Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „European tax consent“

International order is based on the consent of states and the principle pacta sunt servanda, thus making the treaty override a serious problem. When one party unilaterally overrules treaty provision(s), other party may undertake measures prescribed in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties: termination or suspension. It is also possible to apply mutual agreement procedure. Usually, states avoid entering into re-negotiation of the treaties because it is time-consuming. The author differentiates between treaty override in monist and dualist states, and within the European Union, then makes conclusion about the absence of pure solutions and proposes global action for solving treaty overriding problem, which could have further impact on economic activity and wealth on national and global level.

Joint audits have the potential to facilitate tax collection and at the same time enhance tax certainty for taxpayers. However, the several European Union (EU) pilot projects initiated by certain Member States made it evident that a better regulatory framework was urgently needed. The EU legislator therefore used the opportunity of the sixth amendment of the Directive on administrative cooperation, known as DAC 7, to devise a new legal framework for joint audits. In this contribution the authors discuss this latest development. They analyse some key clarifications and novelties to be found in the new Article 12a DAC regarding joint audits. The article furthermore highlights the remaining open issues and inadequacies of the joint audit provisions in DAC 7, with a particular focus on taxpayer rights. Among the issues that are analysed in depth in this article are the initiation of joint audits at the taxpayer’s request, the possibility to conduct a joint audit without the taxpayer’s consent, and the legal instruments at the disposal of the taxpayer against the initiation of a joint audit or certain audit activities. Further issues concerning the applicable law, data protection standards as well as legal instruments against the findings ensuing from a joint audit are also part of the analysis. Joint audits, DAC 7, taxpayer rights, tax secrecy, data protection, final report.

Local, disparate preferences are normally satisfied by variety in law, but in some circumstances, harmonization can bethe means by which a majority advances its members' local preferences. One unappreciated method involves the imposition of external costs by a majority on a minority. In its most common and extreme form, a majority imposes a tax on the population in order to finance a benefit that is limited to the majority. The asymmetry between burdens and benefits may be sufficiently great to generate inefficient expenditures. It is more difficult but not impossible to impose external costs through regulation. Commercial law is not free from this danger, because it reflects preferences about consumer protection, which is to say such things as wealth distribution and paternalism, and it pits interest groups against one another, as in the case of employees and tort claimants in the event of bankruptcy. Commercial law is therefore an area where groups might sometimes gain from diversity in legal rules, but might at other times find that harmonization allows a majority to benefit yet more. It is therefore difficult to know whether harmonization, which has many other causes, is beneficial or corrosive. When the majority of voters are relatively homogeneous, as is arguably the case among member countries in the European Union, the possibility of harmonization - or simply centralized decisionmaking - as a means of imposing external costs seems especially likely. There are means of reducing the danger, but harmonization itself should be expected to increase the influence of the central bureaucracy.

In this article, the author discusses the judgment of the CJEU in the case C-694/20 Orde van Vlaamse Balies and Others, which extends the protection of professional secrecy for lawyers. In the context of combating aggressive tax planning, the CJEU ruled that requiring licensed lawyers to inform other intermediaries involved in a tax scheme is unnecessary and violates the right to respectful communication with the client. The CJEU’s view that legal professional privilege takes precedence over tax objectives and obligations is the main novelty of the judgment under review. Individuals who consult a lawyer, as well as a tax advisor, have a reasonable expectation that their communications will remain private and confidential. Therefore, except in exceptional circumstances, they have a legitimate expectation that their lawyer will not, without their consent, disclose to anyone the fact that they are the subject of his or her advice. Following the judgment, the European Commission will legislate to amend the DAC6 Directive so that it meets the requirements of EU primary law as identified by the Court. The judgment is also important because it recognises that legal professional privilege is not limited to advice given in the context of litigation, which has been a restrictive view in antitrust cases. In Orde van Vlaamse Balies and Others, in which the Court held that the duty to inform other intermediaries imposed by Article 8ab(5) DAC 6 interfered with the right to respect for communications between lawyers and their clients guaranteed by Article 7 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights, the Court gave primacy to primary law (the Charter of Fundamental Rights) over secondary law (DAC 6). In this context, a new jurisprudential trend can be observed in which a substantive review of the Tax Directive was carried out on the basis of the Charter of Fundamental Rights. In general, the CJEU has been reluctant to get involved in substantively reviewing EU secondary legislation. More recently, however, the CJEU seems to be carefully analysing provisions of EU directives that are not in line with fundamental rights.

