, however, insisted that the Boltons should be invited too. The essay includes Blake’s depiction of “the curious household” in Southend, (p. 31).In 1834 Clara Bolton left England and took up residence at a hotel in the Hague. A Rotterdam clergyman approached Disraeli’s vicar and he turned to Disraeli’s sister for information about the mysterious lady, who unaccompanied had settled in the Hague, joined the church and paid great attention to the clergy. She herself had said that she was financing her own Sunday School in London and another one together with the Disraeli family. In her reply Sarah Disraeli puts a distance between the family and Clara, who admittedly had visited Bradenham five years before, but who had since had no connection with the family. Sarah is completely loyal to her brother, who has long since dropped Clara. By the time the curious clergyman had received this reply, Clara had left the Hague and arrived at Dover, where she once again met Alexander d’Arblay.Alex was born in 1794, the son of a French general who died in 1818, and Fanny Burney. She was an industrious correspondent; as late as 1984 the 12th and final volume of her Journals and Letters was published. Jens Peter .gidius, a research scholar at Odense University, has brought to Dr Thaning’s notice a book about Fanny Burney by Joyce Hemlow, the main editor of the letters. In both the book and the notes there is interesting information about Clara Bolton.In the 12th volume a note (p. 852) reproduces a letter characterising her — in a different light from the Disraeli biographers. Thaning reproduces the note (pp. 38-39). The letter is written by Fanny Burney’s half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, and contains probably the only portrait of her outside the Disraeli biographies.It is now easier to understand how she captivated Grundtvig: “very handsome, immoderately clever, an astrologer, even, that draws out... Nativities” — “... besides poetry-mad... very entertaining, and has something of the look of a handsome witch. Lady Combermere calls her The Sybil”. The characterisation is not the letter-writer’s but that of her former pupil, Harriet Crewe, born in 1808, four years after Clara Bolton. A certain distance is to be seen in the way she calls Clara “poetry-mad”, and says that she has “conceived a fancy for Alex d’Arblay”.Thaning quotes from a letter by Clara to Alex, who apparently had proposed to her, but in vain (see his letter to her and the reply, pp. 42-43). Instead she pointed to her friend Mary Ann Smith as a possible wife. This is the last letter known in Clara’s handwriting and contradicts talk of her “vulgarity”. However, having become engaged to Mary Ann Alex no longer wrote to her and also broke off the correspondence with his mother, who had no idea where he had gone. His cousin wrote to her mother that she was afraid that he had “some Chére Amie”. “The charges are unjust,” says Thaning. “It was a lost friend who pushed him off. This seems to be borne out by a poem which has survived (quoted here on p. 45), and which includes the lines: “But oh young love’s impassioned dream /N o more in a worn out breast may glow / Nor an unpolluted stream / From a turgid fountain flow.””Alex d’Arblay died in loneliness and desperation shortly afterwards. Dr. Thaning ends his summary: “I can find no other explanation for Alexander d’Arblay’s fate than his infatuation with Clara Bolton. In fact it can be compared to Grundtvig’s. For Alex the meeting ended with “the pure stream” no longer flowing from its source. For Grundtvig, on the other hand the meeting inspired the lines in The Little Ladies: Clara’s breath opened the mouth, The rock split and the stream flowed out.”

Violent death in postcolonial proseIn the years 1953–1960 Rudolf Dobiáš was imprisoned for his anti-state activities for 7 years, most of which he spent in uranium mines in Jáchymov. Both his non-fiction and prosaic work are based on his personal experience and they also concern the executions of young people. He described in detail the sentencing of three graduates of a grammar school in Trenčín, who were given the death penalty and were executed in February 1951. At the Higher Military Court in Trenčín he discovered the writings of a lieutenant of the Czechoslovak People’s Army, Tomáš Chovan. He was sentenced by the State Court in Bratislava to the death penalty for treason and spying. He was executed in November 1951 at the age of 25. His farewell to his family is presented in the story Younger Brother Mladší brat, which is one of the best works of Dobiáš. Ľuboš Jurík also wrote a biographical novel entitled The Death of a Minister Smrť ministra. It is about the Slovak communist politician Vladimír Clementis 1902–1952, who was the Minister of Foreign Affairs in the years 1948–1950. Clementis was imprisoned in 1951 to face a fabricated accusation. He was given the death penalty too. Jurík’s novel is composed of an interview with a fictive figure — the advocate. Just before the execution, he talks to him about the whole life of the politician Clementis. In the spirit of Stalinism, it was his ex-party colleagues and friends who were behind the execution. Jurík wrote a book about Alexander Dubček as well, entitled A Year Longer Than a Century Rok dlhší ako storočie, in which he asks whether the end of the symbol of Prague Spring was violent or not. There is evidence that it could have been so. Gwałtowna śmierć w postkolonialnej prozieRudolf Dobiáš, skazany za działalność antypaństwową, lata 1953–1960 spędził w więzieniu, z czego większą część w kopalniach uranu w Jáchymowie. Swoje doświadczenia opisuje we wspomnieniach, a także w tekstach prozatorskich, w których pojawia się motyw egzekucji młodych ludzi. Dobiáš szczegółowo opisał skazanie na śmierć trzech absolwentów gimnazjum w Trenczynie i ich egzekucję w lutym 1951 roku. W Wyższym Sądzie Wojskowym w Trenczynie pojawiły się również akta porucznika Czechosłowackiej Armii Ludowej Tomáša Chovana, którego sąd w Bratysławie skazał na karę śmierci za zdradę państwa i szpiegostwo. W listopadzie 1951 roku w wieku 25 lat Chovan został stracony. Dobiáš opisał pożegnanie porucznika z rodziną przed śmiercią w opowiadaniu Młodszy brat Mladší brat, które można zaliczyć do jego najlepszych utworów. Z kolei Ľuboš Jurík jest autorem biograficznej powieści pod tytułem Śmierć ministra Smrť ministra o słowackim komunistycznym polityku Vladimirze Clementisie 1902–1952, który w latach 1948–1950 pełnił funkcję ministra spraw zagranicznych Czechosłowacji. Clementis w 1951 roku został uwięziony i podczas procesu pokazowego skazany na karę śmierci. Autor skonstruował powieść w sposób następujący: adwokat jako postać fikcyjna rozmawia z Clementisem tuż przed egzekucją i podczas tej rozmowy czytelnik poznaje całe życie słowackiego polityka. Co typowe dla czasów stalinizmu, duży udział w skazaniu polityka na śmierć mieli jego partyjni towarzysze i przyjaciele. Jurík opublikował również książkę o Aleksandrze Dubčeku Rok dłuższy niż wiek Rok dlhší ako storočie, w której pojawia się pytanie, czy śmierć Dubčeka — symbolu praskiej wiosny — też mogła być spowodowana przez osoby trzecie, ponieważ istnieją na to pewne dowody.

purpose of this study is to explore the influence of William Shakespeare on Slovene playwrights in the period between 1876, which marks the appearance of Jurčič - Levstik's Tugomer, and the 1930s, when Oton Župančič published his tragedy Veronika Deseniška (Veronika of Desenice, 1924) and, a few years later, Bratko Kreft his history, Celjski grofje (The Counts of Celje, 1932). Together with Cankar's works all of the plays discussed in this study deal with one of the well-known Slovene myths. In the previous number of Acta Neophilologica I published my study on the first Slovene tragedy Miss Jenny Love, which was published in Augsburg in 1780.1 The Romantic period, which followed this publication, was in Slovenia and elsewhere in Europe mainly characterized by the appearance of poetry, with a few exceptions of plays which were primarily intended for reading and not for the stage (Closet Drama). Let me mention here that in the Romantic period some of the finest Slovene poetry was written by France Prešeren (1800-1849), and although some of his friends suggested he should also attempt to write a play, his closest achievement to drama was his epic poem Krst pri Savici (Baptism at the Savica River, 1836), which is also often considered by literary historians as a predecessor of later Slovene dramatic literature. Although many Slovene authors who wrote their works in the nineteenth century knew Shakespeare's plays, they still found it easier to express themselves in prose. The first Slovene novel is Josip Jurčič's Deseti brat (The Tenth Brother), which was published in 1866, ten years earlier than his play Tugomer (Tugomer). However,Jurčičʹs tragedy Tugomer was artistically very much improved by the adaptation made by Fran Levstik, whose text has been since considered as the ʺtrueʺ version of this play. Further editions and adaptations of this play definitely prove that several Slovene authors have found the subject-matter of this play worthy of new interpretations. By the end of the nineteenth century the list of Slovene translators of Shakespeareʹs plays (most of them chose only some acts or scenes) was quite long. But it was only in 1899, when Ivan Cankarʹs translation of Hamlet appeared on stage of the Slovene National Theatre in Ljubljana, that a real master of the Slovene language approached one of Shakespeare's plays. Cankar became enthusiastic about Shakespeare's work and this is best seen also in Shakespeare's influence on three plays written by Cankar: Kralj na Betajnovi (The King of Betajnova, 1901), Pohujšanje v dolini Šentflorjanski (Scandal in the Valley of Saint Florian, 1907) and Lepa Vida (Beautiful Vida, 1911). The same kind of "enchantment" caught Oton Župančič, a Slovene poet, translator and dramatist, who had translated by 1924, when his Veronika Deseniška (Veronika of Desenice) appeared, several plays written by Shakespeare. A large number of echoes of Shakespeare's plays can be found in Župančič's play, not to mention the Bard's influence on Župančič's verse and style. Such influence can also be traced in Kreft's play. Many Slovene literary historians and critics mention in their studies Shakespeare's influence on Slovene dramatists but their reports are mainly seminal and rather generalizing. Therefore the purpose of this study is to provide a deeper analytical insight into this topic.

I’m naked, lying on my back on the fifteenth floor of an apartment full of stink and people in a city of a million other citizens. I’m at the centre of this booming metropolis and yet I’m ENTIRELY ALONE. I hate my life, my job, the city I live in and this screwed-up world that continues to disengage itself from me. I spend the next four hours staring at the water-stained stucco ceiling imagining ways to “off” myself. I don’t have the stomach or the courage for suicide, so the time is wasted. I kill (pardon the pun) another hour being angry that I threw away precious hours on something I never intended on carrying out. Is this what a breakdown feels like? Should I see a shrink to get some prescription drugs to numb me? But of course, I don’t trust doctors and the only drugs I’ve ever managed to digest are Vicks cough drops. I reach for the remote and turn the television on. There’s an Oprah feature about her new Leadership Academy for young girls in South Africa. I weep so hard I get hiccups as two young girls talk about how their father shot their mother and then himself in front of them. From my upside down position on the carpet, I see the girls emerge from their dirt floor to enter the dangerous streets of their community with hope. They study, read, dream, thank God for their blessings and find ways to play childhood games without the luxury of Nintendo Wii. I begin to feel a glimmer of relief that we’re not living in the apocalypse, but the glimmer is soon washed away by an overwhelming wave of guilt. I live in one of the most prosperous, safe countries on the globe, with the added luxury of studying my love/hate of performance, and I can’t even get myself off the floor to get dressed. Oprah’s girls remind me that I am a pathetic, self-indulgent, self-pitying western idiot. I remember the words of dead people. Kierkegaard tells me the “sickness unto death” I’m experiencing is “despair.” St. John of the Cross reassures me that a “dark night of the soul” is a journey to enlightenment. Camus reminds me that life is both “meaningless” and “important.” To hell with the philosophy of corpses, I need a live person to talk to. My brother, a cog in the Microsoft wheel, is on a conference call with a dozen other cogs. The most I can hope from my husband is a “cheer up,” since he is working one of his three jobs to pay for this overpriced dump. I telephone my best friend, and he’s wading through his own meaningless bullshit and brushes me off, but not before saying, “I’m miserable too.” Finally, my retired dad tells me he’ll call me back, since he’s “in the middle of driving terminal cancer patients around.” Did he just say that in front of them? I feel like a prick for even calling him. It’s bloody Sunday for God’s sake! Is there no one who has time to talk? Or is this world turning us all into selfish assholes who don’t care about each other anymore? Where’s the community? If I were honest, I’d admit to not trying very hard to find it. We bitch about the bubbles we’re in, but we’re too damned afraid to see what’s outside of them. I hate feeling cynical, self-absorbed, nihilistic and whiney, but I can’t help wondering if my symptoms are a result of something wrong in the wider social realm. I can’t worry about that now. Everyone else is working in their bubbles and so should I. I have six enormous papers to write, two performances to prepare for and endless reading to do – all of which is due within the next six weeks. And still, I cannot get myself off the floor. One of my tasks: ’finish book review for CTR.“ So, I decide to tackle that first, only because the subtitle of the book has the word ”suicide“ in it AND I’m a big fan of the author. Still lying on my back, I read the opening sentence, ”The world is a collapsing shit factory“ (11). Ah, ok. So, I’m not alone in my misery.

Background. George Gershwin is often considered as a composer who wrote mainly songs and musicals, but this is a misconception: beside the pieces of so-called “light” genres, among the composer’ works – two operas, as well as a number of outstanding instrumental compositions (“Cuban Overture” for a symphony orchestra, two Rhapsodies, Variations for piano and orchestra and Piano Concerto etc.). Gershwin had a natural pianistic talent, and there was almost not a single piece of his own that he did not perform on the piano, and most of them were born in improvisation (Ewen, 1989). The basis for the creation of this study was the desire to increase interest in the work of Gershwin as a “serious” composer and to draw the attention of domestic academic pianists to the value of his piano works, presented not only the “Rhapsody in Blue”, which has been mostly played lately. The purpose of our research is to prove the relevance of the performance of Gershwin’s instrumental works in the academic concert environment as the music of the classical tradition, tracing the formation of specific features of the composer’s instrumental creativity and their reflection in the cycle of “Three Preludes for Piano” in 1926. Studies of the life and work of G. Gershwin, illuminating a special path in music and the unusual genius of an outstanding musician, were created mainly in the 50–70s of the XX century. D. Ewen – the author of the most detailed biography of the composer (first published in 1956, the Russian translation – in 1989) – was personally acquainted with the great musician and his family, took numerous interviews from the composer’s relatives, friends and teachers, had access to his archives (Ewen, 1989: 3–4). The author of the book enters into the details of the life and creative work of the genius and creates a portrait of the composer as a person “in relationships” – as a son, brother, friend. A separate chapter devoted to the music of Gershwin is in the fundamental work of V. Konen (1965) “The Ways of American Music”, an extremely useful study of the folklore origins and musical foundations of jazz. Cognitive is the “popular monograph” by V. Volynskiy (1988) about Gershwin, carefully structured chronologically and thematically. The Internet-pages of A. Tikhomirov (2006–2020) on the resource “Classic Music News.ru” are also very valuable, in particular, thanks to retrospective photographs and audio recordings posted there. From the point of view we have chosen, the piano Preludes by G. Gershwin have not yet been considered by domestic researchers. Research methodology is based on comparative analysis and then synthesizing, generalization and abstraction when using data from biographical literature, and tested musicological approaches when considering musical samples and audio recordings of various versions of the Preludes (including the author’s playing). The results of reseaching. G. Gershwin, despite his Jewish-Slavic family roots (his parents emigrated to America from the Russian Empire at the end of the 19th century), is undoubtedly a representative of American culture. Outstanding artists have almost always turned to the folklore of their country. In Gershwin, this trait manifested itself in a special way, since American folklore, due to historical and political circumstances, is a very motley phenomenon. Indian, English, German, French, Jewish, African, Latin American melodies surrounded Gershwin everywhere. Their rhythms and intonations, compositional schemes were melted, transformed in professional music (Konen, 1965: 231–246). The first musical teacher of Gershwin was the sound atmosphere of New York streets. This is the main reason that the style of his musical works is inextricably linked with jazz: Gershwin did not encounter this purely American phenomenon, he grew up in it. Among the numerous other teachers of Gershwin who significantly influenced on the formation of his music style, one should definitely name the pianist and composer Charles Hambitzer, who introduced his student to the music of Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Debussy, Ravel (Ewen, 1989: 30–32). The most part of Gershwin’s creativity consisted of working on musicals, a typically American genre. The work with the musicals gave the composer the basis for writing his first jazz opera “Blue Monday“, 1922 (other name – “135th Street”), which became the predecessor of the famous pearl of the new genre, “Porgy and Bess” (1935). Following the production of “Blue Monday”, Gershwin began collaborating with the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, who was impressed by the piece. On the initiative of the latter, Gershwin created his masterpiece, “Rhapsody in Blue” (1924), which still remains a unique musical phenomenon, since the composer brought jazz to the big stage, giving it the status of professional music (Ewen, 1989: 79–85; Volynskiy, 1988: part 4). V. Konen (1965: 264–265) believes that Gershwin is a representative of symphonic Europeanized jazz, since he uses it in musical forms and genres of the European tradition. However, we cannot agree that Gershwin “used” jazz. For him, jazz was organic, inseparable from the author’s style, and this is what makes his music so attractive to representatives of both classical and pop traditions. For Gershwin, due to life circumstances, turning to jazz is not an attempt at stylization, but a natural way of expression. “Three Preludes for Piano” are significant in the composer’s work, because it is the only known concertо work for solo piano published during his lifetime. At first, Gershwin planned to create a cycle of 24 Preludes, but only seven were created in the manuscript, then the author reduced the number of works to five. A year after the creation of the Piano Concerto, in 1926, Gershwin presented this new opus. The pieces performed by the author himself sound impeccably technically and even austerely-strictly (audio recording has been preserved, see ‘Gershvin plays Gershvin 3 Preludes’, video on You Tube, published on 2 Aug. 2011). It can be noted that Gershwin is close to the European pianistic style with its attention to the accuracy of each note. The cycle is built on the principle of contrasting comparison: the first and third Preludes are performed at a fast pace, the second – at a slow pace (blues-like). The analysis of the cycle, carried out by the author of the article, proves that “Three Preludes” for piano reflect the main features of Gershwin’s creative manner: capriciousness of syncopated rhythms, subtle modulation play, improvisational development. Breathing breadth, volumetric texture, effective highlighting of climaxes bring the cycle closer to the composer’s symphonic works. Jazz themes are laid out at a high professional level, using traditional European notation and terminology. Thus, although Gershwin was a brilliant improviser, he made it possible for both jazz pianists and academic performers to master his works. Conclusions. The peculiarities of Gershwin’s development as an artist determined the combination of the jazz basis of his works with the compositional technique of European academic music. The versatility and musical appeal of the Preludes are the key to their long stage life. Plays are well received both in cycles and singly. Their perception is also improved by the fact that the original musical speech is combined in them with the established forms of academic music. The mastery of the Preludes by pianists stimulates the development of technical skill, acquaints with jazz style, sets interesting rhythmic problems. The pieces are bright and winning for concert performance. Thus, the presence of the composer’s piano pieces and other his instrumental works in the programs of classical concerts seems appropriate, useful and desirable.

AbstractOnly a few weeks after seeing the Frans Hals portrait of Jaspar Schade in the 1962 exhibition in Haarlem, the author came upon it again in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Waller in Utrecht (Figs. 1 and 2, Note I). He learnt that this particular painting had been in Mr. Waller's family for nearly a century and that it was a copy of the one now in Prague. The story was that the latter had been sold by Mr. Waller's grandfather Beukerfrom his country-house 'Zandbergen', which he had bought in 1865, to his friend P.E.H. Praetorius, on condition that the latter had a copy painted as a replacement. According to a written statement of 1934 by Mr. Waller's mother, the original by Frans Hals had always been at 'Zandbergen' and there was even a legend that the house would fall down, if it were removed. Her father, who was not interested in paintings according to the statement, had sold it to Praetorius at his request. The family had understood, erroneously as it turns out, that Praetorius had sold it on to Cologne and that it had later gone to America. In testing the truth of all this the author discovered first that the house is marked with the name of 'Den Heer Schade' on a map of the Utrecht area by Bernard de Roij published by Nicolaas Visscher in Amsterdam in 1696 (Fig.3, Note 4). The road on which it stands had been projected in 1652, Schade being one of those who acquired a parcel of land along it in return for laying that portion out, planting it and maintaining it and also building a side road on either side of his plot. Part of the agreement also was that he was exempted from paying taxes for 25 years. Schade (1623-,92), a member of a family of considerable standing, held various high offices in the church and province of Utrecht and was a delegate to the States-General in 1672. He was extremely rich and noted for his extravagant lifestyle, particularly as regards clothes (Notes 12-14). His house passed to his eldest son, who in 1701 left it to his brother-in-law Jacob Noirot. Between the latter, who sold it in 1740, and the Beuker family 'Zandbergen' (Fig. 4) had nine different owners. The museum in Prague acquired the portrait of Jaspar Schade in 1890 from Prince Liechtenstein, who had bought it in Paris on 14 March 1881 at the sale of the collection of John W. Wilson, an Englishman then living in Brussels. A. J. van de Ven tried without success to trace its history before that time (Note 18) and this was also unknown to Seymour Slive, although in his catalogue raisonné of Hals' work he mentions that it was shown at an exhibition of Wilson's collection in Brussels in 1873 (Note 20). In an article of the same year on Wilson's collection in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts Charles Tardieu remarked that Wilson had lived in Holland for thirty years and that his residence was obviously in Haarlem, from where the best pictures in his collection came. In his article on the portrait Van de Ven enlarged on the coals of arms on the frame, which were Schade's eight quarterings, but in an arbitrary order. The director of the Prague museum had told him that the frame was a 19th-century one and that the confusion had arisen during its making. A description of the frame in 1875 reveals that the arms were in their correct place then (Note 25), while the frame of the copy has the same arms in the right order, except that the left and right sides are transposed. Thus the present Prague frame must have been made after 1875, while the copy was presumably made and framed at the time the painting left 'Zandbergen'. John W. Wilson (1815-83) was born in Brussels of Thomas Wilsorz, who moved to Haarlem in 1833 and started a cotton factory there. John lived at Hillegom from 1856 to 1868, but after that moved back to Haarlem for a short time up to, but no later than 1870. He must have been very wealthy, as he also bought a lot of land in the area. How he acquired his collection of paintings is not known, as he appears to have kept it quiet until the exhibition of 1873. The catalogue of this covered 164 pictures; 76 of them, painted by 57 different artists, were of the Dutch School. Five pictures, all authentic, were by Frans Hals (Note 29). P.E.H. Praetorius (1791-1876, Fig.5) was a cousin of Beuker's. He moved from Haarlem to Amsterdam in or before 1829 and spent the rest of his life there. He was a broker and banker, an amateur painter and a great connoisseur of paintings, who played a prominent part in art societies in Amsterdam. He was also a member of the Supervisory Committee of the Rijksmuseum from 1844 and Chairman of its Board of Management from 1852 to 1875 (Note 33). His earliest paintings were copies of 17th-century works and he says in an appendix to his memoirs of 1869 that his last five works, done in 1865 and I 866, included a copy of Frans Hals' portrait of Willem van Heythuyzen. While it is clear that Jaspar Schade was the builder of 'Zandbergen', it is odd that the painting is never mentioned in any of the deeds of sale, detailed though these are. This suggests that it was so firmly fixed in its place - in the downstairs corridor over the door to the salon - as to be regarded as part of the fabric of the house. The price paid by Praetorius for the painting is not known, but he bought it at a period when Frans Hals' reputation had shot upwards again, after a long period of decline. This return to favour emerges clearly from Tardieu's comments, from the records of copyists in the Rijksmuseum (Note 37) and, of course, from Wilson's predilection. No evidence can be found of the painting's passing from Praetorius to Wilson, but the two must have known each other. The identity of the painter of the copy is also unknown. Mrs. Waller's statement mentions J. W. Pieneman, but he can be ruled out, as he died in 1853 and his son Nicolaas in 1860. The most likely candidate at the moment would seem to be Praetorius himself.