Buildings in industry, mining, transportation and for personal and commercial activities cover increasingly more valuable agricultural land. The increase of sub-urbanization and vehicular traffic and the spread of malls and other kinds of investments are causing serious harm for not only to human society, but to a whole national economy as well.The law on agricultural land (1994:LV) contains legal rules for the preservation, use and classification of agricultural land. These rules define the temporary or permanent use of land for agricultural and non-agricultural purposes; the scale of the land-protection fee and the rules of the process on cases in which land is used for non-agricultural purposes without the consent of the land registry. In the field of land classification, the law prescribes the regulations which are to be followed in order to define the net income of agricultural land in Golden Crowns.Hungarian land protection rules are unique in the European Union, because only few member-states have similar laws to ours. Community law does not regulate the member states, except in the case of land classification, because this is the basis of the tax paid on the agricultural lands, but even here, there are differences among the states.

In the era of globalization, the attraction of foreign investments has become an important factor in promoting the economic growth of countries. Investors are constantly looking for favorable conditions for investing their capital, which involves a combination of several important factors. The investor, who is focused on getting the maximum profit with the minimum cost, before making an investment decision, will study the investment environment of the host country, the proximity to large key markets, the barriers to entry from the host country to international markets, the availability of production and energy resources, the level of political and economic stability, the number of labor force, qualifications, etc. .sh. In terms of investments in the modern world, two types of trends have been identified: 1. High-tech investments, which are mainly located in developed countries, due to the developed country's intellectual resources, key market and good opportunities for business development, and 2. Investment, which is focused on obtaining maximum profit at the expense of cheap resources and labor force, and there is no or minimal technical innovation in it. It is important for the state to attract such direct foreign investments, which will not only be focused on making profits, but will also ensure the raising of the qualifications of local staff, the introduction of technological innovations, and the social protection of employees. Thanks to the economic reforms implemented after the post-Soviet upheavals, Georgia has become an attractive place for foreign investment, however, due to the shortage of labor force and low qualifications, investments focused on cheap resources and labor force are entering the country more than high-tech ones. The entry of relatively large, high-tech investments is hindered, in addition to the scarcity of the country's workforce and relatively low qualifications, the low level of energy independence, the territories occupied by the Russian Federation of Georgia, the generally politically and economically unstable region (Tskhinvali, Abkhazia, Karabakh regions), the aggressive state - the Russian Federation. Neighborhood and high probability of potential armed conflicts. The positive factors that make Georgia attractive for foreign investors are a favorable geopolitical location with land access, moderate natural and climatic conditions, low level of corruption, less bureaucratic and simple legislation compared to other countries, high level of harmonization of national legislation with international legislation, with the European Union in 2014 and in 2017 Free trade agreements signed with China, which allow a foreign investor to export products produced on behalf of Georgia to two of the world's largest markets without any problems. Due to the fact that one of the most important factors of production - "capital" - is needed to develop the economy, and the country does not have it at this stage, attracting foreign investments is a vitally important task for the economic growth of Georgia. In developing countries like Georgia, the level of domestic savings is relatively low. In addition to this, apart from the banking system, there is no stock market. In the period 1996-2021, a total of about 23.12 billion dollars of investment came into Georgia. The first and only investor country in 1996 was Ukraine with 3753.45 thousand US dollars. In the following years, significant investments were made in Georgia from the USA (1.81 billion USD), the European Union, CIS countries and Great Britain. According to the latest data, foreign investment has entered Georgia from 74 countries, which is almost 2 times less than the number of countries with which Georgia has trade relations (export-import). Since 2003, the growth of investments had an irreversible character, however, the 2008 world economic crisis and Russia's military attack on Georgia sharply reduced this figure, and it took 6 years to restore the pre-war figure. In addition, since 2017, foreign investments in Georgia have been characterized by a decreasing trend. Pandemic year 2020 was particularly notable in terms of investment decline. Despite the fact that after the signing of the Georgia-EU association in 2014, foreign investments should have increased due to the desire to access the EU market, until 2017, their volume was decreasing. In 2017, in the history of independent Georgia, the largest level of foreign investments - 1.98 billion USD was recorded. In the same year, the agreement on free trade between Georgia and China was signed, which should also increase foreign investments due to the desire to access the Chinese market, although the country has not returned to the level of foreign investments made in 2017. On December 31, 2013, the Organic Law of Georgia "On Economic Freedom" adopted in 2011 entered into force. The law, on the one hand, regulates the limit of the amount acceptable from taxpayers - in case of the desire to increase the tax rates of income, profit, VAT and import taxes, citizens' consent is required through a referendum, and on the other hand, the amount of spending of collected taxes is controlled by the limits of the established macroeconomic parameters. After the implementation of this law, the tax burden of taxpayers was not supposed to increase, but the government took advantage of the loophole in the law and in 2017 the excise duty rate was sharply increased on cars (the excise duty on right-hand drive cars was doubled), fuel and tobacco products. The property tax has also been increased, since it does not belong to the general state tax. Since January 1, 2017, when the Estonian model of profit tax came into force, the state budget received about 500 million GEL less. To make up the deficit, either government spending had to be cut, or debt had to be incurred, or taxes had to be raised. In 2017, the government's expenses increased by 800 million GEL, we took on a debt of 400 million GEL, and the excise and property tax rates were also increased, according to which if the family had an annual income of more than 40,000 GEL, they would have already paid property tax on the car. As of May 2021, the foreign debt has increased to 24.8 billion GEL and has already violated the macroeconomic parameter written in the Law on Economic Freedom, according to which the government's debt cannot exceed 60% of GDP. From 2011, when the law was adopted, until 2013, when the law entered into force, the volume of direct foreign investments did not increase, on the contrary - it even decreased, although this can be blamed on the caution caused by the change of government in 2012. - Investors are likely to observe the possibility of a change in the country's political vector. When the law came into force in December 2013, that is, in fact from 2014, the volume of investments increased by leaps and bounds, and this dynamic continued until 2017, when taxes were increased. Since 2018, the volume of direct foreign investments has dropped almost to the level of 2011. Based on all of the above, we believe that in order to attract foreign investments, Georgia should make maximum use of those competitive advantages that will attract the attention of foreign investors. The country, which has historically been a corridor of regional and world importance, has yet to fully utilize its transport function.

Vairākās Eiropas valstīs – Polijā, Portugālē un Lihtenšteinā – paredzēta kriminālatbildība ne tikai par pacientam nodarītu kaitējumu veselības aprūpē, bet arī tad, ja ārstniecība veikta bez pacienta piekrišanas situācijās, kad tā bija nepieciešama, jo tādējādi ir prettiesiski aizskartas cilvēka pamattiesības. Pētījums veikts, lai noskaidrotu, kādās Latvijas Republikas Satversmes VIII nodaļas tiesību normās tiek garantēta personas autonomija un integritāte kā cilvēka pamattiesību neatņemama vērtība, kā arī ielasāma pacienta informētā piekrišana kā pacienta galvenais līdzeklis šo aizsargājamo interešu nodrošināšanā. Several European countries, for instance, Poland, Portugal and Liechtenstein, provide for criminal liability not only for harm to a patient in healthcare but also for treatment without the patient’s consent in situations where it was necessary because of an unlawful violation of fundamental rights. The study was conducted to find out which legal norms of Chapter VIII of the Satversme (the Constitution) of the Republic of Latvia guarantee autonomy and integrity of a person, as an integral value of fundamental human rights, as well as the patient’s informed consent as the patient’s main means of ensuring these protected interests. Whether the protection of these interests is sufficiently effective or should also be provided for in a separate provision of the Criminal Law will be clarified in another study.

Abstract This publication is a part of a study of the French Code des juridictions financières in the field of the institutional aspects of the control of public finances. The main purpose is not only to describe the specificity of the French legal system in this field but also to focus on the solutions and type of support institutions that were developed by the French legislator. The general control exercised by the Court of Auditors (Cour des comptes) and regional and territorial audit chambers (Chambres régionales et territoriales des comptes) can be more effective thanks to the so-called supporting institutions, such as the Court for Budgetary and Financial Discipline (Cour de discipline budgétaire et financière), the Supreme Council of Public Finance (Haut Conseil des finances publiques), or the Tribunal for Compulsory Contributions (Conseil des prélèvements obligatoires). This study and analysis of the provisions of the Code des juridictions financières related to the three above-mentioned supporting institutions may also be considered as the first step towards further in-depth analysis and research, and thus the possible application of structures and solutions that are present in French tax law by the Polish legislator or that of any other European country.