This interview was conducted at the famous Lotus Clinic at Mumbai. Interview of Dr DD Tanna (DDT) was personally conducted by our Editor Dr Ashok Shyam (AK). It was an interesting two hours talk in late evening and we are presenting here the salient features of the interview. AK: First let me thank you for this interview. Let’s begin by asking about your family and where you grew up? DDT: I grew up in Kalbadevi area in Bombay in a typical Gujrati locality. I had four brothers so we were five of us together with my father and mother. At that time education was not something very popular in our family and when I graduated I was among the handful in 2 mile radius and when I completed post-graduation there were none in the entire area. The trend was that people used to go to college just for the stamp of collage and then join the father business. But I was a good student and so I did complete my studies AK: Tell us something more about your childhood? DDT: I had a very eventful childhood, we used to play many sports. I was very good at cricket and even at medical college I was captain of the cricket team. But along with cricket I played many local sports kho-kho, langadi, hoo-to-too, football, volleyball, swimming etc. Didn’t get chance to play hockey but I did play everything I came across. AK: I understand you have seen Mahatma Gandhi and heard him speak. Please share your remembrance of that? DDT: Once Gandhiji was holding a meeting in Bombay and my father said to me ”let’s go see Gandhiji”. I went with him and there was a huge crowd and I felt quite uncomfortable. I wanted to leave when my father said to me ‘why are you afraid of the crowd, these are all your fellow human beings, not cattle herd”. That statement touched me very much and till today, I am not afraid of any crowd. Understanding that all are my fellow human beings, took away my stage fright forever. I can speak my thoughts clearly and without fear and I can dance with the crowd with equal ease. I have seen Mahatma Gandhi at close distance and he appeared to be a very frail man. At first I wasn’t impressed, but then I realised that this frail man can have the huge crowd following him just because of his thought process. That understanding has helped me a lot in my life. AK: So why did you become a doctor, what was your inspiration? DDT: I was good in studies and in those days there were only two choices either to be an engineer or to be a doctor. I had decided that I would be an engineer with no doubt in my mind. One day one of my uncles, who happened to be an engineer, visited us. When asked I told him my intention to become an engineer, to which he replied ”In that case you have to take up a government job all your life”. In those days the only scope for an engineer was to be in government job, but the idea of being a enslaved for life by an organisation was something I couldn’t accept. My freedom was very dear to me and overnight I changed my decision and pledged to become a doctor. AK: How was your MBBS term? Why did you choose orthopaedic surgery? DDT: I was quite casual in MBBS and was more involved in sports. I got serious in last year to get good grades. Frankly speaking there were none who influenced me in the undergraduate college. After joining medicine developed a natural liking to surgery and always wanted to become a surgeon. Doing general surgery and then super specialisation for another two years seemed to be a long time. Orthopaedic surgery was a new branch at that time and offered direct super specialisation. And so I joined orthopaedic surgery. AK: What were your early influences in medical college? DDT: I wasn’t a very serious student in medical college. Possibly I became a bit serious in my last year of MBBS to score marks to get the branch of my choice. After MBBS and before joining post-graduation I had some spare time at hand which I utilise in reading. That period was a period of change I my life. I read authors like Bertrand Russel who had a major influence in my life. I read ‘Altas shrugged’, ‘We the Living’, and ‘Fountainhead’ and these three books had deep impact on me. I also read The Manusmrti’s specifically for their philosophical treatise and not the religious aspect. I still like to ponder on these philosophical aspects from time to time. By the time I joined as an orthopaedic registrar, I was a pretty serious person. In first 6 months of my orthopaedic residence I was fascinated with basics specially the histopathological aspect of orthopaedics. I read all about the histiocytes, the fibroblasts etc and even today I still think in these terms when I think about orthopaedics. AK: You joined the B Y L Nair Hospital, Mumbai in 1965. Tell us something about your life at Nair Hospital? DDT: Well in fact I passed my MS in 1965. I joined possibly in 1954 as a medical student. I was a student, house surgeon, lecturer, honorary surgeon all at Nair hospital. I was one of the youngest consultant as I became consultant at Nair hospital at age of 28, merely 8 months after passing MS exams. Possibly God was kind to me. Nair hospital was a decent place, but it became a force once Dr KV Chaubal joined Nair. Earlier KEM hospital had big name because of Dr Talwalkar and Dr Dholakia. I was lecturer when Dr Chaubal joined. He changed Nair hospital with his modern and dynamic approach. He gave me an individual unit within 3 years. Our rounds would be more than 4 hours in Nair hospital and had great academic discussions. AK: We have heard about a very famous incident when you operated Dr Chaubal? Do tell us something about that DDT: Well Dr Chaubal was suffering from a prolapsed disc and he had taken conservative management for some time with recurrent episodes. At one point we went ahead and got a myelogram done (no MRI in those days), and a huge disc was diagnosed. He called me the next day and asked to operate on him. I was 10 years his junior and moreover he was my boss and there were many more senior surgeons who were available. It came as a shock to me that he would chose me to operate on him [and of course it was an honor to be chosen]. Dr Laud and Dr Pradhan assisted me in operating him and it was big news at that time AK: You were pioneer in bringing C-arm to India? Tell us something about the C-arm Story? DDT: We used to do all surgeries under X ray guidance in those days, at the most we had 2 x-rays set together by Dr Talwalkar to get orthogonal views. I used to go to USA and they would do all surgeries under C-arm. I came back and contacted Mr Kantilal Gada who used to manufacture X ray machines. He agreed to try to make a C arm if I pay him one lakh rupees [in those days]. The condition was if he succeeded, he would give the c arm to me at no profit rate and if he failed my money would be lost. He did succeed and we had India’s first C-arm at my place. It helped me at many times in clinical practice. One specific incidence about an Arab patient who had a failed implant removal surgery previously and Icould remove the implant within 30 mins because I could clearly see the distal end of the nail entrapped. This patient was a friend of The Consulate General of UAE and since then I started getting lot of patients from there. So that was a wise investment I think. AK: You were specifically instrumental in developing trauma surgery in India. Why focus of Trauma Surgery? DDT: Dr Chaubal the first person to start trends in everything. At first we were spine surgeons as Dr Chaubal was very interested in spine surgery. Dr Bhojraj and Dr VT Ingalhalikar were our students. I was one of the first people to do total hip and total knee surgeries very soon after Dr Dholakia did it for the first time in India. But somehow I felt these surgeries did not hold much challenge. Trauma surgeries were challenging and each case was unique and different. So I decided to stick to trauma surgery for the sake of sheer joy of intellectual and technical challenges it offers. AK: A lot has happened in the field of Orthopaedic Trauma in and you are witness to these growth and development. What according to you are the important landmarks in History of trauma Surgery? DDT: Interlocking is the major change. I used to go to AAOS meeting every year where people were talking about interlocking when we were doing only plates. I decided to make an interlock nail by drilling holes in standard K nail. There was no C-arm in those days and surgeries were done on X rays. We got a compound fracture tibia and I made a set of drilled K nails for this patient as per his measurements. We successfully did the static locking using K nail in this patient. We slowly developed the instrumentation and jigs for it and developed commercially available instrument nail. Interlocking spread like wild fire and I was called as the Father of Interlocking Nail in India. AK: Your specific focus was on Intramedullary nailing and you have also designed the ‘Tanna Nail’ How did you think of designing the nail? Tell us about the process of designing the nail, the story behind it? DDT: Like said above, I developed the nail and instrument set with one Mr Daftari in Bombay. This was sold as ‘Tanna nail’ in Bombay. Slowly implant companies from other states also copied the design and started selling it as ‘Tanna NAIL’. I had no objections to it and I didn’t have a copyright anyway. Slowly I phased away the name as the design progressed and asked them to call it simply interlocking nails. AK: You are known for Innovation. Tell us something more about it? DDT: I specifically remember C-arm guided biopsy which I used successfully for tumor lesions. The same principle I used for drilling osteoid osteoma under CT guidance, which avoided an open surgery. There are many more technical tips and surgical techniques that I have been doing and some of them are listed in my book named ‘Orthopaedic Tit Bits’ AK: The last two decades have seen a tremendous increase in the choices of implants available in the market. Many of these implants were sold as the next “new thing”. Do you feel these new implants offer justifiable and definite advantage over the older ones? How should a trauma surgeon go about this maze of implants and choose the best for his patients? DDT: There is no easy way to do that, because most implants comes with a huge propaganda and body of relevant research. Many senior faculties will start talking about it and using it. For example, distal femur plates have now reported to have 30% non-union rate. Earlier I had myself been a strong supporter of distal femur plate but through my own experience I saw the complications. Now I feel the intramedullary nail is better than the distal femur plat in indicated fractures. Same with trochanteric plates or helical screws in proximal femur fracture. So we learn the hard facts over a period of time and by burning our own hands. But then you have to be progressive and balance your scepticism and enthusiasm. In my case the enthusiasm wins most of the time. AK: Share your views on role of Industry in dictating terms to trauma surgeons? DDT: I feel it’s very difficult to bypass the industry. Also because the industry is supported by orthopods. But again like I said we learn from our own errors and something that does not have substance will not last for long. For example clavicle plating, I supported clavicle plating for some time [and it felt correct at that time], but now I do not find wisdom in plating clavicle and so I have stopped. So I believe it’s a process of constant learning and also realising and accepting mistakes. Once I was a great proponent of posterolateral interbody fusion (PLIF) in spine but after few years of using it I realised the fallacy and I presented a paper in WIROC (Western India regional orthopaedic conference) titled ‘I am retracting PLIF’ and it was highly appreciated by the audience. AK: Tell us about your move toward joint replacement surgeries? DDT: I was one of the first one after Dr Dholakia to start joint replacement surgeries in India and I continue to do many joint surgeries. And of course ‘cream’ comes from joint replacement surgeries (laughs heartily) AK: You have been active in teaching and training for over 4 decades, how has the scene changes in terms of teaching methods and quality of surgeons undergoing training? DDT: Teaching is now become more and more spoon feeding and I think it is not real teaching. Even in meetings I enjoy the format where there is small number of faculty and case based discussion on practical tips and surgical technique. The 8 minute talk pattern is something I think is not very effective. Real teaching of orthopaedics cannot be done in classroom or in clinics. In clinics we can teach students to pass exams but not orthopaedics. Dr Chaubal always used to say that real orthopaedics is taught in practical patient management and in operation theatres. I tell my fellows that I wont teach much, but they have to observe and learn. In medical colleges there is no teaching at all, its almost died off. AK: What you feel is the ‘Way of Working’ of Dr Tanna that makes him a successful Orthopaedic Surgeon? Your Mantra? DDT: Always do academically correct things. Like I have been practicing 3 doses of antibiotics since last 20 years. I read a lot and then distil the academic points and follow them in practice. I get up at 4 am and read everyday. AK: What technical tips would you give for someone who has just embarked on his career as an Orthopaedic surgeon? DDT : I have given one oration which is also on you tube, you should listen to that. Anybody who becomes an orthopaedic surgeon is actually cream of humanity and are capable of doing anything. The only thing required is a strong will to excel and passion to succeed AK: I understand that you are a very positive person, but do you have any regrets, specifically related to orthopaedics. Something that you wished to do but couldn’t? DDT: Honestly nothing. Today when people ask me ‘How are you’ I say ‘can’t be better’. I couldn’t have asked for a better life AK: Any message you will like to share? DDT: I think passion to be best is essential. Even if one patient does not do well or if we do a mistake in a surgery, it causes huge distress and misery to us. We as doctor should be truthful to your patients. Between you and your patient there can’t be any malpractice. You should treat every patient as if you are doing it on your son or daughter. Always keep patient first AK: What degree or accolades would you like me to mention in your introduction? DDT: Nothing just plain MS Orth, I have no other degrees. In fact after my MS I attempted to give D orth exam. My boss at that time Dr Sant, said ‘are you crazy, after passing MS you want to give KG exam?’ He actually did not allow me to appear (laughs). Never felt like having any more degrees, degrees won’t take me ahead, its only my orthopaedic skill that will be take me ahead in life.