El interés de construir una cultura democrática que sea cada vez más amplia y profunda se entiende como una tarea urgente. En este sentido, las instituciones educativas, el profesorado y, como tal los programas de formación inicial que se imparten em las universidades tienen un papel central em esta construcción. En la tarea de construcción de una cultura democrática, instituciones supranacionales como la Comisión Europea y la Unión Europea hacen esfuerzos permanentes por construir marcos de referencia orientados a esta tarea, como por ejemplo las Competencias de Cultura Democrática. Por esta razón, estudiar la incorporación de estas competencias en los grados de formación del profesorado es pertinente y necesario. El artículo es el resultado de una investigación cualitativa que analizó de qué manera las Competencias de Cultura Democrática (CDC), propuestas por la Unión Europea y el Consejo de Europa, se encuentran reflejadas en el Grado en Educación Primaria de la Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. El análisis se realizó siguiendo los lineamientos del análisis de contenido usando el software Nvivo. El análisis muestra la existencia de un marco general que favorece la incorporación de las CDC en el grado analizado, con una preponderancia del trabajo de las habilidades y los valores en comparación con otro tipo de competencias.

IntroductionGovernment policies on taxation and social security are important determinants of population health outcomes and health inequalities. However, there is a shortage of evidence to inform policymakers of the health consequences of such policies. The Health Equity and Its Economic Determinants project aims to assess the potential impacts of different taxation and social security policies across Europe on population health and health inequalities using a computer-based simulation that provides projections over multiple health domains.Methods and analysisIn the first phase, key input parameters for the model will be estimated using estimation techniques that control for the effects of prior exposure on time-varying confounders and mediators (g-methods). The second phase will involve developing and validating the microsimulation model for the UK. Policy proposals, developed with policymakers, will be simulated in the third phase to investigate the impacts of income tax and social security changes on population health and health inequalities. In the final phase, the microsimulation model will be extended across other European countries.Ethics and disseminationThis project will use deidentified secondary data for which ethical approval and consents were received by the original data collectors. No further ethical approval will be required for our main analytical datasets. Dissemination plans include academic publications, conference presentations, accessible policy briefings, mass media engagement and a project website. Both the syntax and the underlying synthetic data for the HEED microsimulation model will be made freely available through GitHub and the project website.

ObjectiveThis study aims to evaluate the effectiveness and safety of adalimumab (ADA) compared with leflunomide (LEF) in patients with Takayasu arteritis (TAK).MethodA retrospective cohort study was performed with the following inclusion criteria: the fulfilment of the 2022 American College Classification/European Alliance of Associations for Rheumatology criteria for TAK, age ≥18 years, and written informed consent. Forty-four patients were treated with LEF (n=28) or ADA (n=16) therapy due to relapsing/refractory disease or toxicity from previous therapy. Patients were evaluated at baseline (T0), at a median of 7.0 months (T1) and at 15.0 months of follow-up (T2). Data regarding disease activity, daily dose of prednisone, side effects and angiographic progression were analysed.ResultsLEF and ADA groups had similar features on the baseline visit. However, intravenous methylprednisolone was more frequently prescribed for the ADA group (p=0.019). On T1 and T2 visits, complete response rates were similar for ADA and LEF groups (75.0% and 88.5%; p=0.397 and 62.5% vs 78.3%; p=0.307), respectively. The differences remained non-significant after adjusting for baseline variables by propensity score matching. Although the ADA group had a higher median daily prednisone on visit T1 (p=0.004), it was similar on visit T2 (p=0.595). Similar rates of angiographic progression were observed in ADA and LEF groups (40% vs 25%; p=0.467). Mild-to-moderate adverse events were observed only in the LEF group (17.9%).ConclusionLEF and ADA had comparable outcomes after a median of 15.0 months of follow-up. However, withdrawal from therapy and mild-to-moderate adverse events were only observed in the LEF group.

El Consejo de la Magistratura se encuentra en la actualidad en una situación ciertamente complicada. Desde el 3 de diciembre de 2018, el CGPJ no se ha renovado y permanece en funciones, lo que está deteriorando el funcionamiento institucional de nuestro sistema democrático y conllevando, en consecuencia, la deslegitimación de aquel. Hasta tal punto ha llegado la situación que el Presidente del órgano de gobierno de los jueces se ha visto obligado a dimitir, produciendo con ello una crisis institucional sin precedentes. En este trabajo se ofrece una propuesta de elección de los miembros del Consejo que permita conciliar las exigencias europeas y del principal partido de la oposición, PP, en relación con este tema y la toma de postura del partido del Gobierno, PSOE. Propuesta que trata de combatir el interés de los partidos políticos por controlar el Consejo y, consecuentemente, evitar situaciones de bloqueo en su renovación.