Education in Oceania continues to reflect the embedded implicit and explicit colonial practices and processes from the past. This paper conceptualises a cultural approach to education and leadership appropriate and relevant to the Republic of the Marshall Islands. As elementary school leaders, we highlight Kanne Lobal, a traditional Marshallese navigation practice based on indigenous language, values and practices. We conceptualise and develop Kanne Lobal in this paper as a framework for understanding the usefulness of our indigenous knowledge in leadership and educational practices within formal education. Through bwebwenato, a method of talk story, our key learnings and reflexivities were captured. We argue that realising the value of Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices for school leaders requires purposeful training of the ways in which our knowledge can be made useful in our professional educational responsibilities. Drawing from our Marshallese knowledge is an intentional effort to inspire, empower and express what education and leadership partnership means for Marshallese people, as articulated by Marshallese themselves. Introduction As noted in the call for papers within the Waikato Journal of Education (WJE) for this special issue, bodies of knowledge and histories in Oceania have long sustained generations across geographic boundaries to ensure cultural survival. For Marshallese people, we cannot really know ourselves “until we know how we came to be where we are today” (Walsh, Heine, Bigler & Stege, 2012). Jitdam Kapeel is a popular Marshallese concept and ideal associated with inquiring into relationships within the family and community. In a similar way, the practice of relating is about connecting the present and future to the past. Education and leadership partnerships are linked and we look back to the past, our history, to make sense and feel inspired to transform practices that will benefit our people. In this paper and in light of our next generation, we reconnect with our navigation stories to inspire and empower education and leadership. Kanne lobal is part of our navigation stories, a conceptual framework centred on cultural practices, values, and concepts that embrace collective partnerships. Our link to this talanoa vā with others in the special issue is to attempt to make sense of connections given the global COVID-19 context by providing a Marshallese approach to address the physical and relational “distance” between education and leadership partnerships in Oceania. Like the majority of developing small island nations in Oceania, the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) has had its share of educational challenges through colonial legacies of the past which continues to drive education systems in the region (Heine, 2002). The historical administration and education in the RMI is one of colonisation. Successive administrations by the Spanish, German, Japanese, and now the US, has resulted in education and learning that privileges western knowledge and forms of learning. This paper foregrounds understandings of education and learning as told by the voices of elementary school leaders from the RMI. The move to re-think education and leadership from Marshallese perspectives is an act of shifting the focus of bwebwenato or conversations that centres on Marshallese language and worldviews. The concept of jelalokjen was conceptualised as traditional education framed mainly within the community context. In the past, jelalokjen was practiced and transmitted to the younger generation for cultural continuity. During the arrival of colonial administrations into the RMI, jelalokjen was likened to the western notions of education and schooling (Kupferman, 2004). Today, the primary function of jelalokjen, as traditional and formal education, it is for “survival in a hostile [and challenging] environment” (Kupferman, 2004, p. 43). Because western approaches to learning in the RMI have not always resulted in positive outcomes for those engaged within the education system, as school leaders who value our cultural knowledge and practices, and aspire to maintain our language with the next generation, we turn to Kanne Lobal, a practice embedded in our navigation stories, collective aspirations, and leadership. The significance in the development of Kanne Lobal, as an appropriate framework for education and leadership, resulted in us coming together and working together. Not only were we able to share our leadership concerns, however, the engagement strengthened our connections with each other as school leaders, our communities, and the Public Schooling System (PSS). Prior to that, many of us were in competition for resources. Educational Leadership: IQBE and GCSL Leadership is a valued practice in the RMI. Before the IQBE programme started in 2018, the majority of the school leaders on the main island of Majuro had not engaged in collaborative partnerships with each other before. Our main educational purpose was to achieve accreditation from the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC), an accreditation commission for schools in the United States. The WASC accreditation dictated our work and relationships and many school leaders on Majuro felt the pressure of competition against each other. We, the authors in this paper, share our collective bwebwenato, highlighting our school leadership experiences and how we gained strength from our own ancestral knowledge to empower “us”, to collaborate with each other, our teachers, communities, as well as with PSS; a collaborative partnership we had not realised in the past. The paucity of literature that captures Kajin Majol (Marshallese language) and education in general in the RMI is what we intend to fill by sharing our reflections and experiences. To move our educational practices forward we highlight Kanne Lobal, a cultural approach that focuses on our strengths, collective social responsibilities and wellbeing. For a long time, there was no formal training in place for elementary school leaders. School principals and vice principals were appointed primarily on their academic merit through having an undergraduate qualification. As part of the first cohort of fifteen school leaders, we engaged in the professional training programme, the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL), refitted to our context after its initial development in the Solomon Islands. GCSL was coordinated by the Institute of Education (IOE) at the University of the South Pacific (USP). GCSL was seen as a relevant and appropriate training programme for school leaders in the RMI as part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded programme which aimed at “Improving Quality Basic Education” (IQBE) in parts of the northern Pacific. GCSL was managed on Majuro, RMI’s main island, by the director at the time Dr Irene Taafaki, coordinator Yolanda McKay, and administrators at the University of the South Pacific’s (USP) RMI campus. Through the provision of GCSL, as school leaders we were encouraged to re-think and draw-from our own cultural repository and connect to our ancestral knowledge that have always provided strength for us. This kind of thinking and practice was encouraged by our educational leaders (Heine, 2002). We argue that a culturally-affirming and culturally-contextual framework that reflects the lived experiences of Marshallese people is much needed and enables the disruption of inherent colonial processes left behind by Western and Eastern administrations which have influenced our education system in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Kanne Lobal, an approach utilising a traditional navigation has warranted its need to provide solutions for today’s educational challenges for us in the RMI. Education in the Pacific Education in the Pacific cannot be understood without contextualising it in its history and culture. It is the same for us in the RMI (Heine, 2002; Walsh et al., 2012). The RMI is located in the Pacific Ocean and is part of Micronesia. It was named after a British captain, John Marshall in the 1700s. The atolls in the RMI were explored by the Spanish in the 16th century. Germany unsuccessfully attempted to colonize the islands in 1885. Japan took control in 1914, but after several battles during World War II, the US seized the RMI from them. In 1947, the United Nations made the island group, along with the Mariana and Caroline archipelagos, a U.S. trust territory (Walsh et al, 2012). Education in the RMI reflects the colonial administrations of Germany, Japan, and now the US. Before the turn of the century, formal education in the Pacific reflected western values, practices, and standards. Prior to that, education was informal and not binded to formal learning institutions (Thaman, 1997) and oral traditions was used as the medium for transmitting learning about customs and practices living with parents, grandparents, great grandparents. As alluded to by Jiba B. Kabua (2004), any “discussion about education is necessarily a discussion of culture, and any policy on education is also a policy of culture” (p. 181). It is impossible to promote one without the other, and it is not logical to understand one without the other. Re-thinking how education should look like, the pedagogical strategies that are relevant in our classrooms, the ways to engage with our parents and communities - such re-thinking sits within our cultural approaches and frameworks. Our collective attempts to provide a cultural framework that is relevant and appropriate for education in our context, sits within the political endeavour to decolonize. This means that what we are providing will not only be useful, but it can be used as a tool to question and identify whether things in place restrict and prevent our culture or whether they promote and foreground cultural ideas and concepts, a significant discussion of culture linked to education (Kabua, 2004). Donor funded development aid programmes were provided to support the challenges within education systems. Concerned with the persistent low educational outcomes of Pacific students, despite the prevalence of aid programmes in the region, in 2000 Pacific educators and leaders with support from New Zealand Aid (NZ Aid) decided to intervene (Heine, 2002; Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). In April 2001, a group of Pacific educators and leaders across the region were invited to a colloquium funded by the New Zealand Overseas Development Agency held in Suva Fiji at the University of the South Pacific. The main purpose of the colloquium was to enable “Pacific educators to re-think the values, assumptions and beliefs underlying [formal] schooling in Oceania” (Benson, 2002). Leadership, in general, is a valued practice in the RMI (Heine, 2002). Despite education leadership being identified as a significant factor in school improvement (Sanga & Chu, 2009), the limited formal training opportunities of school principals in the region was a persistent concern. As part of an Asia Development Bank (ADB) funded project, the Improve Quality Basic Education (IQBE) intervention was developed and implemented in the RMI in 2017. Mentoring is a process associated with the continuity and sustainability of leadership knowledge and practices (Sanga & Chu, 2009). It is a key aspect of building capacity and capabilities within human resources in education (ibid). Indigenous knowledges and education research According to Hilda Heine, the relationship between education and leadership is about understanding Marshallese history and culture (cited in Walsh et al., 2012). It is about sharing indigenous knowledge and histories that “details for future generations a story of survival and resilience and the pride we possess as a people” (Heine, cited in Walsh et al., 2012, p. v). This paper is fuelled by postcolonial aspirations yet is grounded in Pacific indigenous research. This means that our intentions are driven by postcolonial pursuits and discourses linked to challenging the colonial systems and schooling in the Pacific region that privileges western knowledge and learning and marginalises the education practices and processes of local people (Thiong’o, 1986). A point of difference and orientation from postcolonialism is a desire to foreground indigenous Pacific language, specifically Majin Majol, through Marshallese concepts. Our collective bwebwenato and conversation honours and values kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness) (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Pacific leaders developed the Rethinking Pacific Education Initiative for and by Pacific People (RPEIPP) in 2002 to take control of the ways in which education research was conducted by donor funded organisations (Taufe’ulungaki, 2014). Our former president, Dr Hilda Heine was part of the group of leaders who sought to counter the ways in which our educational and leadership stories were controlled and told by non-Marshallese (Heine, 2002). As a former minister of education in the RMI, Hilda Heine continues to inspire and encourage the next generation of educators, school leaders, and researchers to re-think and de-construct the way learning and education is conceptualised for Marshallese people. The conceptualisation of Kanne Lobal acknowledges its origin, grounded in Marshallese navigation knowledge and practice. Our decision to unpack and deconstruct Kanne Lobal within the context of formal education and leadership responds to the need to not only draw from indigenous Marshallese ideas and practice but to consider that the next generation will continue to be educated using western processes and initiatives particularly from the US where we get a lot of our funding from. According to indigenous researchers Dawn Bessarab and Bridget Ng’andu (2010), doing research that considers “culturally appropriate processes to engage with indigenous groups and individuals is particularly pertinent in today’s research environment” (p. 37). Pacific indigenous educators and researchers have turned to their own ancestral knowledge and practices for inspiration and empowerment. Within western research contexts, the often stringent ideals and processes are not always encouraging of indigenous methods and practices. However, many were able to ground and articulate their use of indigenous methods as being relevant and appropriate to capturing the realities of their communities (Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Fulu-Aiolupotea, 2014; Thaman, 1997). At the same time, utilising Pacific indigenous methods and approaches enabled research engagement with their communities that honoured and respected them and their communities. For example, Tongan, Samoan, and Fijian researchers used the talanoa method as a way to capture the stories, lived realities, and worldviews of their communities within education in the diaspora (Fa’avae, Jones, & Manu’atu, 2016; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014; Vaioleti, 2005). Tok stori was used by Solomon Islander educators and school leaders to highlight the unique circles of conversational practice and storytelling that leads to more positive engagement with their community members, capturing rich and meaningful narratives as a result (Sanga & Houma, 2004). The Indigenous Aborigine in Australia utilise yarning as a “relaxed discussion through which both the researcher and participant journey together visiting places and topics of interest relevant” (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010, p. 38). Despite the diverse forms of discussions and storytelling by indigenous peoples, of significance are the cultural protocols, ethics, and language for conducting and guiding the engagement (Bessarab & Ng’andu, 2010; Nabobo-Baba, 2008; Sualii-Sauni & Aiolupotea, 2014). Through the ethics, values, protocols, and language, these are what makes indigenous methods or frameworks unique compared to western methods like in-depth interviews or semi-structured interviews. This is why it is important for us as Marshallese educators to frame, ground, and articulate how our own methods and frameworks of learning could be realised in western education (Heine, 2002; Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). In this paper, we utilise bwebwenato as an appropriate method linked to “talk story”, capturing our collective stories and experiences during GCSL and how we sought to build partnerships and collaboration with each other, our communities, and the PSS. Bwebwenato and drawing from Kajin Majel Legends and stories that reflect Marshallese society and its cultural values have survived through our oral traditions. The practice of weaving also holds knowledge about our “valuable and earliest sources of knowledge” (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019, p. 2). The skilful navigation of Marshallese wayfarers on the walap (large canoes) in the ocean is testament of their leadership and the value they place on ensuring the survival and continuity of Marshallese people (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019; Walsh et al., 2012). During her graduate study in 2014, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner conceptualised bwebwenato as being the most “well-known form of Marshallese orality” (p. 38). The Marshallese-English dictionary defined bwebwenato as talk, conversation, story, history, article, episode, lore, myth, or tale (cited in Jetnil Kijiner, 2014). Three years later in 2017, bwebwenato was utilised in a doctoral project by Natalie Nimmer as a research method to gather “talk stories” about the experiences of 10 Marshallese experts in knowledge and skills ranging from sewing to linguistics, canoe-making and business. Our collective bwebwenato in this paper centres on Marshallese ideas and language. The philosophy of Marshallese knowledge is rooted in our “Kajin Majel”, or Marshallese language and is shared and transmitted through our oral traditions. For instance, through our historical stories and myths. Marshallese philosophy, that is, the knowledge systems inherent in our beliefs, values, customs, and practices are shared. They are inherently relational, meaning that knowledge systems and philosophies within our world are connected, in mind, body, and spirit (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Nimmer, 2017). Although some Marshallese believe that our knowledge is disappearing as more and more elders pass away, it is therefore important work together, and learn from each other about the knowledges shared not only by the living but through their lamentations and stories of those who are no longer with us (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014). As a Marshallese practice, weaving has been passed-down from generation to generation. Although the art of weaving is no longer as common as it used to be, the artefacts such as the “jaki-ed” (clothing mats) continue to embody significant Marshallese values and traditions. For our weavers, the jouj (check spelling) is the centre of the mat and it is where the weaving starts. When the jouj is correct and weaved well, the remainder and every other part of the mat will be right. The jouj is symbolic of the “heart” and if the heart is prepared well, trained well, then life or all other parts of the body will be well (Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). In that light, we have applied the same to this paper. Conceptualising and drawing from cultural practices that are close and dear to our hearts embodies a significant ontological attempt to prioritize our own knowledge and language, a sense of endearment to who we are and what we believe education to be like for us and the next generation. The application of the phrase “Majolizing '' was used by the Ministry of Education when Hilda Heine was minister, to weave cultural ideas and language into the way that teachers understand the curriculum, develop lesson plans and execute them in the classroom. Despite this, there were still concerns with the embedded colonized practices where teachers defaulted to eurocentric methods of doing things, like the strategies provided in the textbooks given to us. In some ways, our education was slow to adjust to the “Majolizing '' intention by our former minister. In this paper, we provide Kanne Lobal as a way to contribute to the “Majolizing intention” and perhaps speed up yet still be collectively responsible to all involved in education. Kajin Wa and Kanne Lobal “Wa” is the Marshallese concept for canoe. Kajin wa, as in canoe language, has a lot of symbolic meaning linked to deeply-held Marshallese values and practices. The canoe was the foundational practice that supported the livelihood of harsh atoll island living which reflects the Marshallese social world. The experts of Kajin wa often refer to “wa” as being the vessel of life, a means and source of sustaining life (Kelen, 2009, cited in Miller, 2010). “Jouj” means kindness and is the lower part of the main hull of the canoe. It is often referred to by some canoe builders in the RMI as the heart of the canoe and is linked to love. The jouj is one of the first parts of the canoe that is built and is “used to do all other measurements, and then the rest of the canoe is built on top of it” (Miller, 2010, p. 67). The significance of the jouj is that when the canoe is in the water, the jouj is the part of the hull that is underwater and ensures that all the cargo and passengers are safe. For Marshallese, jouj or kindness is what living is about and is associated with selflessly carrying the responsibility of keeping the family and community safe. The parts of the canoe reflect Marshallese culture, legend, family, lineage, and kinship. They embody social responsibilities that guide, direct, and sustain Marshallese families’ wellbeing, from atoll to atoll. For example, the rojak (boom), rojak maan (upper boom), rojak kōrā (lower boom), and they support the edges of the ujelā/ujele (sail) (see figure 1). The literal meaning of rojak maan is male boom and rojak kōrā means female boom which together strengthens the sail and ensures the canoe propels forward in a strong yet safe way. Figuratively, the rojak maan and rojak kōrā symbolise the mother and father relationship which when strong, through the jouj (kindness and love), it can strengthen families and sustain them into the future. Figure 1. Parts of the canoe Source: https://www.canoesmarshallislands.com/2014/09/names-of-canoe-parts/ From a socio-cultural, communal, and leadership view, the canoe (wa) provides understanding of the relationships required to inspire and sustain Marshallese peoples’ education and learning. We draw from Kajin wa because they provide cultural ideas and practices that enable understanding of education and leadership necessary for sustaining Marshallese people and realities in Oceania. When building a canoe, the women are tasked with the weaving of the ujelā/ujele (sail) and to ensure that it is strong enough to withstand long journeys and the fierce winds and waters of the ocean. The Kanne Lobal relates to the front part of the ujelā/ujele (sail) where the rojak maan and rojak kōrā meet and connect (see the red lines in figure 1). Kanne Lobal is linked to the strategic use of the ujelā/ujele by navigators, when there is no wind north wind to propel them forward, to find ways to capture the winds so that their journey can continue. As a proverbial saying, Kanne Lobal is used to ignite thinking and inspire and transform practice particularly when the journey is rough and tough. In this paper we draw from Kanne Lobal to ignite, inspire, and transform our educational and leadership practices, a move to explore what has always been meaningful to Marshallese people when we are faced with challenges. The Kanne Lobal utilises our language, and cultural practices and values by sourcing from the concepts of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). A key Marshallese proverb, “Enra bwe jen lale rara”, is the cultural practice where families enact compassion through the sharing of food in all occurrences. The term “enra” is a small basket weaved from the coconut leaves, and often used by Marshallese as a plate to share and distribute food amongst each other. Bwe-jen-lale-rara is about noticing and providing for the needs of others, and “enra” the basket will help support and provide for all that are in need. “Enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara” is symbolic of cultural exchange and reciprocity and the cultural values associated with building and maintaining relationships, and constantly honouring each other. As a Marshallese practice, in this article we share our understanding and knowledge about the challenges as well as possible solutions for education concerns in our nation. In addition, we highlight another proverb, “wa kuk wa jimor”, which relates to having one canoe, and despite its capacity to feed and provide for the individual, but within the canoe all people can benefit from what it can provide. In the same way, we provide in this paper a cultural framework that will enable all educators to benefit from. It is a framework that is far-reaching and relevant to the lived realities of Marshallese people today. Kumit relates to people united to build strength, all co-operating and working together, living in peace, harmony, and good health. Kanne Lobal: conceptual framework for education and leadership An education framework is a conceptual structure that can be used to capture ideas and thinking related to aspects of learning. Kanne Lobal is conceptualised and framed in this paper as an educational framework. Kanne Lobal highlights the significance of education as a collective partnership whereby leadership is an important aspect. Kanne Lobal draws-from indigenous Marshallese concepts like kautiej (respect), jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity), and jouj (kindness, heart). The role of a leader, including an education leader, is to prioritise collective learning and partnerships that benefits Marshallese people and the continuity and survival of the next generation (Heine, 2002; Thaman, 1995). As described by Ejnar Aerōk, an expert canoe builder in the RMI, he stated: “jerbal ippān doon bwe en maron maan wa e” (cited in Miller, 2010, p. 69). His description emphasises the significance of partnerships and working together when navigating and journeying together in order to move the canoe forward. The kubaak, the outrigger of the wa (canoe) is about “partnerships”. For us as elementary school leaders on Majuro, kubaak encourages us to value collaborative partnerships with each other as well as our communities, PSS, and other stakeholders. Partnerships is an important part of the Kanne Lobal education and leadership framework. It requires ongoing bwebwenato – the inspiring as well as confronting and challenging conversations that should be mediated and negotiated if we and our education stakeholders are to journey together to ensure that the educational services we provide benefits our next generation of young people in the RMI. Navigating ahead the partnerships, mediation, and negotiation are the core values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity). As an organic conceptual framework grounded in indigenous values, inspired through our lived experiences, Kanne Lobal provides ideas and concepts for re-thinking education and leadership practices that are conducive to learning and teaching in the schooling context in the RMI. By no means does it provide the solution to the education ills in our nation. However, we argue that Kanne Lobal is a more relevant approach which is much needed for the negatively stigmatised system as a consequence of the various colonial administrations that have and continue to shape and reframe our ideas about what education should be like for us in the RMI. Moreover, Kannel Lobal is our attempt to decolonize the framing of education and leadership, moving our bwebwenato to re-framing conversations of teaching and learning so that our cultural knowledge and values are foregrounded, appreciated, and realised within our education system. Bwebwenato: sharing our stories In this section, we use bwebwenato as a method of gathering and capturing our stories as data. Below we capture our stories and ongoing conversations about the richness in Marshallese cultural knowledge in the outer islands and on Majuro and the potentialities in Kanne Lobal. Danny Jim When I was in third grade (9-10 years of age), during my grandfather’s speech in Arno, an atoll near Majuro, during a time when a wa (canoe) was being blessed and ready to put the canoe into the ocean. My grandfather told me the canoe was a blessing for the family. “Without a canoe, a family cannot provide for them”, he said. The canoe allows for travelling between places to gather food and other sources to provide for the family. My grandfather’s stories about people’s roles within the canoe reminded me that everyone within the family has a responsibility to each other. Our women, mothers and daughters too have a significant responsibility in the journey, in fact, they hold us, care for us, and given strength to their husbands, brothers, and sons. The wise man or elder sits in the middle of the canoe, directing the young man who help to steer. The young man, he does all the work, directed by the older man. They take advice and seek the wisdom of the elder. In front of the canoe, a young boy is placed there and because of his strong and youthful vision, he is able to help the elder as well as the young man on the canoe. The story can be linked to the roles that school leaders, teachers, and students have in schooling. Without each person knowing intricately their role and responsibility, the sight and vision ahead for the collective aspirations of the school and the community is difficult to comprehend. For me, the canoe is symbolic of our educational journey within our education system. As the school leader, a central, trusted, and respected figure in the school, they provide support for teachers who are at the helm, pedagogically striving to provide for their students. For without strong direction from the school leaders and teachers at the helm, the students, like the young boy, cannot foresee their futures, or envisage how education can benefit them. This is why Kanne Lobal is a significant framework for us in the Marshall Islands because within the practice we are able to take heed and empower each other so that all benefit from the process. Kanne Lobal is linked to our culture, an essential part of who we are. We must rely on our own local approaches, rather than relying on others that are not relevant to what we know and how we live in today’s society. One of the things I can tell is that in Majuro, compared to the outer islands, it’s different. In the outer islands, parents bring children together and tell them legends and stories. The elders tell them about the legends and stories – the bwebwenato. Children from outer islands know a lot more about Marshallese legends compared to children from the Majuro atoll. They usually stay close to their parents, observe how to prepare food and all types of Marshallese skills. Loretta Joseph Case There is little Western influence in the outer islands. They grow up learning their own culture with their parents, not having tv. They are closely knit, making their own food, learning to weave. They use fire for cooking food. They are more connected because there are few of them, doing their own culture. For example, if they’re building a house, the ladies will come together and make food to take to the males that are building the house, encouraging them to keep on working - “jemjem maal” (sharpening tools i.e. axe, like encouraging workers to empower them). It’s when they bring food and entertainment. Rubon Rubon Togetherness, work together, sharing of food, these are important practices as a school leader. Jemjem maal – the whole village works together, men working and the women encourage them with food and entertainment. All the young children are involved in all of the cultural practices, cultural transmission is consistently part of their everyday life. These are stronger in the outer islands. Kanne Lobal has the potential to provide solutions using our own knowledge and practices. Connie Joel When new teachers become a teacher, they learn more about their culture in teaching. Teaching raises the question, who are we? A popular saying amongst our people, “Aelon kein ad ej aelon in manit”, means that “Our islands are cultural islands”. Therefore, when we are teaching, and managing the school, we must do this culturally. When we live and breathe, we must do this culturally. There is more socialising with family and extended family. Respect the elderly. When they’re doing things the ladies all get together, in groups and do it. Cut the breadfruit, and preserve the breadfruit and pandanus. They come together and do it. Same as fishing, building houses, building canoes. They use and speak the language often spoken by the older people. There are words that people in the outer islands use and understand language regularly applied by the elderly. Respect elderly and leaders more i.e., chiefs (iroj), commoners (alap), and the workers on the land (ri-jerbal) (social layer under the commoners). All the kids, they gather with their families, and go and visit the chiefs and alap, and take gifts from their land, first produce/food from the plantation (eojōk). Tommy Almet The people are more connected to the culture in the outer islands because they help one another. They don’t have to always buy things by themselves, everyone contributes to the occasion. For instance, for birthdays, boys go fishing, others contribute and all share with everyone. Kanne Lobal is a practice that can bring people together – leaders, teachers, stakeholders. We want our colleagues to keep strong and work together to fix problems like students and teachers’ absenteeism which is a big problem for us in schools. Demetria Malachi The culture in the outer islands are more accessible and exposed to children. In Majuro, there is a mixedness of cultures and knowledges, influenced by Western thinking and practices. Kanne Lobal is an idea that can enhance quality educational purposes for the RMI. We, the school leaders who did GCSL, we want to merge and use this idea because it will help benefit students’ learning and teachers’ teaching. Kanne Lobal will help students to learn and teachers to teach though traditional skills and knowledge. We want to revitalize our ways of life through teaching because it is slowly fading away. Also, we want to have our own Marshallese learning process because it is in our own language making it easier to use and understand. Essentially, we want to proudly use our own ways of teaching from our ancestors showing the appreciation and blessings given to us. Way Forward To think of ways forward is about reflecting on the past and current learnings. Instead of a traditional discussion within a research publication, we have opted to continue our bwebwenato by sharing what we have learnt through the Graduate Certificate in School Leadership (GCSL) programme. Our bwebwenato does not end in this article and this opportunity to collaborate and partner together in this piece of writing has been a meaningful experience to conceptualise and unpack the Kanne Lobal framework. Our collaborative bwebwenato has enabled us to dig deep into our own wise knowledges for guidance through mediating and negotiating the challenges in education and leadership (Sanga & Houma, 2004). For example, bwe-jen-lale-rara reminds us to inquire, pay attention, and focus on supporting the needs of others. Through enra-bwe-jen-lale-rara, it reminds us to value cultural exchange and reciprocity which will strengthen the development and maintaining of relationships based on ways we continue to honour each other (Nimmer, 2017). We not only continue to support each other, but also help mentor the next generation of school leaders within our education system (Heine, 2002). Education and leadership are all about collaborative partnerships (Sanga & Chu, 2009; Thaman, 1997). Developing partnerships through the GCSL was useful learning for us. It encouraged us to work together, share knowledge, respect each other, and be kind. The values of jouj (kindness, love), kautiej (respect), and jouj eo mour eo (reciprocity) are meaningful in being and becoming and educational leader in the RMI (Jetnil-Kijiner, 2014; Miller, 2010; Nimmer, 2017). These values are meaningful for us practice particularly given the drive by PSS for schools to become accredited. The workshops and meetings delivered during the GCSL in the RMI from 2018 to 2019 about Kanne Lobal has given us strength to share our stories and experiences from the meeting with the stakeholders. But before we met with the stakeholders, we were encouraged to share and speak in our language within our courses: EDP05 (Professional Development and Learning), EDP06 (School Leadership), EDP07 (School Management), EDP08 (Teaching and Learning), and EDP09 (Community Partnerships). In groups, we shared our presentations with our peers, the 15 school leaders in the GCSL programme. We also invited USP RMI staff. They liked the way we presented Kannel Lobal. They provided us with feedback, for example: how the use of the sail on the canoe, the parts and their functions can be conceptualised in education and how they are related to the way that we teach our own young people. Engaging stakeholders in the conceptualisation and design stages of Kanne Lobal strengthened our understanding of leadership and collaborative partnerships. Based on various meetings with the RMI Pacific Resources for Education and Learning (PREL) team, PSS general assembly, teachers from the outer islands, and the PSS executive committee, we were able to share and receive feedback on the Kanne Lobal framework. The coordinators of the PREL programme in the RMI were excited by the possibilities around using Kanne Lobal, as a way to teach culture in an inspirational way to Marshallese students. Our Marshallese knowledge, particularly through the proverbial meaning of Kanne Lobal provided so much inspiration and insight for the groups during the presentation which gave us hope and confidence to develop the framework. Kanne Lobal is an organic and indigenous approach, grounded in Marshallese ways of doing things (Heine, 2002; Taafaki & Fowler, 2019). Given the persistent presence of colonial processes within the education system and the constant reference to practices and initiatives from the US, Kanne Lobal for us provides a refreshing yet fulfilling experience and makes us feel warm inside because it is something that belongs to all Marshallese people. Conclusion Marshallese indigenous knowledge and practices provide meaningful educational and leadership understanding and learnings. They ignite, inspire, and transform thinking and practice. The Kanne Lobal conceptual framework emphasises key concepts and values necessary for collaborative partnerships within education and leadership practices in the RMI. The bwebwenato or talk stories have been insightful and have highlighted the strengths and benefits that our Marshallese ideas and practices possess when looking for appropriate and relevant ways to understand education and leadership. 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Decolonising Pacific research, building Pacific research communities, and developing Pacific research tools: The case of the talanoa and the faafaletui in Samoa. Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 55(3), 331-344. Taafaki, I., & Fowler, M. K. (2019). Clothing mats of the Marshall Islands: The history, the culture, and the weavers. US: Kindle Direct. Taufe’ulungaki, A. M. (2014). Look back to look forward: A reflective Pacific journey. In M. ‘Otunuku, U. Nabobo-Baba, S. Johansson Fua (Eds.), Of Waves, Winds, and Wonderful Things: A Decade of Rethinking Pacific Education (pp. 1-15). Fiji: USP Press. Thaman, K. H. (1995). Concepts of learning, knowledge and wisdom in Tonga, and their relevance to modern education. Prospects, 25(4), 723-733. Thaman, K. H. (1997). Reclaiming a place: Towards a Pacific concept of education for cultural development. The Journal of the Polynesian Society, 106(2), 119-130. Thiong’o, N. W. (1986). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. 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Latife Tekin’s Swords of Ice (1989/tr.2007) depicts the lives of Halilhan and his best friend Gogi, “ragged men” from Istanbul’s “outer most belt” (18). Smart, spiritual, and naïve, Gogi tries to help Halilhan, although Halilhan tricks his brothers and misuses company funds to buy a second-hand red Volvo. While the Volvo is the techne for upward mobility, power and status, Halilhan recognizes that his well-tuned friendship with Gogi is vital to escape the poverty that their neighborhood imposes. This paper analyzes the friendship between Gogi and Halilhan, as they mark a fragile transgression of territorial boundaries, class norms, and socio-political values.

In this case note, the decision of the Constitutional Court in National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals v Minister of Justice and Constitutional Development ([2016] ZACC 46) will be discussed, where it was held that the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (NSPCA) has the statutory power of private prosecution conferred upon it by section 6(2)(e) of the Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act 169 of 1993 (SPCA Act) read with section 8 of the Criminal Procedure Act 51 of 1977 (CPA) (par 65). From the ancient Khoisan reverence of the eland to the contemporary conception of the dog as “man’s best friend”, humans and animals have a storied relationship, one that is a part of the fabric of our society, homes and lives (par 1). Animals have shifted from being “mere brutes or beasts” to “fellow beasts, fellow mortals or fellow creatures” and finally to “companions, friends and brothers”. Many animal activists and animal anti-cruelty supporters argue that animals just as human beings deserve to live their lives free from violence, suffering and exploitation. It is essential that individuals or organisations intervene where necessary to protect these voiceless companions when they are mistreated. Many organisations and societies that exist around the world, similar to the NSPCA work hard to defend the welfare of animals (par 1). These organisations have for many years been the champion of the norm that we do not accept acts of cruelty against those who cannot defend themselves (par 1).

Abstract Background Children and youth with neurodisabilities may experience different challenges during their transition to adulthood, such as pursuing postsecondary education, finding employment, and navigating a new adult health care system. Families, including siblings, have an important role in the process for when youth with neurodisabilities are transitioning to adulthood. Siblings are in a unique position, where they can have different roles such as a friend, mentor, or caregiver. Siblings can offer various supports to their brother or sister with a neurodisability, but they require knowledge and skills for these different supporting roles. Currently, there are limited programs available for siblings to learn how to support their brother or sister with a neurodisability during transition. A first step to develop these sibling support programs is to understand the experiences of siblings of youth with a neurodisability. The purpose of this report is to describe a protocol of a qualitative case study aimed at examining the experiences of siblings including their roles and responsibilities to their brother or sister with a neurodisability during health care transition. Methods An exploratory single case study design will be used. An integrated knowledge translation approach to conducting this study will be used by partnering with the Sibling Youth Advisory Council comprised of siblings who have a brother or sister with a disability throughout all study phases. Participants will include siblings (ages 14–40 years old) with a brother or sister (ages 14–21 years old) with a neurodisability in Ontario, Canada. Semi-structured interviews will be conducted, that will be augmented by photo elicitation and drawings of family tree diagrams. Data will be analyzed using reflexive thematic analysis. Discussion Findings from this study will be shared with siblings, families, researchers, and the broader community. It is important to understand the roles and responsibilities that siblings are choosing to have to support their brother or sister with a neurodisability, and how these roles may change over time as their sibling is growing up and transitions to adulthood. Siblings may require knowledge and skills in these roles, and an understanding about siblings’ experiences in certain roles can help to inform the development of a resource to support siblings during health care transition.

Chahbahar, being part of an Indian grand design is playing its role for counter weighing to Gwadar Port whereas it also provides India with easy access to Afghanistan and CARs. On the other hand, Pakistans geo-political positioning has been revolving around its anomalous and eccentric relations with various states. The prime rationale for state relations and relevant alliances with states was to maintain harmony with neighboring countries but during world wars, entente meant fighting your brothers war. In this context, Pakistans acceptance by the world was relatively slower and its take-ups in making friends, in the political playland were much tricky. Pakistan was wary with the former USSR whereas the compliance to the US backfired on many occasions gradually made Pakistan withdraw from its upclose position with the US, therefore now it is time to make independent and rational decisions but yet in the best national interests.

Greer, Daphne Maxed Out. Victoria: Orca Book Publishers, 2012. Print. In this cleverly-titled high interest low level novel, Max wants nothing more than to have the freedom to play a game of ice hockey with his friends. The trouble is that his mother is still in mourning after his father’s death and Max is left in charge of his special needs brother, Duncan. Max can’t take his eyes off Duncan without some kind of trouble starting. Readers will sympathize with Max and his good intentions. Despite his best efforts, everything he does seems to go wrong and he consistently disappoints his mom. Max is torn between the responsibilities placed upon him much too young and playing the game he loves that brings him closer to his father. The surmounting pressures of responsibility are made worse when he simultaneously has to deal with a bully on top of everything else. The character of Duncan, who believes he is Spiderman or Batman depending on the day, is entertaining. Other likeable characters in the story include Max’s caring friend Ian and the friendly neighbour Mr. Cooper. Kids with feelings of neglect or overwhelming pressure in their lives will relate to Max. The author’s notes emphasizing that “asking for help is a sign of true strength” may provide that bridge for children to seek help through the Kids Help Phone. The cover will attract young hockey fans. The escalating conflicts and intriguing family dynamics will sustain readers to seek out the story’s resolution. This quick read with a simplistic storyline and sentence structure will appeal to boys who are reluctant readers. Recommended: 3 out of 4 stars. Reviewer: Lori Williams Lori Williams has been teaching at Forest Grove School in British Columbia for the past 6 years and feels lucky to be part of a wonderful team of colleagues and students. This year she is teaching grade 5 at Forest Grove and is also a graduate student in the University of Alberta’s teacher-librarianship distance learning program.

In Yann Martel’s Life of Pi (2001) and Carol Birch’s Jamrach’s Menagerie (2011), the violation of a taboo is not simply the centre or the climax of the story, but rather, the entire story is told exactly because of an incomprehensible and indigestible event. Both novels are contemporary representatives of nautical fiction, telling an ordeal at sea with the protagonist eventually resorting to cannibalism. The two main characters consume a best friend and a brother respectively, but as a result of their transgressive act, the representational ethics of taking a dead man’s place in order to survive organises the narrative pattern of both books. I aim to explore how the thematic element of cannibalism affects the narrative structures of these texts. Cannibalism creates a fictitious, out-of-time, liminal space around itself during the tensest scenes: the chapters recounting the tragic incident mark where the whole narrative blooms from, bearing a resemblance to the navel metaphor Sigmund Freud uses to describe the point of origin in every dream.

Nikolaas Tinbergen was born in 1907 in The Hague. There must have been something very special about his family, for it produced two Nobel Prize Winners (Niko, in Medicine and his eldest brother in Economics), the Director of Energy in The Hague, another zoologist, who died just as a potentially distinguished career was unfolding, and a sister who became, like the father, a grammar school teacher. Certainly there had been primary and secondary school teachers on both sides of the family, with his father a teacher of Dutch language and history and a scholar of mediaeval Dutch. Perhaps more important, the Tinbergens were a warm and happy family, where each child was given loving encouragement to follow his or her own bent, coupled with the modicum of discipline necessary for the happiness of the whole. Tinbergen (in his Notes for the Royal Society) described the context of his boyhood thus: Our family was the natural centre of a wide circle of friends with greatly varied interests. We had the example of hardworking parents, who managed, before the days of many scholarships, to give all of us a University education. There was a tradition of interest in the arts, in nature and in politics. All my brothers and I had from our father the inclination and a certain ability to draw and paint; during our many happy holidays in the country we would all carry our sketching pads and spend hours sketching. Regular visits to theatre, concerts and art galleries ... But Niko’s interest in nature, already apparent when he was five years old, did not come primarily from family members: they enjoyed the open air, but they were more concerned with the arts and social problems. In an autobiographical article (Tinbergen (1985) to which this memoir is much indebted) he ascribes his fascination with wildlife to the general interest in nature which had been growing in The Netherlands since the late 19th century. There were newspaper articles and popular books on animal life, and, appealing to the collector in every child, excellent reproductions of the paintings of natural history subjects by 19th century artists were given away in biscuit packets. Elsewhere (Notes) he has mentioned the importance to him of the writings of Jac. P. Thijsse and ‘the now forgotten American author William Long’

Mac, Carrie. The Gryphon Project. 2009. Puffin Canada. Print. A lot happens in the first 6-page chapter. We are introduced to a small and suitably multicultural clique of teenage friends with cute nicknames: Phoenix (Phee); her slightly older brother Gryphon (Gryph); his buddies Saul, Huy, Tariq; Phee’s best friend Nadia who is also Saul’s girlfriend; and Nadia’s younger brother Neko, the tag-along clique mascot. Also, we meet Phee and Gryph’s seemingly bland background of a family - a mom who spends evenings going over work files, a United Church minister Dad, and a cute younger sister. The story begins with Phoenix lamenting the souring of her formerly idyllic relationship with Gryph. While she wonders whether his sudden change from “perfect big brother” to “just an asshole who lived in her house” is because of drugs, his major athletic sponsorship contract with the Chrysalis corporation, or just being a teenager, the reader might well wonder if this will just be another generic story of teenage angst and relationship drama holding little promise of creativity or challenging ideas. Fortunately, the last sentence of Chapter One catches our attention: “fifteen years ago tomorrow, Phoenix had died. For the first time… and the Chrysalis corporation had brought her back from the dead.” The next 275-odd pages are certainly filled with a lot of the usual teenage concerns: why does my brother hate me? Does my boyfriend really love me? My little sister is really annoying sometimes. My parents just don’t get me, etc, etc. However, there is an underlying; not-so-far-fetched technological advance called “reconning” that adds a fascinating moral and ethical tension. Carrie Mac embeds this ability to bring people back to life so deeply into this fictional society that the reader only slowly realises the main theme of the novel is actually the exploration of how death affects the way we live our lives and how the sudden discovery of a way to cheat death might be handled. Of course, the immediate thought is that eliminating death could be nothing but good – no more sorrow, no more angst about making mistakes, endless time to iron out mistakes in relationships. But would eternal life for everyone be desirable? And if limits were necessary, who would decide on and then control those limits (e.g. a private corporation, churches, government)? How would our actions change if we knew we had three “recons” left or that we had been born into a segment of society where the so-called “importance” of our parents’ occupations dictated whether we were allocated three, two, one, or even no recons? How would we react if we suddenly discovered that our banal family in our boring suburb and our seemingly pointless education system was actually part of the privileged elite and a whole world of poverty, violence, and a lack of recons existed just kilometres away? Would having three deaths make us more curious about death and more willing to take on risk, or would we value life even more? The surface story in The Gryphon Project is enthralling enough as Phoenix and Nadia slowly unravel the mystery of the older boys’ strange behaviour and ominous secrecy. The underlying theme, however, makes this a thought-provoking exploration into the meaning of life and how the sudden ability to override death would change us. I suspect many readers could enjoy this book just for the surface story of adventure but anyone who even occasionally gives thought to the meaning of life and social justice would really enjoy the additional and challenging layers. Highly recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: David SulzDavid is a librarian at the University of Alberta working mostly with scholars in Economics, Religious Studies, and Social Work. His university studies included: Library Studies, History, Elementary Education, Japanese, and Economics. On the education front, he taught various grades and subjects for several years in schools as well as museums. His interest in Japan and things Japanese stands above his other diverse interests.

Gallant, Gail. Apparition. Toronto: Doubleday Canada, 2013. Print.This Young Adult mystery-ghost story tells the story of seventeen year-old clairvoyant, Amelia MacKenzie. Amelia has seen ghosts since she was a little girl, and after her mother passed away from cancer, Amelia saw her mother’s ghost too. Until recently, Amelia thought she was imagining these visions, but that all changes when her best friend and crush Matthew dies.Amelia lives near the small city of Owen Sound, Ontario, with her grandmother Joyce, and her two brothers Ethan and Jack. Amelia struggled with depression after her mother’s death, but her friendship with Matthew helped her through the hardest time of her life, and leads to burgeoning romantic feelings. After Amelia gathers the strength to express her feelings to him, Matthew is flustered. The next time she meets him, however, Matthew is acting strangely, and while giving Amelia a ride home, begins to talk about a mysterious girl. Amelia finds out the next day that Matthew apparently killed himself in a nearby barn. Although devastated, Amelia feels something is off about Matthew’s death.At Matthew’s funeral, Amelia meets a local journalist named Morris Dyson. Morris investigates paranormal occurrences, as he believes ghosts travel along specific geographic routes, and sometimes become stuck or cause trouble. Morris also believes Amelia can see ghosts, just like he knew her mother could. Morris suspects Matthew’s death is linked to similar deaths that happened in the same barn - all young men who committed suicide after heart-break surrounding a mysterious woman named Dot. Morris theorizes a ghost is in the barn and causing all these problems.With the help of Morris’ handsome and charming son, Kip, Amelia and Morris begin to unravel the mystery of the barn, the ghosts who still haunt it (including Matthew), and the impact for those who come into contact with the barn. At the same time, Amelia learns to come to terms with her gift, her grief, and to explore her own identity.Gail Gallant conveys the stark beauty of the Canadian landscape throughout her novel, and captures the unique and realistic culture of small town Ontario. The setting will strike home with many Canadian youth. Even with its supernatural elements, Gallant’s characters are interesting and realistic, especially for a young adult novel. Amelia makes a notable heroine not because of her clairvoyance, but from how she learns to understand her own feelings as an ordinary teenager. Amelia cares deeply for her brothers, and her stern, no-nonsense grandmother, but can at times find them aggravating. She also navigates realistic issues, such as family, friendship, and integrity in relationships. Gallant presents these themes with sophistication and empathy.Apparition tackles mature issues including depression, grief, death, romance, the afterlife, and murder. Young readers may find some content scary, although the novel is more suspenseful than frightening. The book stands complete on its own, but has a sequel, Absolution.Recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: Colette LeungColette Leung is a graduate student at the University of Alberta, working in the fields of Library and Information science and Humanities Computing who loves reading, cats, and tea. Her research interests focus around how digital tools can be used to explore fields such as literature, language, and history in new and innovative ways.

The countdown has begun to end of 2020. A traitor! A wasted year! Worst year! Funny memes were created around it. Nevertheless, it has indeed been a tough year for all of us. However, in my experience, this year has been one of my best teachers so far. I sit down at my desk to reflect upon the events this year which has significantly reshaped my life. Here I enumerate the lessons which have empowered me for a lifetime. Acceptance- I accepted the reality without complaining, however deep down I was worried about the uncertainty of the disease, effects of the disease on myself, my family and humanity in general. However, this never came in my way of performing my duties as a doctor at the frontline. Resilience- This year was an emergence of an endurable and resilient version of myself. The surreal circumstances I faced during the lockdown compelled me not to lose my cool and carry on, albeit with moments of frustration. I have definitely emerged out stronger. Realisation- I wasn’t alone in my journey. God has blessed me with beautiful parents, a loving husband, a doting brother and gems whom we call friends who kept checking on my physical and mental wellbeing. I am eternally grateful to one and all for the support. Health and Wellbeing– Self-care should not be equated with self-indulgence. Rather it should be a priority as one cannot fill from an empty bucket. I decided to transform myself on the fitness front and bring out my strongest version. Love– Family first always! Distance makes love grow fonder, I have experienced it in a real sense. Art of Giving- The fact that everything is non-permanent in this world, and nothing belongs to you, has reinforced my faith in charity. Opportunities- while we were crippled with restrictions, conferences looked like a distant reality. Technological advancements however created a land of opportunities. Our venture AnaesthesiaTV got a new lease on life and since then it’s no looking back. Collaboration- PainTV was born through co

Abstract Background Studies published on gender-related differences in the gambling behavior of adolescents have focused mainly on psychological and social factors. The aim of this study was to develop separate risk factor models for male and female adolescents, considering the environmental, psychological, behavioral and socio-economic factors related to their gambling. Methods A survey was conducted through a questionnaire developed on a dedicated web site in 2014 on a representative sample of the Italian 15–19-years-old population, including 34,922 students attending 438 secondary schools. The SOGS-RA questionnaire was used to measure gambling behavior. To verify the risk factors associated with gambling a logistic regression stratified by gender was performed. Results In our representative sample of Italian adolescents nationwide, the prevalence of each level of gambling was higher in males than in females. The logistic regression stratified by gender found that for both genders, gambling was positively associated with internet surfing, playing sports, getting into a fight, having unprotected sex, pulling stunts, drinking alcohol at least once in the previous month, having not a satisfactory relationship with teachers, receiving pocket money from parents, spending each week much money and having someone in the family (father, sister/brother, other relatives) who gambles. On the other hand, having poor or average school marks, going to ED in the previous year, smoking at least once in the previous month, having dissatisfied with relationships with father and having a lower family income than their friends was only associated with gambling in boys. Having an accident or injury in the previous year and having a mother who gambled was associated only in girls with higher odd of at risk or problem gambling behavior. A low psychological distress is protective only in girls for risk of gambling. Conclusions Understanding the gender-related differences, and how they emerge in younger people at the start of their gambling careers, can suggest how best to educate individuals, families and the community on the topic of gambling. Programs to prevent substance use and abuse should be multifaceted, and include efforts to prevent gambling with a gender perspective approach.

Magras, Diane. The Mad Wolf’s Daughter. Kathy Dawson Books, 2018. The Mad Wolf’s Daughter is a children’s novel set in thirteenth-century Scotland that tells the story of Drest, a young girl who goes on an adventure to save her father and brothers after they are captured by invading forces. Diane Magras tells an engaging adventure story that sweeps you along with Drest as she tries to navigate a frightening world without her family—learning whom she can and cannot trust, and coming into her own as a young girl who can best adults through both her strength and her intelligence. Written for children, particularly girls of around the same age as Drest (12 years old), this story provides many insights into life, family, and friendship that both children and adults might find extremely powerful. For example, over the course of the story, Drest comes to understand that “you can’t always control your legend”—an important lesson in our modern world where rumour can spread so fast. The story emphasizes that you have to be true to yourself despite what people may be saying around you, and that it is this belief in one’s own self that can guide you through the roughest of times. As details around the lives of Drest’s family and the families of Drest’s friends are revealed in the story, Magras builds another powerful message about how it is ok to differ from and, indeed, disagree with people you love. Magras, aware that certain aspects of the medieval world in which she places her story may be unfamiliar to her audience, includes a glossary of terms as well as an author’s note that discusses the historical setting in greater detail. In particular, Magras does a good job of indicating that gender roles were not as fixed in the Middle Ages as is often assumed, and introduces the reader to the great variety of roles and indeed agency that women could have in the medieval period. Despite these positive traits, Magras’ story does seem to lack some depth to its world and only scratches the surface of the medieval context that she researched for the story. However, the exciting plot and vivacious characters satisfactorily carry the novel’s interest. Overall, this is a good adventure book which also offers a point of departure for readers to explore the medieval world in more detail. Therefore, this book would be a good addition to school and public libraries. Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Arwen Thysse Arwen Thysse is a graduate of the University of Alberta Bachelor of Arts program and graduate of the University of Toronto’s Master of Medieval Studies program. She is also an avid musician, and enjoys children’s books.

Doctorow, Cory. Pirate Cinema. New York, NY: Tor Teen, 2012. Print. In the near future, the Internet is not an extra, but a necessity. Without access, not only will you lose the ability to connect with friends and surf for entertainment, but you will be unable to graduate because you can’t hand in your assignments, you will lose your health benefits, and perhaps even lose your job. In Cory Doctorow’s Pirate Cinema, this disaster overtakes Trent McCauley’s family. Trent loves to make movies. Unfortunately, like many of today’s teens, he creates his content by ‘remixing’ others’ videos, images and music. In a world where copyright laws have become oppressive and corporations rule the government, Trent is seen as a thief. He is caught, and as a consequence, his family is cut off from Internet service for a year, and they suffer for his crimes. Feeling guilty and distraught Trent runs away to the streets of London. There, he hooks up with Jem Dodger (a nod to Dickens here), learns the ins and outs of street living, and discovers a vibrant and thriving underground community of artists and activists. Hooking up with the savvy and beautiful 26, Trent adopts the name Cecil B. DeVil and is soon creating movies with pirated material once again. This time, however, his videos have a purpose beyond entertainment; the downfall of the aggressive and brutal copyright laws that lead to his family’s predicament. Doctorow, a blogger and an activist for changing copyright laws, and a proponent of the Creative Commons model of intellectual property, is not subtle with his message, and presents only one side of the copyright issue. Yet, given the direction copyright law is taking in response to the changing landscape of media and the Internet, and the looming specter of a ‘Big Brother’ Internet that can find out everything about you from your digital footprint, this is a message that teens should hear. Doctorow also puts his money where his mouth is: all of his books are available for free online, including this one. One of Doctorow's strengths is his ability to draw characters that are fully realized and that pull you into their story and their cause. His book is not all heavy doom and gloom, either. Doctorow knows his teens and their language, and the book has off-beat characters, hip slang and humour. Recommended for teens who are interested in social media and justice issues. Recommended: 3 out of 4 stars Reviewer: Lissa Davis Lissa Davies is an elementary teacher-librarian in Edmonton, Ab. She is a passionate reader, and is always excited to share new books and engage readers!