El 22 de Diciembre de 2014 el Parlamento de Andalucía aprobaba la Ley 9/2014 del Consejo Andaluz de Concertación Local . Se daba cumplimiento a los contenidos expresados en el artículo 57 de la Ley 5/2010 de 11 de junio de autonomía local de Andalucía sobre la base de lo expresado en la Ley 20/2007, de 17 de diciembre, que creaba el Consejo Andaluz de Concertación Local en cumplimiento de la previsión contenida en el artículo 95 del Estatuto de Autonomía para Andalucía. La ley aprobada se anuda con el derecho comunitario a través de la Carta Europea de la Autonomía Local, tal como indica en su artículo 4.6 En este sentido, la Ley 7/1985, de 2 de abril, Reguladora de las Bases del Régimen Local, establece en su artículo 55 y 58 el marco de relaciones entre Administración Autonómica y Gobiernos locales. Se culmina así el proceso de elaboración de una norma que viene a perfeccionar e institucionalizar las modalidades de participación y decisión de las entidades locales en las cuestiones de índole legislativa que versen sobre temas que les incumban directamente.

Introduction Ibrutinib was the first FDA-approved drug for patients (pts) with relapsed or refractory (R/R) marginal zone lymphomas (MZL), based on a phase 2 trial showing an overall response rate (ORR) of 58%, a median progression-free survival (PFS) of 15.7 months (mo) and an acceptable safety profile (Noy 2021). However, accelerated approval was voluntarily withdrawn in the US in April 2023, while it was never released by EMA. Currently, very few real world data about ibrutinib or other BTK inhibitors are available, and none from European countries. Methods Since November 2020 ibrutinib was available in Italy for the treatment of R/R MZL based on 648/96 Italian national law. We designed a retrospective multicentre study with the aim to evaluate efficacy and safety of ibrutinib administered until progression or unacceptable toxicity in pts with R/R MZL of either splenic, nodal, extranodal or disseminated subtype (SMZL, NMZL, EMZL, dissMZL). The study was approved by the IRB of the 19 participating centers. All pts signed informed consent. The primary endpoints were ORR and PFS. Results We enrolled 79 pts (45 males), including 48 SMZL, 14 NMZL, 12 EMZL and 5 dissMZL. Median age was 74 years (42-88). Median number of prior therapies was 1 (1-5). Rituximab monotherapy was the only prior line in 7 pts (9%), while 72 (91%) received at least 1 prior immuno-chemotherapy regimen (BR in 74%). Sixteen pts (20%) were primary refractory, 37 (47%) were classified as POD24 and 21 (27%) were refractory to the last therapy. TP53 deletion or mutation was detected in 10/21 available samples from SMZL cases (48%). Median duration of drug exposure was 10.6 mo (95% CI 1.1-27.6). ORR was 72% (Tab 1), including 10 pts (13%) achieving a complete response (CR) and 47 (59%) a partial response (PR) (Tab 1). Median time to initial response was 3.4 mo (95% CI 0.9-10.5) and median time to best response was 6.1 mo (95% CI 1.6-16.8). NMZL or dissMZL sutype (OR 3.3, p=0.05) and pre-ibrutinib ECOG >1 (OR 8.2, p=0.008) independently predicted probability of non-response. At a median follow-up of 13.4 mo (95% CI 1.9-29.6), 29 pts progressed, including 12 responders. Median PFS was 20.5 mo (95% CI 12.3-NR, Fig 1), while median duration of response (DOR) among 57 responders was not reached (estimated 18-mo DOR 64.2%, 95% CI 43.3-79.2). None of the pts who achieved CR progressed, compared with 12/47 of those who achieved PR (18-mo DOR 100% vs 54.5%, p=0.051). At Cox regression multivariate analysis, pre-ibrutinib ECOG >1 (HR 2.09, 95% CI 1.19-3.67, p=0.01), elevated LDH (HR 2.56, 95% CI 1.13-5.79, p=0.024) and NMZL or dissMZL subtypes (HR 3.46, 95% CI 1.57-7.63, p=0.002) were associated to a worst PFS. Interestingly, pre-ibrutinib MZL-IPI,including the latter two factors plus platelet count <100 x 10 9/l, Hb <12 g/dl and absolute lymphocytes count <1 x 10 9/l ( Luminari ICML23), significantly predicted distinct PFS according to low (0, n=6, 8%, 18-mo PFS 100%), intermediate (1-2, n=50, 63%, 18-mo PFS 59%) and high risk classes (≥3, n=23, 29% 18-mo PFS 26%) (p=0.011). POD24, primary refractoriness, refractoriness to last therapy number and types of prior lines had no influence on PFS. TP53 mutation or deletion resulted significantly associated to inferior PFS in SMZL cases (p=0.015). Overall, 32 pts (40.5%) discontinued ibrutinib, 11 for adverse events (AEs) and 21 for progressive disease (PD). Hematologic AEs were reported in 13 pts, including grade (Gr) 3-4 in 8, 10% (anemia in 4, thrombocytopenia in 3 and neutropenia in 1), while extra-hematologic AEs in 39 (49%) (Gr 3-5 in 15, 19%). The most common AEs were atrial fibrillation (n=8, 10%), bleeding (n=7, 9%), rash (n=6, 8%), diarrhea in 5 (6%), and infections (n=12, 15%), which included 3 Gr 3-4 (COVID-19, pneumonia, sepsis) and 4 Gr 5 events (septic shock in 2, aspergillosis and pneumonia). Histologic transformation was detected in 8 pts (10%). A post-progression therapy was initiated in 23 pts, resulting in ongoing CR/PR in 15. Overall, 11 pts died (6 due to PD, 4 infections, 1 suicide), with a 18-mo overall survival (OS) of 81.2% (95% CI 63.9-89.4). Not achieving ORR significantly predicted worst OS (HR 6.43, 95% CI 1.87-22.09, p=0.003). Conclusions Our data confirmed that ibrutinib is associated with high ORR and durable disease control in R/R MZL in real life. Toxicity was similar to what previously reported in the registration phase 2 study in R/R MZL and in other histologies. Careful attention to infectious toxicity is advised.