Introduction Since the early 2000s, and especially since the onset of COVID-19 and long periods of lockdown, board games have seen a revival in popularity. The increasing popularity of board games are part of what Julie Lennett, a toy industry analyst at NPD Group, describes as the “nesting trend”: families have more access to entertainment at home and are eschewing expensive nights out (cited in Birkner 7). While on-demand television is a significant factor in this trend, for Moriaty and Kay (6), who wouldn’t “welcome [the] chance to turn away from their screens” to seek the “warmth and connection you get from playing games with live human family and friends?” For others, playing board games can simply be about nostalgia. Board games have a long history not specific to one period, geography, or culture. Likely board games were developed to do two things – teach and entertain. This remains the case today. Historically, miniature versions of battles or hunts were played out in what we might recognise today as a board game. Trade, war, and science impacted on their development, as did the printing press, which allowed for the standardisation of rules. Chess had many variations prior to the fifteenth century. Similarly, the Industrial Revolution allowed for the mass production of board games, boosting their popularity across nations, class, and age (Walker 13). Today, regardless of or because of our digital lives, we are in a “board game renaissance” (Booth 1). Still played on rainy days, weekends, and holidays, we now also play board games in dedicated game board cafés like the Haunted Game Café in America, the Snakes and Lattes in Canada, or the Mind Café in Singapore. In the board game café Draughts in the UK, customers pay £5 to select and play one of 800 board games, including classics like Monopoly and Cluedo. These cafes are important as they are “helping manufacturers to understand the kind of games that appeal to the larger section of players” (Atrizton). COVID-19 caused board game sales to increase. The global market was predicted to increase by US$1 billion in 2021, compared to 2020 (Jarvis). Total sales of board games in Australia are expected to reach AU$86 million in 2023, an almost 10 per cent increase from the preceding year (Statista "Board Games – Australia"). The emergence of Kickstarter, a global crowdfunding platform which funds new board games, is filling the gap in the contemporary board game market, with board games generating 20 per cent of the total funding raised (Carter). Board games are predicted to continue to grow, with the global market revenue record at US$19 billion dollars in 2022, a figure that is expected to rise to US$40 billion within 6 years (Atrizton). If the current turn towards board games represents a desire to escape from the digital world, the Internet is also contributing to the renaissance. Ex-Star Trek actor Wil Wheaton hosts the popular Web series TableTop, in which each episode explains a board game that is then played, usually with celebrities. The Internet also provides “communities” in which fans can share their enthusiasm, be it as geek culture or cult fandom (Booth 2). Booth provides an eloquent explanation, however, for the allure of face-to-face board games: “they remind us of our face-to-face past, and recall a type of pre-digital luddism where we can circle around the ‘campfire’ of the game board” (Booth 1-2). What makes a board game successful is harder to define. Phillip Orbanes, an American game designer and former vice-president of research and development at Parker Brothers, has attempted to elucidate the factors that make a good board game: “make the rules simple and unambiguous … don’t frustrate the casual player … establish a rhythm … focus on what’s happening off the board … give ‘em chances to come from behind … [and] provide outlets for latent talents” (Orbanes 52-55). Orbanes also says it is important to understand that what “happens off the board is just as important to the experience as the physical game itself” (Orbanes 51). Tristan Donovan contends that there are four broad stages of modern board games, beginning with the folk era when games had no fixed author, their rules were mutable, and local communities adapted the game to suit their sensibilities. Chess is an example of this, with the game only receiving the fixed rules we know today when tournaments and organisations saw the need for a singular set of rules. Mass production of games was the second stage, marking “the single biggest shift in board game history – a total flip in how people understood, experienced and played board games. Games were no long[er] malleable objects owned by the commons, but products created usually in the pursuit of profit” (Donovan 267). An even more recent development in game boards was the introduction of mass produced plastics, which reduced the cost of board game construction and allowed for a wider range of games to be produced. This was particularly evident in the post-war period. Games today are often thought of as global, which allows gamers to discover games from other regions and cultures, such as Catan (Klaus Teuber, 1995), a German game that may not have enjoyed its immense success if it were not for the Internet. Board game players are broadly categorised into two classes: the casual gamer and the hobby or serious gamer (Rogerson and Gibbs). The most popular game from the mass production era is Monopoly, the focus of this article. The History of Monopoly Monopoly was designed and patented by American Elizabeth Magie (1866-1948) in 1902, and was originally called The Landlord’s Game. The game was based on the anti-monopoly taxation principles of Henry George (1839-1897), who argued that people should own 100 per cent of what they make and the land should belong to everyone. Land ownership, considered George, only benefitted land owners, and forces working people to pay exorbitant rent. Magie’s original version of the game was designed to demonstrate how rents enrich property owners and impoverish tenants. Renters in Australia’s property market today may recognise this side of ruthless capitalism. In 1959 Fidel Castro thought Monopoly “sufficiently redolent of capitalism” that he “ordered the ­destruction of every Monopoly set in Cuba” (McManus). Magie, however, was not credited with being the original inventor of Monopoly: rather, this credit was given to Charles Darrow. In 2014, the book The Monopolist: Obsession, Fury, and the Scandal behind the World's Favorite Board Game by Mary Pilon re-established Magie as the inventor of Monopoly, with her role and identity unearthed by American Ralph Anspach (1926-2022), an Adam Smith economist, Polish-German refugee, and anti-Vietnam protestor. According to Pilon, Magie, a suffragette and progressive economic and political thinker, was a Georgist advocate, particularly of his anti-monopolist policies, and it was this that informed her game’s narrative. An unmarried daughter of Scottish immigrants, she was a Washington homeowner, familiar with the grid-like street structure of the national capital. Magie left school at 13 to help support her family who were adversely impacted upon by the Panic of 1873, which saw economic collapse because of falling silver prices, railroad speculation, and property losses. She worked as a stenographer and teacher of Georgist single tax theory. Seeking a broader platform for her economic ideas, and with the growing popularity of board games in middle class homes, in 1904 Magie secured a patent for The Landlord’s Game, at a time when women only held 1 per cent of US patents (Pilon). The original game included deeds and play money and required players to earn wages via labour and pay taxes. The board provided a circular path (as opposed to the common linear path) in which players circled through rental properties and railroads, and could acquire food, with natural reserves (oil, coal, farms, and forests) unable to be monopolised. However, she created two sets of rules – the monopoly rules familiar to today’s players, and anti-monopoly rules in which tensions over human greed and altruism could be played out by participants. Magie started her own New York firm to manufacture and distribute the game, continued the struggle for women’s equality, and raged against wealthy monopolists of the day such as Andrew Carnegie (Pilon). By the late 1920, the game, mostly referred to as the ‘monopoly’ game, was popular, but many who played the game were playing handmade versions, likely unaware of the original Landlord’s Game. In 1931, mass-produced versions of the game, now titled Finance, began to appear, with some changes, including the ability to purchase properties, along with rule books. Occurring at the same time as the emergence of fixed-price goods in large department stores, the game, which now included chance cards, continued to be popular. It was Charles Darrow who sold Monopoly to Parker Brothers, even if he did not invent it. Darrow was introduced to one of the variants of the game and became obsessed with the game, which now featured the Community Chest and Free Parking, but his version did not have a set of rules. An unemployed ex-serviceman with no college education, Darrow struggled to provide for his family. By 1932, America was in the grip of the Great Depression, with housing prices collapsing and squatting common in large American cities. Befriending an artist, Darrow sought to provide a more dynamic and professional version of the game and complete it with a set of rules. In 1933, Darrow marketed his version of the game, titled Mr Monopoly, and it was purchased by Parker Brothers for US$7,000 in 1935. Magie received just US $500 (Farzan). Monopoly, as it was rebranded, was initial sold for $2 a game, and Parker Brothers sold 278,000 games in the first year. In 1936, consumers purchased 1.7 million editions of the game, generating millions of dollars in profits for Parker Brothers, who prior to Monopoly were on the brink of collapse (Pilon). Mary Pilon’s The Monopolists also reveals the struggle of Ralph Anspach in the 1970s to sell his Anti-Monopoly board games, which Parker Brothers fought in the courts. Anspach’s game sought to undermine the power of capitalist monopolies, which he had witnessed directly and negatively impact on fuel prices in America in the early 1970s. Hence the aim was to produce a game with an anti-monopolist narrative grounded in the free-market thinking of Adam Smith. Players were rewarded by breaking monopoly ownerships of utilities such as railroads and energy and metal reserves. In preparing his case against Parker Brothers, Anspach “accidentally discovered the true history of the game”, which began with Magie’s Landlord’s Game. Magie herself had battled with Parker Brothers in order to be “credited as the real originator of the game” and, like Anspach, reveal how Parker Brothers had changed the anti-capitalist narrative of the game, making it the “exact opposite” of its original aims (Landlordsgame). Anspach’s court room version of his battle with Parker Brothers was published in 2000, titled Monopolygate: During a David and Goliath Battle, the Inventor of the Anti-Monopoly® Game Uncovers the Secret History of Monopoly®. Monopoly Today Monopoly is now produced by Hasbro. It is the highest selling board game of all time, with an estimated 275 million units of Monopoly sold (Lee). Fan bases are clearly large too: the official Monopoly Facebook accounts report 9.9m likes (Facebook), and 68% of American households report owning a version of Monopoly (Statista "Which"). At the end of the twentieth century it was estimated that 550 million, or one in 12 people worldwide, had played the game (Guinness World Records "Most Popular"). Today it is estimated that Monopoly has been played by more than one billion people, and the digital Monopoly version has had over 100 million downloads (Johnson). The ability to play beloved board games with a computer opponent or with other players via the Internet arguably adds to the longevity of classic board games such as Monopoly. Yet research shows that despite Monopoly being widely owned, it is often not played as much as other games in people’s homes (d'Astous and Gagnon 84). D’Astous and Gagnon found that players in their study chose Monopoly to play on average six times a year, less than half the times they played Cluedo (13 times a year) or Scrabble (15 times). As Michael Whelan points out, Magie’s original goal was to make a statement about capitalism and landlords: a single player would progress round the board building an empire, whilst the others were doomed to slowly descend into bankruptcy. It was “never meant to be fun for anyone but the winner” (Whelan). Despite Monopoly’s longevity and impressive sales record, it is perhaps paradoxical to find that it is not a particularly popular or enjoyed game. Board Game Geek, the popular board game Website, reports in 2023 that the average rating for Monopoly by over 33,000 members is just 4.4 out of 10, and is ranked the 23,834th most popular game on the site (Board Game Geek). This is mirrored in academic studies: for example, when examining Orbane’s tenets for a good board game, d’Astous and Gagnon (84) found that players' appreciation of Monopoly was generally low. Not only is appreciation low for the game itself, it is also low for player antics during the game. A 2021 survey found that Monopoly causes the most fights, with 20% of households reporting “their game nights with friends or family members are often or always disrupted by competitive or unfriendly behaviour”, leading to players or even the game itself being banned (Lemore). Clearly Orbane’s tenet that the game “generates fun” is missing here (Orbanes 52). Commentators ask why Monopoly remains the best-selling board game of all time when the game has the “astonishing ability to sow seeds of discord” (Berical). Despite the claims that playing Monopoly causes disharmony, the game does allow for player agency. Perhaps more than any other board game, Monopoly is subjected to ‘house rules’. Buzzfeed reported 15 common house rules that many people think are official rules. In 2014 the official Monopoly Facebook page posted a video claiming that “68% of Americans have never read the official game rules” and that “49% of Americans had admitted to playing with their own ‘house rules’”. A look through these rules reveals that players are often trying to restore the balance of power in the game, or in other words increase the chance that a player can win. Hasbro has embraced these rules by incorporating some of them into the official rules. By incorporating players' amendments to the game, Hasbro can keep the Monopoly relevant. In another instance, Hasbro asked fans to vote on new tokens, which led to the thimble token being replaced with a Tyrannosaurus Rex. This was reversed in 2022 when nostalgic fans lobbied for the thimble’s return. Hasbro has also been an innovator by creating special rules for individual editions: for example, the Longest Game Ever edition (2019) slows players down by using only a single dice and has an extended game board. This demonstrates that Hasbro is keen to innovate and evolve the game to meet player expectations. Innovation and responsiveness to fans is one way that Hasbro has maintained Monopoly’s position as highest-selling board game. The only place the original Monopoly rules seem to be played intact are at the official competitions. Collecting and Nostalgia The characteristics of Monopoly allow for a seemingly infinite number of permutations. The places on the board can be real or fictional, making it easily adaptable to accommodate different environments. This is a factor in Monopoly’s longevity. The number of Monopoly editions are endless, with BoardGameGeek listing over 1,300 versions of the game on its site. Monopoly editions range from collector and commemorative editions to music, television, and film versions, actor-based editions, sports club editions, editions tied to toy franchises, animal lover editions, country editions, city editions, holiday editions, car brand editions, motor bike editions, as well as editions such as Monopoly Space, editions branded to popular confectionary, Ms Monopoly, and Go Green Monopoly. Each of these contain their own unique modifications. The Go Green version includes greenhouses, dice are made from FSC-certified wood from well-managed forests, tokens are made with plant-based plastic derived from sugarcane, a renewable raw material, and players can vie to have monopolistic control over renewable energy firms, solar farms, and bike paths. Licencing agreements allows Hasbro to leverage two sets of popular culture fans and collectors simultaneously: fans of Monopoly and its different versions, and fans of the Monopoly branded collectable, such as the Elvis Collector’s edition and Breaking Bad Monopoly. Apart from licencing, what else explains the longevity of Monopoly? Fred Davis demonstrates that nostalgia is an important sociological phenomenon, allowing consumers to re-imagine the past via iconic items including toys. Generation Y, also known as Millennials or digital natives, a cohort born between 1982 and 1994 who have grown up with technology as part of their everyday lives, are particularly interested in ‘heritage-inspired’ goods (Marchegiani and Phau). These consumers enjoy the past with a critical eye, drawn by the aesthetic properties of nostalgic goods rather than a direct personal connection (Goulding 575). Popular culture items are a site of widespread collecting behaviour (Geraghty 2). Belk argues that our possessions are used to construct our social selves. Collectors are a special kind of consumer: where consumers use and discard goods as needed, collectors engage with goods as special objects to be maintained and preserved (Belk 254), which is often achieved through ritualistic behaviour (McCracken 49). This is not to say that items in a collection are removed from use entirely: often being used in the normal manner, for example, clothing collectors will wear their items, yet take care of them in the a way they see akin to conservatorship (Hackett). Collections are often on display, often using the flexibility of the Internet as showground, as is the case with Neil Scallon’s world record collection of Monopoly’s 3,554 different versions of the game (World of Monopoly). Monopoly has low barriers to entry for a collector, as many sets retail at a low price-point, yet there are a few sets which are very expensive. The most expensive Monopoly set of all time retailed for US$2 million, and the cost was mainly borne out of the luxurious materials used: “the board is made from 23 carat gold, rubies and sapphires top the chimneys of the solid gold houses and hotels and the dice have 42 full cut diamonds for spots” (Guinness World Records "Most Expensive"). Conclusion The recent resurgence in board game popularity has only served to highlight Monopoly’s longevity. Through clever marketing and leveraging of nostalgia and popular culture fandoms, Hasbro has managed to retain Monopoly’s position as the number one board game, in sales figures at least. Despite its popularity, Monopoly suffers from a reputation as a conduit for poor player behaviour, as one person triumphs at the downfall of the other players. The game dynamics punish those whom fortune did not reward. In this regard, Elizabeth Magie’s initial aim of teaching about the unfairness of capitalism can be considered a resounding success. In re-establishing her role as a feminist and inventor at the turn of the century, embraced by progressive left-wingers of the 1930s, her story as much as that of Monopoly is a valuable contribution to modern popular culture. References Atrizton. Board Games Market – Global Outlook & Forecast 2023-2028. 2023. Belk, Russell W. "Collectors and Collecting." Handbook of Material Culture. Eds. Christopher Tilley et al. London: Sage, 2006. 534-45. Berical, Matt. "Monopoly Is a Terrible Game. Quit Playing It." Fatherly 4 Mar. 2020. Birkner, Christine. "Get on Board." Adweek 3-10 Apr. 2017: 7. Board Game Geek. "Monopoly." 2023. Booth, Paul. Game Play: Paratextuality in Contemporary Board Games. Bloomsbury, 2015. Buzzfeed. "15 Monopoly Rules That Aren't Actually Rules: Settled That 'Free Parking' Debate." Buzzfeed 27 Mar. 2014. Carter, Chase. "Tabletop Games Have Made over $1.5 Billion on Kickstarter." Dicebreaker 13 Dec. 2022. D'Astous, Alain, and Karine Gagnon. "An Inquiry into the Factors That Impact on Consumer Appreciation of a Board Game." Journal of Consumer Marketing 24.2 (2007): 80-89. Davis, Fred. Yearning for Yesterday: A Sociology of Nostalgia. New York: Free Press, 1979. Donovan, Tristan. "The Four Board Game Eras: Making Sense of Board Gaming’s Past." Catalan Journal of Communication & Cultural Studies 10.2 (2018): 265-70. Facebook. "Monopoly." 1 Mar. 2023. Farzan, Antonia Noori. "The New Monopoly ‘Celebrates Women Trailblazers,’ But the Game’s Female Inventor Still Isn’t Getting Credit." Washington Post 11 Sep. 2019. Geraghty, Lincoln. Cult Collectors. Routledge, 2014. Goulding, Christina. "Romancing the Past: Heritage Visiting and the Nostalgic Consumer." Psychology and Marketing 18.6 (2001): 565-92. Guinness World Records. "Most Expensive Board Game of Monopoly." 30 Jan. 2023. ———. "Most Popular Board Game." 30 Jan. 2023. Hackett, Lisa J. "‘Biography of the Self’: Why Australian Women Wear 1950s Style Clothing." Fashion, Style and Popular Culture 9.1-2 (2022). Johnson, Angela. "13 Facts about Monopoly That Will Surprise You." Insider 27 June 2018. Landlordsgame. "Landlord's Game History, Monopoly Game History." 2021. Lee, Allen. "The 20 Highest Selling Board Games of All Time." Money Inc 11 Mar. 2023. Lemore, Chris. "Banned from Game Night: ‘Monopoly’ Leads to the Most Fights among Family, Friends." Study Finds 2021. Marchegiani, Christopher, and Ian Phau. "Personal and Historical Nostalgia—a Comparison of Common Emotions." Journal of Global Marketing 26.3 (2013): 137-46. McCracken, Grant. Culture and Consumption: New Approaches to the Symbolic Character of Consumer Goods and Activities. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1988. McManus, James. "Do Not Collect $200." New York Times, 2015. 10. Moriarity, Joan, and Jonathan Kay. Your Move: What Board Games Teach Us about Life. Sutherland House, 2019. Orbanes, Phil. "Everything I Know about Business I Learned from Monopoly." Harvard Business Review 80.3 (2002): 51-131. Pilon, Mary. The Monopolists: Obsession, Fury, and the Scandal Behind the World's Favorite Board Game. Bloomsbury, 2015. Rogerson, Melissa J., and Martin Gibbs. "Finding Time for Tabletop: Board Game Play and Parenting." Games and Culture 13.3 (2018): 280-300. Statista. "Board Games – Australia." 25 Mar. 2023. ———. "Which of These Classic Board Games Do You Have at Home?" Statista-Survey Toys and Games 2018 (2018). Walker, Damian Gareth. A Book of Historic Board Games. Lulu.com, 2014. Whelan, Michael. "Why Does Everyone Hate Monopoly? The Secret History behind the World's Biggest Board Game." Dicebreaker 26 Aug. 2021. World of Monopoly. "Neil Scallan's World Record List of Official Monopolu Items." 2016.

I hate being misunderstood. I guess we all do, but it goes with the territory. I use the word coloured, and he seems offended: 'We Brits don't say 'coloured'. It's regarded as patronising. We say black, if we say anything. And if we do it's for reasons of simple practicality. It doesn't matter. ' Of course, what he seems to be missing, is that the word coloured in South Africa now refers less to skin colour, and more to a distinct cultural group, with it's own language (a dialect of Afrikaans), food (of Malay origin), and music. To say black in this context would be inaccurate, and cause confusion. Danya and Kyla attend the Yeoville Community School, situated in a vibrant and culturally diverse suburb of Johannesburg. On returning from school one day Danya announces: 'We have to do something at school about our culture. What is our culture Daddy?'To which her father replies, 'Go and ask your mother.' 'Well…we're sort of New Age, sort of holistic…', Toni fumbles. A few days later… 'So what did you do in the end?' Soli asks. 'Oh, us and all the other coloured kids sang, Daar Kom die Alabama'1 says Kyla. It would seem that children want to know where they come from. 'I want you to divide yourself up into your different race groups', the facilitator says. We are in a Managing Diversity workshop, and he means the old South African race classification system, but of course he wants to see what we do with it. We end up with a group of Blacks (including three 'Asians'); an African group (including two 'Whites'); a White group (two); and the Human Race (two).'Why didn't you join the white group?' Thloki asks the Human Race.'I don't define myself by my race', I reply.'Ha! Wait till there's a war over resources' he laughs, 'then you'll quickly pick a side!' The postmodernist argument ensues: 'There is no such thing as race…all these arbitrary classifications…it's nothing but a social construct!''Well you never lived as a black person under apartheid. It was very real to me!'The facilitator aims to mediate/translate for the rest of us: 'Well yes, it is just a social construct. But one which had very real consequences for people.' 'Nobody goes into town anymore' a woman says. To which Har Bhajan replies, 'When I was last in town, there were lots of people there.' Of course, what she means is, hardly any white people go into town anymore. (And she's right about that.) But what is that, the way certain people become invisible, depending on who's looking? My friend Karima and I attend an Al Jarreau concert. Fairly expensive tickets, and almost the entire audience is black. I'm not sure why I'm quite so surprised. But this is Sandton, the richest formerly white suburb of Johannesburg. Perhaps working in the NGO sector I've missed how much things are actually changing… I wonder how many people in the audience have been into town lately. With the shift in power, and the -- albeit slow -- levelling of the playing field, now it is possible for white South Africans to be at the receiving end of racial discrimination too… I am visiting my cousin. He is 60, and a musician. But times are tough for him now. His brother was shot dead in his driveway while someone stole his car. And it's hard for him to find work. 'I am too white, now', he says. He is not bitter, just saddened. In his day he had probably the most famous jazz club in Johannesburg. Rumours it was called. 'The best little bootlegger in Bellevue' he called himself. He was known for breaking the law then. His club was racially integrated long before it was allowed. Controversial South African artist, Beezy Bailey, has an alter ego: 'The creation of Joyce was born of the frustration of 'increasingly prevalent affirmative action'. Bailey submitted two artworks for a triennial exhibition. One was with the traditional 'Beezy Bailey' signature (rejected) the other signed 'Joyce Ntobe'! The latter now enjoys an honoured place in the SA National Gallery as part of its permanent collection. When the curator of the SA National Gallery wanted to work on a paper about three black women artists, Joyce Ntobe being one, Bailey let the cat out the bag which caused a huge media 'scandale'.' (Carmel Art) I spent three months in London, and I realised how easy it is to be white there. Or rather, how easy it is to not be white. Of course, it 'doesn't matter' there, because it doesn't matter. It's easy to donate a monthly cheque to Worldvision, and read about the latest chaos in Zimbabwe in the free rag on the tube, and never have to look overwhelming poverty and disease in the face. But when you live on the African continent, you are very aware of being white. At the diversity workshop, I realise how white South Africans seem to get to take the rap here for the actions of white people on the planet. It's not just the effects of apartheid that black South Africans are angry about it seems, it's also the effects of the global economy, that cause the rich to become richer, and the poor to become poorer. Oh sure, that's not just an issue of race, but the poorest on our planet remain 'people of colour', and wealth remains concentrated in the West/North. I realise also that the Black and African groups at the workshop have one thing that they agree on quite strongly - the importance of making the African continent one's focus. Though the two of us in the Human Race group have both read Naomi Klein's No Logo -- and care about the effects on the poor of economic globalisation -- our sense of 'internationalism' is not viewed in a positive light, but seen rather as 'elitist'. * * * 'The thing about the Dutch' says Gary, 'is that they're pragmatic. They're not politically correct -- call the prostitutes prostitutes, not sex workers, but tax them, and give them health care. They have a strong human rights culture.' The Afrikaners are descendents of these transparent, curtainless Dutch. Sometimes I can see it. 'It is not words that make for bigotry, but attitudes', says columnist Ira Pilgrim. 'Some of the most bigoted people I have known always used the 'correct' words.'2 I am not politically correct. There are certain words I'd never use, and couldn't bring myself to, not out of political correctness, but because they're invested with hate. But words like 'whitey', darkie' and 'honky', where I sit, are terms of endearment. I'd never use them on strangers, but amongst friends, they're terms of affection and irony, because we're laughing at ourselves, and each other. 'It's hard to explain to anyone' Gary continues, 'what it's like living in a place where -- from the time you wake up in the morning, till you close your eyes at night -- every breath that you take is politicised.' Gary left the country because he didn't want to be conscripted to fight a war he didn't believe in. He's done well for himself in Europe. But he had to give up his homeland. I catch a 'Zola', the mini-bus taxi named after South Africa's barefoot runner Zola Budd, probably most famous for inadvertently tripping Mary Decker at the 1984 Olympics (Finnegan). Zola was little and fast, like the taxi's that 'zip, zip, zip' -- often to the infuriation of other motorists -- hence the affectionate nickname. They're the peril of the road, but the saviour of the immobile masses, with their unique language and hand signals. I overhear bits of Zulu conversation, including 'Brooke…Ridge…Thorne.' Our soaps, too, are politicised. It would seem that even black South Africans watch The Bold and the Beautiful for light relief. Usually I am the only whitey here, but accepted as just another carless commuter moving from A to B. Despite the safety risks of bad driving, I enjoy it. I did a Zulu course a few years ago. I didn't learn much Zulu -- discovered I don't have the tongue or an ear for African languages -- but I learnt a lot from the course nevertheless. 'Tell us about an experience that you've had, that was a result of cultural misunderstandings' says the facilitator. 'I spent much of my first year at University hungry' says Nhlanhla. 'My white friends would offer me food when I was visiting, but I would refuse, because in our culture, if you ask you don't really want to give. We just hand you a plate.' Nombulelo tells of the time she went on a yoga retreat. She was confused when she started to undress openly in the dormitory, and got disapproving looks from the other women. 'Why?' she wondered, 'we are all women together?' But these were Hindu women, whose sense of modesty was different from the openness of African women. For the whiteys, the major confusion seems to come from the issue of timekeeping. 'African time' is often referred to. Though in London, I did hear talk of 'Caribbean time'. Perhaps the concept of being on time is a particularly Western one (Makhale-Mahlangu). We are visiting friends of friends. There's an unlikely combination at the dinner table. She is tall and dark. I am short and fair. 'So where do you two know each other from?' Cairo asks. 'I'm Andie's sister', Kim replies. She reads the dumbfoundedness in Cairo's face. 'What can I say…my line got a bit deviated!' she laughs. She has my father's sense of humour. So have I. I ask my father, when he first became aware of racial prejudice. 'I was about six years old', he says. 'I threw my ball out of the school grounds, and called to the black man outside: 'Boy, please would you throw my ball back to me?' And the man replied: 'I am not a boy. I am old enough to be your grandfather.'' I am thinking about the time in our lives before we become aware of race… A friend tells me a story about how her six-year-old daughter came home from school and asked, 'Mommy, what's a [racist-term-not-to-be-repeated]?' She'd been called that. The late Lenny Bruce, controversial American comedian and social critic in the sixties, argued that it is 'the word that gives it the power of violence'3, and if we used 'the words' colloquially often enough, and began to invest them with new meanings, they would lose their power to hurt us. I am about to board a bus…'Woza (come) Mama', says the driver. 'Uyaphi?' (Where are you going?) '…green green, I'm going away to where the grass is greener still', come the Reggae sounds from his radio. We are discussing whether we should be focusing on our sameness or our differences. 'Of course we all want the same things…a home, a job, an education for our children', says Karima, but it's our differences that make us interesting.' I agree. Notes 1 Daar Kom die Alabama (Here Comes the Alabama) is a traditional 'Cape Coloured' song, originally sung in tribute to the Alabama, a confederate ship that docked in Cape Town in 1863. On board were Al Jolson-esque (Burlesque) performers, whom the slaves admired, and they imitated their style of performance. This tradition continues still today with the 'Coon Carnival' held on New Years Day and 'Tweede Nuwe Jaar' (Second New Year). It is said that the custom of Tweede Nuwe Jaar originated as a holiday for the slaves, who were too busy attending to their masters' needs on the first. For more information on the Coon Carnival, see http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html. 2 While the author makes some important general points about the drawbacks of political correctness, his reference to South Africa (including the correction) are in fact incorrect. The apartheid government had four major 'population groups' in it's classification system: African (black), Coloured, Asian and White. (The term black was used then only informally.) These were then sub-divided into other categories. See http://www.csvr.org.za/race.htm for further details. 3 The relevant extract from Julian Barry's 1971 play Lenny, can be found at http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/8.30/relrpt/stories/s271585.htm. References Barry, Julian. Lenny. Random House, 1971. http://www.freenetpages.co.uk/hp/lennybruce/ Downloaded 14 April 2002. Carmel Art Galleries. Beezy Bailey Curriculum Vitae, at http://www.carmelart.co.za/site/cvbb.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Finnegan, Mark. 'The 10 worst mishaps in the history of sport.' Observer Sport Monthly 5 November (2000). http://www.observer.co.uk/osm/story/0,69... Downloaded 14 April 2002. Klein, Naomi. No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies. USA: Picador, 2000. http://www.nologo.org/ Downloaded 14 April 2002. Makhale-Mahlangu, Palesa. 'Reflections on Trauma Counselling Methods.' Seminar presented at the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, Johannesburg, 31 July 1996. http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artpales.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Martin, Denis-Constant. 'The Famous Invincible Darkies Cape Town's Coon Carnival: Aesthetic Transformation, Collective Representations and Social Meanings', 1998. http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html Downloaded 14 April 2002. Pilgrim, Ira. 'Kikes, Niggers, Queers, Scotchmen and Chinamen', Mendocino County Observer, 22 March (1990). http://www.mcn.org/c/irapilgrim/race02.html Downloaded 14 April 2002. Transfer of African Language Knowledge (TALK). http://www.icon.co.za/~sadiverse/about.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Andie Miller was born, and spent the first 23 years of her life at the Southern-most tip of the African continent, in Cape Town. She currently works as webmaster for the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, and the National Development Agency in Johannesburg, South Africa. Links http://www.observer.co.uk/osm/story/0 http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html http://www.carmelart.co.za/site/cvbb.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/ http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/8.30/relrpt/stories/s271585.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artpales.htm http://www.nologo.org/ http://www.mcn.org/c/irapilgrim/race02.html http://www.freenetpages.co.uk/hp/lennybruce/ http://www.icon.co.za/~sadiverse/about.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/race.htm http://www.nda.org.za/ Citation reference for this article MLA Style Miller, Andie. "Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.3 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php>. Chicago Style Miller, Andie, "Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 3 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Miller, Andie. (2002) Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(3). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php> ([your date of access]).

By the time you read this, it will be wrong. Things seemed to be moving so fast in these first days after airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the Pennsylvania earth. Each certainty is as carelessly dropped as it was once carelessly assumed. The sounds of lower Manhattan that used to serve as white noise for residents—sirens, screeches, screams—are no longer signs without a referent. Instead, they make folks stare and stop, hurry and hustle, wondering whether the noises we know so well are in fact, this time, coefficients of a new reality. At the time of writing, the events themselves are also signs without referents—there has been no direct claim of responsibility, and little proof offered by accusers since the 11th. But it has been assumed that there is a link to US foreign policy, its military and economic presence in the Arab world, and opposition to it that seeks revenge. In the intervening weeks the US media and the war planners have supplied their own narrow frameworks, making New York’s “ground zero” into the starting point for a new escalation of global violence. We want to write here about the combination of sources and sensations that came that day, and the jumble of knowledges and emotions that filled our minds. Working late the night before, Toby was awoken in the morning by one of the planes right overhead. That happens sometimes. I have long expected a crash when I’ve heard the roar of jet engines so close—but I didn’t this time. Often when that sound hits me, I get up and go for a run down by the water, just near Wall Street. Something kept me back that day. Instead, I headed for my laptop. Because I cannot rely on local media to tell me very much about the role of the US in world affairs, I was reading the British newspaper The Guardian on-line when it flashed a two-line report about the planes. I looked up at the calendar above my desk to see whether it was April 1st. Truly. Then I got off-line and turned on the TV to watch CNN. That second, the phone rang. My quasi-ex-girlfriend I’m still in love with called from the mid-West. She was due to leave that day for the Bay Area. Was I alright? We spoke for a bit. She said my cell phone was out, and indeed it was for the remainder of the day. As I hung up from her, my friend Ana rang, tearful and concerned. Her husband, Patrick, had left an hour before for work in New Jersey, and it seemed like a dangerous separation. All separations were potentially fatal that day. You wanted to know where everyone was, every minute. She told me she had been trying to contact Palestinian friends who worked and attended school near the event—their ethnic, religious, and national backgrounds made for real poignancy, as we both thought of the prejudice they would (probably) face, regardless of the eventual who/what/when/where/how of these events. We agreed to meet at Bruno’s, a bakery on La Guardia Place. For some reason I really took my time, though, before getting to Ana. I shampooed and shaved under the shower. This was a horror, and I needed to look my best, even as men and women were losing and risking their lives. I can only interpret what I did as an attempt to impose normalcy and control on the situation, on my environment. When I finally made it down there, she’d located our friends. They were safe. We stood in the street and watched the Towers. Horrified by the sight of human beings tumbling to their deaths, we turned to buy a tea/coffee—again some ludicrous normalization—but were drawn back by chilling screams from the street. Racing outside, we saw the second Tower collapse, and clutched at each other. People were streaming towards us from further downtown. We decided to be with our Palestinian friends in their apartment. When we arrived, we learnt that Mark had been four minutes away from the WTC when the first plane hit. I tried to call my daughter in London and my father in Canberra, but to no avail. I rang the mid-West, and asked my maybe-former novia to call England and Australia to report in on me. Our friend Jenine got through to relatives on the West Bank. Israeli tanks had commenced a bombardment there, right after the planes had struck New York. Family members spoke to her from under the kitchen table, where they were taking refuge from the shelling of their house. Then we gave ourselves over to television, like so many others around the world, even though these events were happening only a mile away. We wanted to hear official word, but there was just a huge absence—Bush was busy learning to read in Florida, then leading from the front in Louisiana and Nebraska. As the day wore on, we split up and regrouped, meeting folks. One guy was in the subway when smoke filled the car. Noone could breathe properly, people were screaming, and his only thought was for his dog DeNiro back in Brooklyn. From the panic of the train, he managed to call his mom on a cell to ask her to feed “DeNiro” that night, because it looked like he wouldn’t get home. A pregnant woman feared for her unborn as she fled the blasts, pushing the stroller with her baby in it as she did so. Away from these heart-rending tales from strangers, there was the fear: good grief, what horrible price would the US Government extract for this, and who would be the overt and covert agents and targets of that suffering? What blood-lust would this generate? What would be the pattern of retaliation and counter-retaliation? What would become of civil rights and cultural inclusiveness? So a jumble of emotions came forward, I assume in all of us. Anger was not there for me, just intense sorrow, shock, and fear, and the desire for intimacy. Network television appeared to offer me that, but in an ultimately unsatisfactory way. For I think I saw the end-result of reality TV that day. I have since decided to call this ‘emotionalization’—network TV’s tendency to substitute analysis of US politics and economics with a stress on feelings. Of course, powerful emotions have been engaged by this horror, and there is value in addressing that fact and letting out the pain. I certainly needed to do so. But on that day and subsequent ones, I looked to the networks, traditional sources of current-affairs knowledge, for just that—informed, multi-perspectival journalism that would allow me to make sense of my feelings, and come to a just and reasoned decision about how the US should respond. I waited in vain. No such commentary came forward. Just a lot of asinine inquiries from reporters that were identical to those they pose to basketballers after a game: Question—‘How do you feel now?’ Answer—‘God was with me today.’ For the networks were insistent on asking everyone in sight how they felt about the end of las torres gemelas. In this case, we heard the feelings of survivors, firefighters, viewers, media mavens, Republican and Democrat hacks, and vacuous Beltway state-of-the-nation pundits. But learning of the military-political economy, global inequality, and ideologies and organizations that made for our grief and loss—for that, there was no space. TV had forgotten how to do it. My principal feeling soon became one of frustration. So I headed back to where I began the day—The Guardian web site, where I was given insightful analysis of the messy factors of history, religion, economics, and politics that had created this situation. As I dealt with the tragedy of folks whose lives had been so cruelly lost, I pondered what it would take for this to stop. Or whether this was just the beginning. I knew one thing—the answers wouldn’t come from mainstream US television, no matter how full of feelings it was. And that made Toby anxious. And afraid. He still is. And so the dreams come. In one, I am suddenly furloughed from my job with an orchestra, as audience numbers tumble. I make my evening-wear way to my locker along with the other players, emptying it of bubble gum and instrument. The next night, I see a gigantic, fifty-feet high wave heading for the city beach where I’ve come to swim. Somehow I am sheltered behind a huge wall, as all the people around me die. Dripping, I turn to find myself in a media-stereotype “crack house” of the early ’90s—desperate-looking black men, endless doorways, sudden police arrival, and my earnest search for a passport that will explain away my presence. I awake in horror, to the realization that the passport was already open and stamped—racialization at work for Toby, every day and in every way, as a white man in New York City. Ana’s husband, Patrick, was at work ten miles from Manhattan when “it” happened. In the hallway, I overheard some talk about two planes crashing, but went to teach anyway in my usual morning stupor. This was just the usual chatter of disaster junkies. I didn’t hear the words, “World Trade Center” until ten thirty, at the end of the class at the college I teach at in New Jersey, across the Hudson river. A friend and colleague walked in and told me the news of the attack, to which I replied “You must be fucking joking.” He was a little offended. Students were milling haphazardly on the campus in the late summer weather, some looking panicked like me. My first thought was of some general failure of the air-traffic control system. There must be planes falling out of the sky all over the country. Then the height of the towers: how far towards our apartment in Greenwich Village would the towers fall? Neither of us worked in the financial district a mile downtown, but was Ana safe? Where on the college campus could I see what was happening? I recognized the same physical sensation I had felt the morning after Hurricane Andrew in Miami seeing at a distance the wreckage of our shattered apartment across a suburban golf course strewn with debris and flattened power lines. Now I was trapped in the suburbs again at an unbridgeable distance from my wife and friends who were witnessing the attacks first hand. Were they safe? What on earth was going on? This feeling of being cut off, my path to the familiar places of home blocked, remained for weeks my dominant experience of the disaster. In my office, phone calls to the city didn’t work. There were six voice-mail messages from my teenaged brother Alex in small-town England giving a running commentary on the attack and its aftermath that he was witnessing live on television while I dutifully taught my writing class. “Hello, Patrick, where are you? Oh my god, another plane just hit the towers. Where are you?” The web was choked: no access to newspapers online. Email worked, but no one was wasting time writing. My office window looked out over a soccer field to the still woodlands of western New Jersey: behind me to the east the disaster must be unfolding. Finally I found a website with a live stream from ABC television, which I watched flickering and stilted on the tiny screen. It had all already happened: both towers already collapsed, the Pentagon attacked, another plane shot down over Pennsylvania, unconfirmed reports said, there were other hijacked aircraft still out there unaccounted for. Manhattan was sealed off. George Washington Bridge, Lincoln and Holland tunnels, all the bridges and tunnels from New Jersey I used to mock shut down. Police actions sealed off the highways into “the city.” The city I liked to think of as the capital of the world was cut off completely from the outside, suddenly vulnerable and under siege. There was no way to get home. The phone rang abruptly and Alex, three thousand miles away, told me he had spoken to Ana earlier and she was safe. After a dozen tries, I managed to get through and spoke to her, learning that she and Toby had seen people jumping and then the second tower fall. Other friends had been even closer. Everyone was safe, we thought. I sat for another couple of hours in my office uselessly. The news was incoherent, stories contradictory, loops of the planes hitting the towers only just ready for recycling. The attacks were already being transformed into “the World Trade Center Disaster,” not yet the ahistorical singularity of the emergency “nine one one.” Stranded, I had to spend the night in New Jersey at my boss’s house, reminded again of the boundless generosity of Americans to relative strangers. In an effort to protect his young son from the as yet unfiltered images saturating cable and Internet, my friend’s TV set was turned off and we did our best to reassure. We listened surreptitiously to news bulletins on AM radio, hoping that the roads would open. Walking the dog with my friend’s wife and son we crossed a park on the ridge on which Upper Montclair sits. Ten miles away a huge column of smoke was rising from lower Manhattan, where the stunning absence of the towers was clearly visible. The summer evening was unnervingly still. We kicked a soccer ball around on the front lawn and a woman walked distracted by, shocked and pale up the tree-lined suburban street, suffering her own wordless trauma. I remembered that though most of my students were ordinary working people, Montclair is a well-off dormitory for the financial sector and high rises of Wall Street and Midtown. For the time being, this was a white-collar disaster. I slept a short night in my friend’s house, waking to hope I had dreamed it all, and took the commuter train in with shell-shocked bankers and corporate types. All men, all looking nervously across the river toward glimpses of the Manhattan skyline as the train neared Hoboken. “I can’t believe they’re making us go in,” one guy had repeated on the station platform. He had watched the attacks from his office in Midtown, “The whole thing.” Inside the train we all sat in silence. Up from the PATH train station on 9th street I came onto a carless 6th Avenue. At 14th street barricades now sealed off downtown from the rest of the world. I walked down the middle of the avenue to a newspaper stand; the Indian proprietor shrugged “No deliveries below 14th.” I had not realized that the closer to the disaster you came, the less information would be available. Except, I assumed, for the evidence of my senses. But at 8 am the Village was eerily still, few people about, nothing in the sky, including the twin towers. I walked to Houston Street, which was full of trucks and police vehicles. Tractor trailers sat carrying concrete barriers. Below Houston, each street into Soho was barricaded and manned by huddles of cops. I had walked effortlessly up into the “lockdown,” but this was the “frozen zone.” There was no going further south towards the towers. I walked the few blocks home, found my wife sleeping, and climbed into bed, still in my clothes from the day before. “Your heart is racing,” she said. I realized that I hadn’t known if I would get back, and now I never wanted to leave again; it was still only eight thirty am. Lying there, I felt the terrible wonder of a distant bystander for the first-hand witness. Ana’s face couldn’t tell me what she had seen. I felt I needed to know more, to see and understand. Even though I knew the effort was useless: I could never bridge that gap that had trapped me ten miles away, my back turned to the unfolding disaster. The television was useless: we don’t have cable, and the mast on top of the North Tower, which Ana had watched fall, had relayed all the network channels. I knew I had to go down and see the wreckage. Later I would realize how lucky I had been not to suffer from “disaster envy.” Unbelievably, in retrospect, I commuted into work the second day after the attack, dogged by the same unnerving sensation that I would not get back—to the wounded, humbled former center of the world. My students were uneasy, all talked out. I was a novelty, a New Yorker living in the Village a mile from the towers, but I was forty-eight hours late. Out of place in both places. I felt torn up, but not angry. Back in the city at night, people were eating and drinking with a vengeance, the air filled with acrid sicklysweet smoke from the burning wreckage. Eyes stang and nose ran with a bitter acrid taste. Who knows what we’re breathing in, we joked nervously. A friend’s wife had fallen out with him for refusing to wear a protective mask in the house. He shrugged a wordlessly reassuring smile. What could any of us do? I walked with Ana down to the top of West Broadway from where the towers had commanded the skyline over SoHo; downtown dense smoke blocked the view to the disaster. A crowd of onlookers pushed up against the barricades all day, some weeping, others gawping. A tall guy was filming the grieving faces with a video camera, which was somehow the worst thing of all, the first sign of the disaster tourism that was already mushrooming downtown. Across the street an Asian artist sat painting the street scene in streaky black and white; he had scrubbed out two white columns where the towers would have been. “That’s the first thing I’ve seen that’s made me feel any better,” Ana said. We thanked him, but he shrugged blankly, still in shock I supposed. On the Friday, the clampdown. I watched the Mayor and Police Chief hold a press conference in which they angrily told the stream of volunteers to “ground zero” that they weren’t needed. “We can handle this ourselves. We thank you. But we don’t need your help,” Commissioner Kerik said. After the free-for-all of the first couple of days, with its amazing spontaneities and common gestures of goodwill, the clampdown was going into effect. I decided to go down to Canal Street and see if it was true that no one was welcome anymore. So many paths through the city were blocked now. “Lock down, frozen zone, war zone, the site, combat zone, ground zero, state troopers, secured perimeter, national guard, humvees, family center”: a disturbing new vocabulary that seemed to stamp the logic of Giuliani’s sanitized and over-policed Manhattan onto the wounded hulk of the city. The Mayor had been magnificent in the heat of the crisis; Churchillian, many were saying—and indeed, Giuliani quickly appeared on the cover of Cigar Afficionado, complete with wing collar and the misquotation from Kipling, “Captain Courageous.” Churchill had not believed in peacetime politics either, and he never got over losing his empire. Now the regime of command and control over New York’s citizens and its economy was being stabilized and reimposed. The sealed-off, disfigured, and newly militarized spaces of the New York through which I have always loved to wander at all hours seemed to have been put beyond reach for the duration. And, in the new post-“9/11” post-history, the duration could last forever. The violence of the attacks seemed to have elicited a heavy-handed official reaction that sought to contain and constrict the best qualities of New York. I felt more anger at the clampdown than I did at the demolition of the towers. I knew this was unreasonable, but I feared the reaction, the spread of the racial harassment and racial profiling that I had already heard of from my students in New Jersey. This militarizing of the urban landscape seemed to negate the sprawling, freewheeling, boundless largesse and tolerance on which New York had complacently claimed a monopoly. For many the towers stood for that as well, not just as the monumental outposts of global finance that had been attacked. Could the American flag mean something different? For a few days, perhaps—on the helmets of firemen and construction workers. But not for long. On the Saturday, I found an unmanned barricade way east along Canal Street and rode my bike past throngs of Chinatown residents, by the Federal jail block where prisoners from the first World Trade Center bombing were still being held. I headed south and west towards Tribeca; below the barricades in the frozen zone, you could roam freely, the cops and soldiers assuming you belonged there. I felt uneasy, doubting my own motives for being there, feeling the blood drain from my head in the same numbing shock I’d felt every time I headed downtown towards the site. I looped towards Greenwich Avenue, passing an abandoned bank full of emergency supplies and boxes of protective masks. Crushed cars still smeared with pulverized concrete and encrusted with paperwork strewn by the blast sat on the street near the disabled telephone exchange. On one side of the avenue stood a horde of onlookers, on the other television crews, all looking two blocks south towards a colossal pile of twisted and smoking steel, seven stories high. We were told to stay off the street by long-suffering national guardsmen and women with southern accents, kids. Nothing happening, just the aftermath. The TV crews were interviewing worn-out, dust-covered volunteers and firemen who sat quietly leaning against the railings of a park filled with scraps of paper. Out on the West Side highway, a high-tech truck was offering free cellular phone calls. The six lanes by the river were full of construction machinery and military vehicles. Ambulances rolled slowly uptown, bodies inside? I locked my bike redundantly to a lamppost and crossed under the hostile gaze of plainclothes police to another media encampment. On the path by the river, two camera crews were complaining bitterly in the heat. “After five days of this I’ve had enough.” They weren’t talking about the trauma, bodies, or the wreckage, but censorship. “Any blue light special gets to roll right down there, but they see your press pass and it’s get outta here. I’ve had enough.” I fronted out the surly cops and ducked under the tape onto the path, walking onto a Pier on which we’d spent many lazy afternoons watching the river at sunset. Dust everywhere, police boats docked and waiting, a crane ominously dredging mud into a barge. I walked back past the camera operators onto the highway and walked up to an interview in process. Perfectly composed, a fire chief and his crew from some small town in upstate New York were politely declining to give details about what they’d seen at “ground zero.” The men’s faces were dust streaked, their eyes slightly dazed with the shock of a horror previously unimaginable to most Americans. They were here to help the best they could, now they’d done as much as anyone could. “It’s time for us to go home.” The chief was eloquent, almost rehearsed in his precision. It was like a Magnum press photo. But he was refusing to cooperate with the media’s obsessive emotionalism. I walked down the highway, joining construction workers, volunteers, police, and firemen in their hundreds at Chambers Street. No one paid me any attention; it was absurd. I joined several other watchers on the stairs by Stuyvesant High School, which was now the headquarters for the recovery crews. Just two or three blocks away, the huge jagged teeth of the towers’ beautiful tracery lurched out onto the highway above huge mounds of debris. The TV images of the shattered scene made sense as I placed them into what was left of a familiar Sunday afternoon geography of bike rides and walks by the river, picnics in the park lying on the grass and gazing up at the infinite solidity of the towers. Demolished. It was breathtaking. If “they” could do that, they could do anything. Across the street at tables military policeman were checking credentials of the milling volunteers and issuing the pink and orange tags that gave access to ground zero. Without warning, there was a sudden stampede running full pelt up from the disaster site, men and women in fatigues, burly construction workers, firemen in bunker gear. I ran a few yards then stopped. Other people milled around idly, ignoring the panic, smoking and talking in low voices. It was a mainly white, blue-collar scene. All these men wearing flags and carrying crowbars and flashlights. In their company, the intolerance and rage I associated with flags and construction sites was nowhere to be seen. They were dealing with a torn and twisted otherness that dwarfed machismo or bigotry. I talked to a moustachioed, pony-tailed construction worker who’d hitched a ride from the mid-west to “come and help out.” He was staying at the Y, he said, it was kind of rough. “Have you been down there?” he asked, pointing towards the wreckage. “You’re British, you weren’t in World War Two were you?” I replied in the negative. “It’s worse ’n that. I went down last night and you can’t imagine it. You don’t want to see it if you don’t have to.” Did I know any welcoming ladies? he asked. The Y was kind of tough. When I saw TV images of President Bush speaking to the recovery crews and steelworkers at “ground zero” a couple of days later, shouting through a bullhorn to chants of “USA, USA” I knew nothing had changed. New York’s suffering was subject to a second hijacking by the brokers of national unity. New York had never been America, and now its terrible human loss and its great humanity were redesignated in the name of the nation, of the coming war. The signs without a referent were being forcibly appropriated, locked into an impoverished patriotic framework, interpreted for “us” by a compliant media and an opportunistic regime eager to reign in civil liberties, to unloose its war machine and tighten its grip on the Muslim world. That day, drawn to the river again, I had watched F18 fighter jets flying patterns over Manhattan as Bush’s helicopters came in across the river. Otherwise empty of air traffic, “our” skies were being torn up by the military jets: it was somehow the worst sight yet, worse than the wreckage or the bands of disaster tourists on Canal Street, a sign of further violence yet to come. There was a carrier out there beyond New York harbor, there to protect us: the bruising, blustering city once open to all comers. That felt worst of all. In the intervening weeks, we have seen other, more unstable ways of interpreting the signs of September 11 and its aftermath. Many have circulated on the Internet, past the blockages and blockades placed on urban spaces and intellectual life. Karl-Heinz Stockhausen’s work was banished (at least temporarily) from the canon of avant-garde electronic music when he described the attack on las torres gemelas as akin to a work of art. If Jacques Derrida had described it as an act of deconstruction (turning technological modernity literally in on itself), or Jean Baudrillard had announced that the event was so thick with mediation it had not truly taken place, something similar would have happened to them (and still may). This is because, as Don DeLillo so eloquently put it in implicit reaction to the plaintive cry “Why do they hate us?”: “it is the power of American culture to penetrate every wall, home, life and mind”—whether via military action or cultural iconography. All these positions are correct, however grisly and annoying they may be. What GK Chesterton called the “flints and tiles” of nineteenth-century European urban existence were rent asunder like so many victims of high-altitude US bombing raids. As a First-World disaster, it became knowable as the first-ever US “ground zero” such precisely through the high premium immediately set on the lives of Manhattan residents and the rarefied discussion of how to commemorate the high-altitude towers. When, a few weeks later, an American Airlines plane crashed on take-off from Queens, that borough was left open to all comers. Manhattan was locked down, flown over by “friendly” bombers. In stark contrast to the open if desperate faces on the street of 11 September, people went about their business with heads bowed even lower than is customary. Contradictory deconstructions and valuations of Manhattan lives mean that September 11 will live in infamy and hyper-knowability. The vengeful United States government and population continue on their way. Local residents must ponder insurance claims, real-estate values, children’s terrors, and their own roles in something beyond their ken. New York had been forced beyond being the center of the financial world. It had become a military target, a place that was receiving as well as dispatching the slings and arrows of global fortune. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.1 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php>. Chicago Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby, "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. (2002) A Day That Will Live In … ?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(1). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]).

This article is about refugees’ and migrants’ dreams of home and family and stems from an Australian Research Council Linkage Grant, “A Hand Up: Disrupting the Communication of Intergenerational Welfare Dependency” (LP140100935), with Partner Organisation St Vincent de Paul Society (WA) Inc. (Vinnies). A Vinnies-supported refugee and migrant support centre was chosen as one of the hubs for interviewee recruitment, given that many refugee families experience persistent and chronic economic disadvantage. The de-identified name for the drop-in language-teaching and learning social facility is the Migrant and Refugee Homebase (MARH). At the time of the research, in 2018, refugee and forced migrant families from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan constituted MARH’s primary membership base. MARH provided English language classes alongside other educational and financial support. It could also organise provision of emergency food and was a conduit for furniture donated by Australian families. Crucially, MARH operated as a space in which members could come together to build shared community.As part of her role, the researcher was introduced to Sara (de-identified), a mother-tongue Arabic speaker and the centre’s coordinator. Sara had personal experience of being a refugee, as well as being MARH’s manager, and she became both a point of contact for the researcher team, an interpreter/translator, and an empathetic listener as refugees shared their stories. Dreams of home and family emerged throughout the interviews as a vital part of participants’ everyday lives. These dreams and hopes were developed in the face of what was, for some, a nightmare of adversity. Underpinning participants’ sense of agency, subjectivity and resilience, Badiou argues (93, as noted in Jackson, 241) that hope can appear as a basic form of patience or perseverance rather than a dream for justice. Instead of imagining an improvement in personal circumstances, the dream is one of simply moving forward rather than backward. While dreams of being reunited with family are rooted in the past and project a vision of a family which no longer exists, these dreams help fashion a future which once again contains a range of possibilities.Although Sara volunteered her time on the research project as part of her commitment to Vinnies, she was well-known to interviewees as a MARH staff member and, in many cases, a friend and confidante. While Sara’s manager role implies an imbalance of power, with Sara powerful and participants comparatively less so, the majority of the information explored in the interviews pertained to refugees’ experiences of life outside the sphere in which MARH is engaged, so there was limited risk of the data being sanitised to reflect positively upon MARH. The specialist information and understandings that the interviewees shared positions them as experts, and as co-creators of knowledge.Recruitment and Methodological ApproachThe project researcher (Jaunzems) met potential contributors at MARH when its members gathered for a coffee morning. With Sara’s assistance, the researcher invited MARH members to take part in the research project, giving those present the opportunity to ask and have answered any questions they deemed important. Coffee morning attendees were under no obligation to take part, and about half chose not to do so, while the remainder volunteered to participate. Sara scheduled the interviews at times to suit the families participating. A parent and child from each volunteer family was interviewed, separately. In all cases it was the mother who volunteered to take part, and all interviewees chose to be interviewed in their homes. Each set of interviews was digitally recorded and lasted no longer than 90 minutes. This article includes extracts from interviews with three mothers from refugee families who escaped war-torn homelands for a new life in Australia, sometimes via interim refugee camps.The project researcher conducted the in-depth interviews with Sara’s crucial interpreting/translating assistance. The interviews followed a traditional approach, except that the researcher deferred to Sara as being more important in the interview exchange than she was. This reflects the premise that meaning is socially constructed, and that what people do and say makes visible the meanings that underpin their actions and statements within a wider social context (Burr). Conceptualising knowledge as socially constructed privileges the role of the decoder in receiving, understanding and communicating such knowledge (Crotty). Respecting the role of the interpreter/translator signified to the participants that their views, opinions and their overall cultural context were valued.Once complete, the interviews were sent for translation and transcription by a trusted bi-lingual transcriber, where both the English and Arabic exchanges were transcribed. This was deemed essential by the researchers, to ensure both the authenticity of the data collected and to demonstrate “trust, understanding, respect, and a caring connection” (Valibhoy, Kaplan, and Szwarc, 23) with the participants. Upon completion of the interviews with volunteer members of the MARH community, and at the beginning of the analysis phase, researchers recognised the need for the adoption of an interpretive framework. The interpretive approach seeks to understand an individual’s view of the world through the contexts of time, place and culture. The knowledge produced is contextualised and differs from one person to another as a result of individual subjectivities such as age, race and ethnicity, even within a shared social context (Guba and Lincoln). Accordingly, a mother-tongue Arabic speaker, who identifies as a refugee (Al-Hameed), was added to the project. All authors were involved in writing up the article while authors two, three and four took responsibility for transcript coding and analysis. In the transcripts that follow, words originally spoken in Arabic are in intalics, with non-italcised words originally spoken in English.Discrimination and BelongingAya initially fled from her home in Syria into neighbouring Jordan. She didn’t feel welcomed or supported there.[00:55:06] Aya: …in Jordan, refugees didn’t have rights, and the Jordanian schools refused to teach them [the children…] We were put aside.[00:55:49] Interpreter, Sara (to Researcher): And then she said they push us aside like you’re a zero on the left, yeah this is unfortunately the reality of our countries, I want to cry now.[00:56:10] Aya: You’re not allowed to cry because we’ll all cry.Some refugees and migrant communities suffer discrimination based on their ethnicity and perceived legitimacy as members of the host society. Although Australian refugees may have had searing experiences prior to their acceptance by Australia, migrant community members in Australia can also feel themselves “constructed in the public and political spheres as less legitimately Australian than others” (Green and Aly). Jackson argues that both refugees and migrants experiencethe impossibility of ever bridging the gap between one’s natal ties to the place one left because life was insupportable there, and the demands of the nation to which one has travelled, legally or illegally, in search of a better life. And this tension between belonging and not belonging, between a place where one has rights and a place where one does not, implies an unresolved relationship between one’s natural identity as a human being and one’s social identity as ‘undocumented migrant,’ a ‘resident alien,’ an ‘ethnic minority,’ or ‘the wretched of the earth,’ whose plight remains a stigma of radical alterity even though it inspires our compassion and moves us to political action. (223)The tension Jackson refers to, where the migrant is haunted by belonging and not belonging, is an area of much research focus. Moreover, the label of “asylum seeker” can contribute to systemic “exclusion of a marginalised and abject group of people, precisely by employing a term that emphasises the suspended recognition of a community” (Nyers). Unsurprisingly, many refugees in Australia long for the connectedness of the lives they left behind relocated in the safe spaces where they live now.Eades focuses on an emic approach to understanding refugee/migrant distress, or trauma, which seeks to incorporate the worldview of the people in distress: essentially replicating the interpretive perspective taken in the research. This emic framing is adopted in place of the etic approach that seeks to understand the distress through a Western biomedical lens that is positioned outside the social/cultural system in which the distress is taking place. Eades argues: “developing an emic approach is to engage in intercultural dialogue, raise dilemmas, test assumptions, document hopes and beliefs and explore their implications”. Furthermore, Eades sees the challenge for service providers working with refugee/migrants in distress as being able to move beyond “harm minimisation” models of care “to recognition of a facilitative, productive community of people who are in a transitional phase between homelands”. This opens the door for studies concerning the notions of attachment to place and its links to resilience and a refugee’s ability to “settle in” (for example, Myers’s ground-breaking place-making work in Plymouth).Resilient PrecariousnessChaima: We feel […] good here, we’re safe, but when we sit together, we remember what we went through how my kids screamed when the bombs came, and we went out in the car. My son was 12 and I was pregnant, every time I remember it, I go back.Alongside the dreams that migrants have possible futures are the nightmares that threaten to destabilise their daily lives. As per the work of Xavier and Rosaldo, post-migration social life is recreated in two ways: the first through participation and presence in localised events; the second by developing relationships with absent others (family and friends) across the globe through media. These relationships, both distanced and at a distance, are dispersed through time and space. In light of this, Campays and Said suggest that places of past experiences and rituals for meaning are commonly recreated or reproduced as new places of attachment abroad; similarly, other recollections and experience can trigger a sense of fragility when “we remember what we went through”. Gupta and Ferguson suggest that resilience is defined by the migrant/refugee capacity to “reimagine and re-materialise” their lost heritage in their new home. This involves a sense of connection to the good things in the past, while leaving the bad things behind.Resilience has also been linked to the migrant’s/refugee’s capacity “to manage their responses to adverse circumstances in an interpersonal community through the networks of relationships” (Eades). Resilience in this case is seen through an intersubjective lens. Joseph reminds us that there is danger in romanticising community. Local communities may not only be hostile toward different national and ethnic groups, they may actively display a level of hostility toward them (Boswell). However, Gill maintains that “the reciprocal relations found in communities are crucially important to their [migrant/refugee] well-being”. This is because inclusion in a given community allows migrants/refugees to shrug off the outsider label, and the feeling of being at risk, and provides the opportunity for them to become known as families and friends. One of MAHR’s central aims was to help bridge the cultural divide between MARH users and the broader Australian community.Hope[01:06: 10] Sara (to interviewee, Aya): What’s the key to your success here in Australia?[01:06:12] Aya: The people, and how they treat us.[01:06:15] Sara (to Researcher): People and how they deal with us.[01:06:21] Aya: It’s the best thing when you look around, and see people who don’t understand your language but they help you.[01:06:28] Sara (to Researcher): She said – this is nice. I want to cry also. She said the best thing when I see people, they don’t understand your language, and I don’t understand theirs but they still smile in your face.[01:06:43] Aya: It’s the best.[01:06:45] Sara (to Aya): yes, yes, people here are angels. This is the best thing about Australia.Here, Sara is possibly shown to be taking liberties with the translation offered to the researcher, talking about how Australians “smile in your face”, when (according to the translator) Aya talked about how Australians “help”. Even so, the capacity for social connection and other aspects of sociality have been linked to a person’s ability to turn a negative experience into a positive cultural resource (Wilson). Resilience is understood in these cases as a strength-based practice where families, communities and individuals are viewed in terms of their capabilities and possibilities, instead of their deficiencies or disorders (Graybeal and Saleeby in Eades). According to Fozdar and Torezani, there is an “apparent paradox between high-levels of discrimination experienced by humanitarian migrants to Australia in the labour market and everyday life” (30) on the one hand, and their reporting of positive well-being on the other. That disparity includes accounts such as the one offered by Aya.As Wilson and Arvanitakis suggest,the interaction between negative experiences of discrimination and reports of wellbeing suggested a counter-intuitive propensity among refugees to adapt to and make sense of their migration experiences in unique, resourceful and life-affirming ways. Such response patterns among refugees and trauma survivors indicate a similar resilience-related capacity to positively interpret and derive meaning from negative migration experiences and associated emotions. … However, resilience is not expressed or employed uniformly among individuals or communities. Some respond in a resilient manner, while others collapse. On this point, an argument could be made that collapse and breakdown is a built-in aspect of resilience, and necessary for renewal and ongoing growth.Using this approach, Wilson and Arvanitakis have linked resilience to hope, as a “present- and future-oriented mode of situated defence against adversity”. They argue that the term “hope” is often utilised in a tokenistic way “as a strategic instrument in increasingly empty domestic and international political vocabularies”. Nonetheless, Wilson and Arvanitakis believe hope to be of vital academic interest due to the prevalence of war and suffering throughout the world. In the research reported here, the authors found that participants’ hopes were interwoven with dreams of being reunited with their families in a place of safety. This is a common longing. As Jackson states,so it is that migrants travel abroad in pursuit of utopia, but having found that place, which is also no-place (ou-topos), they are haunted by the thought that utopia actually lies in the past. It is the family they left behind. That is where they properly belong. Though the family broke up long ago and is now scattered to the four winds, they imagine a reunion in which they are together again. (223)There is a sense here that with their hopes and dreams lying in the past, refugees/migrants are living forward while looking backwards (a Kierkegaardian concept). If hope is thought to be key to resilience (Wilson and Arvanitakis), and key to an individual’s ability to live with a sense of well-being, then perhaps a refugee’s past relations (familial) impact both their present relations (social/community), and their ability to transform negative experiences into positive experiences. And yet, there is no readily accessible way in which migrants and refugees can recreate the connections that sustained them in the past. As Jackson suggests,the irreversibility of time is intimately connected with the irreversibility of one’s place of origin, and this entwined movement through time and across space proves perplexing to many migrants, who, in imagining themselves one day returning to the place from where they started out, forget that there is no transport which will convey them back into the past. … Often it is only by going home that is becomes starkly and disconcertingly clear that one’s natal village is no longer the same and that one has also changed. (221)The dream of home and family, therefore and the hope that this might somehow be recreated in the safety of the here and now, becomes a paradoxical loss and longing even as it is a constant companion for many on their refugee journey.Esma’s DreamAccording to author three, personal dreams are not generally discussed in Arab culture, even though dreams themselves may form part of the rich tradition of Arabic folklore and storytelling. Alongside issues of mental wellbeing, dreams are constructed as something private, and it generally breaks social taboos to describe them publicly. However, in personal discussions with other refugee women and men, and echoing Jackson’s finding, a recurring dream is “to meet my family in a safe place and not be worried about my safety or theirs”. As a refugee, the third author shares this dream. This is also the perspective articulated by Esma, who had recently had a fifth child and was very much missing her extended family who had died, been scattered as refugees, or were still living in a conflict zone. The researcher asked Sara to ask Esma about the best aspect of her current life:[01:17:03] Esma: The thing that comforts me here is nature, it’s beautiful.[01:17:15] Sara (to the Researcher): The nature.[01:17:16] Esma: And feeling safe.[01:17:19] Sara (to the Researcher): The safety. ...[01:17:45] Esma: Life’s beautiful here.[01:17:47] Sara (to the Researcher): Life is beautiful here.[01:17:49] Esma: But I want to know people, speak the language, have friends, life is beautiful here even if I don’t have my family here.[01:17:56] Sara (to the Researcher): Life is so pretty you only need to improve the language and have friends, she said I love my life here even though I don’t have any family or community here. (To Esma:) I am your family.[01:18:12] Esma: Bring me my siblings here.[01:18:14] Sara (to Esma): I just want my brothers here and my sisters.[01:18:17] Esma: It’s a dream.[01:18:18] Sara (to Esma): it’s a dream, one day it will become true.Here Esma uses the term dream metaphorically, to describe an imagined utopia: a dream world. In supporting Esma, who is mourning the absence of her family, Sara finds herself reacting and emoting around their shared experience of leaving siblings behind. In doing so, she affirms the younger woman, but also offers a hope for the future. Esma had previously made a suggestion, absorbed into her larger dream, but more achievable in the short term, “to know people, speak the language, have friends”. The implication here is that Esma is keen to find a way to connect with Australians. She sees this as a means of compensating for the loss of family, a realistic hope rather than an impossible dream.ConclusionInterviews with refugee families in a Perth-based migrant support centre reveals both the nightmare pasts and the dreamed-of futures of people whose lives have experienced a radical disruption due to war, conflict and other life-threatening events. Jackson’s work with migrants provides a context for understanding the power of the dream in helping to resolve issues around the irreversibility of time and circumstance, while Wilson and Arvanitakis point to the importance of hope and resilience in supporting the building of a positive future. Within this mix of the longed for and the impossible, both the refugee informants and the academic literature suggest that participation in local events, and authentic engagement with the broader community, help make a difference in supporting a migrant’s transition from dreaming to reality.AcknowledgmentsThis article arises from an ARC Linkage Project, ‘A Hand Up: Disrupting the Communication of Intergenerational Welfare Dependency’ (LP140100935), supported by the Australian Research Council, Partner Organisation St Vincent de Paul Society (WA) Inc., and Edith Cowan University. The authors are grateful to the anonymous staff and member of Vinnies’ Migrant and Refugee Homebase for their trust in and support of this project, and for their contributions to it.ReferencesBadiou, Alan. Saint Paul: The Foundation of Universalism. Trans. Ray Brassier. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 2003.Boswell, Christina. “Burden-Sharing in the European Union: Lessons from the German and UK Experience.” Journal of Refugee Studies 16.3 (2003): 316–35.Burr, Vivien. Social Constructionism. 2nd ed. Hove, UK & New York, NY: Routledge, 2003.Campays, Philippe, and Vioula Said. “Re-Imagine.” M/C Journal 20.4 (2017). Aug. 2017 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1250>.Crotty, Michael. The Foundations of Social Research: Meaning and Perspective in the Research Process. St Leonards: Allen & Unwin, 1998.Eades, David. “Resilience and Refugees: From Individualised Trauma to Post Traumatic Growth.” M/C Journal 16.5 (2013). Aug. 2013 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/700>.Fozdar, Farida, and Silvia Torezani. “Discrimination and Well-Being: Perceptions of Refugees in Western Australia.” The International Migration Review 42.1 (2008): 1–34.Gill, Nicholas. “Longing for Stillness: The Forced Movement of Asylum Seekers.” M/C Journal 12.1 (2009). Mar. 2009 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/123>.Graybeal, Clay. “Strengths-Based Social Work Assessment: Transforming the Dominant Paradigm.” Families in Society 82.3 (2001): 233–42.Green, Lelia, and Anne Aly. “Bastard Immigrants: Asylum Seekers Who Arrive by Boat and the Illegitimate Fear of the Other.” M/C Journal 17.5 (2014). Oct. 2014 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/896>.Guba, Egon G., and Yvonna S. Lincoln. "Competing Paradigms in Qualitative Research." Handbook of Qualitative Research 2 (1994): 163-194.Gupta, Akhil, and James Ferguson. “Beyond ‘Culture’: Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference.” Religion and Social Justice for Immigrants. Ed. Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo. New Jersey: Rutgers UP, 2006. 72-79.Jackson, Michael. The Wherewithal of Life: Ethics, Migration, and the Question of Well-Being. California: U of California P, 2013.Joseph, Miranda. Against the Romance of Community. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 2002.Myers, Misha. “Situations for Living: Performing Emplacement." Research in Drama Education 13.2 (2008): 171-180. DOI: 10.1080/13569780802054828.Nyers, Peter. “Abject Cosmopolitanism: The Politics of Protection in the Anti-Deportation Movement.” Third World Quarterly 24.6 (2003): 1069–93.Saleeby, Dennis. “The Strengths Perspective in Social Work Practice: Extensions and Cautions.” Social Work 41.3 (1996): 296–305.Valibhoy, Madeleine C., Ida Kaplan, and Josef Szwarc. “‘It Comes Down to Just How Human Someone Can Be’: A Qualitative Study with Young People from Refugee Backgrounds about Their Experiences of Australian Mental Health Services.” Transcultural Psychiatry 54.1 (2017): 23-45.Wilson, Michael. Accumulating Resilience: An Investigation of the Migration and Resettlement Experiences of Young Sudanese People in the Western Sydney Area. Sydney: University of Western Sydney, 2012.Wilson, Michael John, and James Arvanitakis. “The Resilience Complex.” M/C Journal 16.5 (2013). <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/741>.Xavier, Johnathon, and Renato Rosaldo. “Thinking the Global.” The Anthropology of Globalisation. Eds. Johnathon Xavier and Renato Rosaldo. New Jersey: Wiley-Blackwell Publishers, 2002.

IntroductionThe death of Chris Cornell in the spring of 2017 shook me. As the lead singer of Soundgarden and a pioneer of early 1990s grunge music, his voice revealed an unbridled pain and joy backed up by the raw, guitar-driven rock emanating from the Seattle, Washington music scene. I remember thinking, there’s only one left, referring to Eddie Vedder, lead singer for Pearl Jam, and lone survivor of the four seminal grunge bands that rose to fame in the early 1990s whose lead singers passed away much too soon. Alice in Chains singer Layne Staley died in 2002 at the age of 35, and Nirvana front man Kurt Cobain’s death in 1994 had resonated around the globe. I thought about when Cornell and Staley said goodbye to their friend Andy Wood, lead singer of Mother Love Bone, after he overdosed on heroine in 1990. Wood’s untimely death at the age of 24, only days before his band’s debut album release, shook the close-knit Seattle music scene and remained a source of angst and inspiration for a genre of music that shaped youth culture of the 1990s.When grunge first exploded on the pop culture scene, I was a college student flailing around in pursuit of an English degree I had less passion for than I did for music. I grew up listening to The Beatles and Prince; Led Zeppelin and Miles Davis; David Bowie and Willie Nelson, along with a litany of other artists and musicians crafting the kind of meaningful music I responded to. I didn’t just listen to music, I devoured stories about the musicians, their often hedonistic lifestyles; their processes and epiphanies. The music spoke to my being in the world more than the promise of any college degree. I ran with friends who shared this love of music, often turning me on to new bands or suggesting some obscure song from the past to track down. I picked up my first guitar when John Lennon died on the eve of my eleventh birthday and have played for the past 37 years. I rely on music to relocate my sense of self. Rhythm and melody play out like characters in my life, colluding to make me feel something apart from the mundane, moving me from within. So, when I took notice of grunge music in the fall of 1991, it was love at first listen. As a pop cultural phenomenon, grunge ruptured the music and fashion industries caught off guard by its sudden commercial appeal while the media struggled to galvanize its relevance. As a subculture, grunge rallied around a set of attitudes and values that set the movement apart from mainstream (Latysheva). The grunge sound drew from the nihilism of punk and the head banging gospel of heavy metal, tinged with the swagger of 1970s FM rock running counter to the sleek production of pop radio and hair metal bands. Grunge artists wrote emotionally-laden songs that spoke to a particular generation of youth who identified with lyrics about isolation, anger, and death. Grunge set off new fashion trends in favor of dressing down and sporting the latest in second-hand, thrift store apparel, ripping away the Reagan-era starched white-collared working-class aesthetic of the 1980’s corporate culture. Like their punk forbearers who railed against the status quo and the trappings of success incurred through the mass appeal of their art, Kurt Cobain, Eddie Vedder, and the rest of the grunge cohort often wrestled with the momentum of their success. Fortunes rained down and the media ordained them rock stars.This auto-ethnography revisits some of the cultural impacts of grunge during its rise to cultural relevance and includes my own reflexive interpretation positioned as a fan of grunge music. I use a particular auto-ethnographic orientation called “interpretive-humanistic autoethnography” (Manning and Adams 192) where, along with archival research (i.e. media articles and journal articles), I will use my own reflexive voice to interpret and describe my personal experiences as a fan of grunge music during its peak of popularity from 1991 up to the death of Cobain in 1994. It is a methodology that works to bridge the personal and popular where “the individual story leaves traces of at least one path through a shifting, transforming, and disappearing cultural landscape” (Neumann 183). Grunge RootsThere are many conflicting stories as to when the word “grunge” was first used to describe the sound of a particular style of alternative music seeping from the dank basements and shoddy rehearsal spaces in towns like Olympia, Aberdeen, and Seattle. Lester Bangs, the preeminent cultural writer and critic of all things punk, pop, and rock in the 1970s was said to have used the word at one time (Yarm), and several musicians lay claim to their use of the word in the 1980s. But it was a small Seattle record label founded in 1988 called Sub Pop Records that first included grunge in their marketing materials to describe “the grittiness of the music and the energy” (Yarm 195).This particular sound grew out of the Pacific Northwest blue-collar environment of logging towns, coastal fisheries, and airplane manufacturing. Seattle’s alternative music scene unfolded as a community of musicians responding to the tucked away isolation of their musty surroundings, apart from the outside world, free to submerge themselves in their own cultural milieu of rock music, rain, and youthful rebellion.Where Seattle stood as a major metropolitan city soaked in rainclouds for much of the year, I was soaking up the desert sun in a rural college town when grunge first leapt into the mainstream. Cattle ranches and cotton fields spread across the open plains of West Texas, painted with pickup trucks, starched Wrangler Jeans, and cowboy hats. This was not my world. I’d arrived the year prior from Houston, Texas, an urban sprawl of four million people, but I found the wide-open landscape a welcome change from the concrete jungle of the big city. Along with cowboy boots and western shirts came country music, and lots of it. Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire, George Straight; some of the voices that captured the lifestyle of my small rural town, twangy guitars and fiddles blaring on local radio. While popular country artists recorded for behemoth record labels like Warner Brothers and Sony, the tiny Sub Pop Records championed the grunge sound coming out of the Seattle music scene. Sub Pop became a playground for those who cared about their music and little else. The label cultivated an early following through their Sub Pop Singles Club, mailing seven-inch records to subscribers on a monthly basis promoting new releases from up-and-coming bands. Sub Pop’s stark, black and white logo showed up on records sleeves, posters, and t-shirts, reflecting a no-nonsense DIY-attitude rooted in in the production of loud guitars and heavy drums.Like the bands it represented, Sub Pop did not take itself too seriously when one of their best-selling t-shirts simply read “Loser” embracing the slacker mood of newly minted Generation X’ers born between 1961 and 1981. A July 1990 Time Magazine article described this twenty-something demographic as having “few heroes, no anthems, no style to call their own” suggesting they “possess only a hazy sense of their own identity” (Gross & Scott). As a member of this generation, I purchased and wore my “Loser” t-shirt with pride, especially in ironic response to the local cowboy way of life. I didn’t hold anything personal against the Wrangler wearing Garth Brooks fan but as a twenty-one-year-old reluctant college student, I wanted to rage with contempt for the status quo of my environment with an ambivalent snarl.Grunge in the MainstreamIn 1991, the Seattle sound exploded onto the international music scene with the release of four seminal grunge-era albums over a six-month period. The first arrived in April, Temple of the Dog, a tribute album of sorts to the late Andy Wood, led by his close friend, Soundgarden singer/songwriter, Chris Cornell. In August, Pearl Jam released their debut album, Ten, with its “surprising and refreshing, melodic restraint” (Fricke). The following month, Nirvana’s Nevermind landed in stores. Now on a major record label, DGC Records, the band had arrived “at the crossroads—scrappy garageland warriors setting their sights on a land of giants” (Robbins). October saw the release of Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger as “a runaway train ride of stammering guitar and psycho-jungle telegraph rhythms” (Fricke). These four albums sent grunge culture into the ether with a wall of sound that would upend the music charts and galvanize a depressed concert ticket market.In fall of 1991, grunge landed like a hammer when I witnessed Nirvana’s video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on MTV for the first time. Sonically, the song rang like an anthem for the Gen Xers with its jangly four-chord opening guitar riff signaling the arrival of a youth-oriented call to arms, “here we are now, entertain us” (Nirvana). It was the visual power of seeing a skinny white kid with stringy hair wearing baggy jeans, a striped T-shirt and tennis shoes belting out choruses with a ferociousness typically reserved for black-clad heavy metal headbangers. Cobain’s sound and look didn’t match up. I felt discombobulated, turned sideways, as if vertigo had taken hold and I couldn’t right myself. Stopped in the middle of my tracks on that day, frozen in front of the TV, the subculture of grunge music slammed into my world while I was on my way to the fridge.Suddenly, grunge was everywhere, As Soundgarden, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam albums and performances infiltrated radio, television, and concert halls, there was no shortage of media coverage. From 1992 through 1994, grunge bands were mentioned or featured on the cover of Rolling Stone 33 times (Hillburn). That same year, The New York Times ran the article “Grunge: A Success Story” featuring a short history of the Seattle sound, along with a “lexicon of grunge speak” (Marin), a joke perpetrated by a former 25-year-old Sub Pop employee, Megan Jasper, who never imagined her list of made-up vocabulary given to a New York Times reporter would grace the front page of the style section (Yarm). In their rush to keep up with pervasiveness of grunge culture, even The New York Times fell prey to Gen Xer’s comical cynicism.The circle of friends I ran with were split down the middle between Nirvana and Pearl Jam, a preference for one over the other, as the two bands and their respective front men garnered much of the media attention. Nirvana seemed to appeal to people’s sense of authenticity, perhaps more relatable in their aloofness to mainstream popularity, backed up with Cobain’s simple-yet-brilliant song arrangements and revealing lyrics. Lawrence Grossberg suggests that music fans recognise the difference between authentic and homogenised rock, interpreting and aligning these differences with rock and roll’s association with “resistance, refusal, alienation, marginality, and so on” (62). I tended to gravitate toward Nirvana’s sound, mostly for technical reasons. Nevermind sparkled with aggressive guitar tones while capturing the power and fragility of Cobain’s voice. For many critics, the brilliance of Pearl Jam’s first album suffered from too much echo and reverb muddling the overall production value, but twenty years later they would remix and re-release Ten, correcting these production issues.Grunge FashionAs the music carved out a huge section of the charts, the grunge look was appropriated on fashion runways. When Cobain appeared on MTV wearing a ragged olive green cardigan he’d created a style simply by rummaging through his closet. Vedder and Cornell sported army boots, cargo shorts, and flannel shirts, suitable attire for the overcast climate of the Pacific Northwest, but their everyday garb turned into a fashion trend for Gen Xers that was then milked by designers. In 1992, the editor of Details magazine, James Truman, called grunge “un fashion” (Marin) as stepping out in second-hand clothes ran “counter to the shellacked, flashy aesthetic of 1980s” (Nnadi) for those who preferred “the waif-like look of put-on poverty” (Brady). But it was MTV’s relentless airing of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden videos that sent Gen Xers flocking to malls and thrift-stores in search grunge-like apparel. I purchased a pair of giant, heavyweight Red Wing boots that looked like small cars on my feet, making it difficult to walk, but at least I was prepared for any terrain in all types of weather. The flannel came next; I still wear flannos. Despite its association with dark, murky musical themes, grunge kept me warm and dry.Much of grunge’s appeal to the masses was that it was not gender-specific; men and women dressed to appear unimpressed, sharing a taste for shapeless garments and muted colors without reference to stereotypical masculine or feminine styles. Cobain “allowed his own sexuality to be called into question by often wearing dresses and/or makeup on stage, in film clips, and on photo shoots, and wrote explicitly feminist songs, such as ‘Sappy’ or ‘Been a Son’” (Strong 403). I remember watching Pearl Jam’s 1992 performance on MTV Unplugged, seeing Eddie Vedder scrawl the words “Pro Choice” in black marker on his arm in support of women’s rights while his lyrics in songs like “Daughter”, “Better Man”, and “Why Go” reflected an equitable, humanistic if somewhat tragic perspective. Females and males moshed alongside one another, sharing the same spaces while experiencing and voicing their own response to grunge’s aggressive sound. Unlike the hypersexualised hair-metal bands of the 1980s whose aesthetic motifs often portrayed women as conquests or as powerless décor, the message of grunge rock avoided gender exploitation. As the ‘90s unfolded, underground feminist punk bands of the riot grrrl movement like Bikini Kill, L7, and Babes in Toyland expressed female empowerment with raging vocals and buzz-saw guitars that paved the way for Hole, Sleater-Kinney and other successful female-fronted grunge-era bands. The Decline of GrungeIn 1994, Kurt Cobain appeared on the cover of Newsweek magazine in memoriam after committing suicide in the greenhouse of his Seattle home. Mass media quickly spread the news of his passing internationally. Two days after his death, 7,000 fans gathered at Seattle Center to listen to a taped recording of Courtney Love, Cobain’s wife, a rock star in her own right, reading the suicide note he left behind.A few days after Cobain’s suicide, I found myself rolling down the highway with a carload of friends, one of my favorite Nirvana tunes, “Come As You Are” fighting through static. I fiddled with the radio to clear up the signal. The conversation turned to Cobain as we cobbled together the details of his death. I remember the chatter quieting down, Cobain’s voice fading as we gazed out the window at the empty terrain passing. In that reflective moment, I felt like I had experienced an intense, emotional relationship that came to an abrupt end. This “illusion of intimacy” (Horton and Wohl 217) between myself and Cobain elevated the loss I felt with his passing even though I had no intimate, personal ties to him. I counted this person as a friend (Giles 284) because I so closely identified with his words and music. I could not help but feel sad, even angry that he’d decided to end his life.Fueled by depression and a heroin addiction, Cobain’s death signaled an end to grunge’s collective appeal while shining a spotlight on one of the more dangerous aspects of its ethos. A 1992 Rolling Stone article mentioned that several of Seattle’s now-famous international musicians used heroin and “The feeling around town is, the drug is a disaster waiting to happen” (Azzerad). In 2002, eight years to the day of Cobain’s death, Layne Staley, lead singer of Alice In Chains, another seminal grunge outfit, was found dead of a suspected heroin overdose (Wiederhorn). When Cornell took his own life in 2017 after a long battle with depression, The Washington Post said, “The story of grunge is also one of death” (Andrews). The article included a Tweet from a grieving fan that read “The voices I grew up with: Andy Wood, Layne Staley, Chris Cornell, Kurt Cobain…only Eddie Vedder is left. Let that sink in” (@ThatEricAlper).ConclusionThe grunge movement of the early 1990s emerged out of musical friendships content to be on their own, on the outside, reflecting a sense of isolation and alienation in the music they made. As Cornell said, “We’ve always been fairly reclusive and damaged” (Foege). I felt much the same way in those days, sequestered in the desert, planting my grunge flag in the middle of country music territory, doing what I could to resist the status quo. Cobain, Cornell, Staley, and Vedder wrote about their own anxieties in a way that felt intimate and relatable, forging a bond with their fan base. Christopher Perricone suggests, “the relationship of an artist and audience is a collaborative one, a love relationship in the sense, a friendship” (200). In this way, grunge would become a shared memory among friends who rode the wave of this cultural phenomenon all the way through to its tragic consequences. But the music has survived. Along with my flannel shirts and Red Wing boots.References@ThatEricAlper (Eric Alper). “The voices I grew up with: Andy Wood, Layne Staley, Chris Cornell, Kurt Cobain…only Eddie Vedder is left. Let that sink in.” Twitter, 18 May 2017, 02:41. 15 Sep. 2018 <https://twitter.com/ThatEricAlper/status/865140400704675840?ref_src>.Andrews, Travis M. “After Chris Cornell’s Death: ‘Only Eddie Vedder Is Left. 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