A question that has arisen in the cases concerning tax rulings that have been brought by the European Commission is whether or not the arm’s length principle is an autonomous standard under EU law. This article seeks to explain why there is no autonomous EU arm’s length principle, or, if there were one, that this would have profound constitutional implications. In short, an EU arm’s length principle would drastically undermine the fundamental constitutional principle that taxes must be levied with the consent of the national legislature.

This work is a continuation of the article in the previous issue of the journal. Referendums held in foreign countries over the past six months are considered. On the agenda of the referendum in Switzerland on September 27, 2020, five bills were put: on relations with the EU, on amendments to the law �On Hunting�, on the introduction of paid parental leave for parents, on reducing the tax burden on families, with children, on the allocation of credit for the purchase of a new generation of fighters for the needs of the national air force. On October 4, 2020, the people of New Caledonia again voted to remain part of France. More than half of New Zealanders supported the law, which stipulates that terminally ill people will have a chance to euthanize with the consent of two doctors. Regarding the topical issue of the referendum in Ukraine, the President of Ukraine in his video address confirmed his desire to know the views of citizens on various issues. On June 9, 2020, the draft Law of Ukraine �On Democracy through an All-Ukrainian Referendum� was registered under �3612. One of the initiators of the bill is the President of Ukraine. The explanatory note to the bill states that it is designed to regulate legal relations related to the initiation, appointment (proclamation), preparation, conduct, establishment of results and legal consequences of the all-Ukrainian referendum. The draft law provides for the following types of all-Ukrainian referendum: approval of the law on amendments to sections I, III, XIII of the Constitution of Ukraine; solving issues of national importance; change of the territory of Ukraine; repeal of the law of Ukraine or its separate provisions. A key innovation of the bill, which distinguishes it from other bills, is to determine the possibility of introducing electronic procedures during the organization and conduct of an all-Ukrainian referendum, including electronic voting. On October 9, 2020, the European Commission published the conclusions of the Ukrainian bill �3612. She recommended clarifying the connection between the referendum of national initiatives to repeal laws and the referendum on issues of national importance, to extend the period of collecting signatures for referendums. In June, the Verkhovna Rada supported in the first reading the presidential bill on the all-Ukrainian referendum, provided that it needs to be finalized before the second reading for consideration this fall. In the process of working on the bill, the draft laws on the all-Ukrainian referendum registered in the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine of the eighth and ninth convocations, the relevant legal positions of the Constitutional Court of Ukraine, as well as international standards and recommendations of international institutions were taken into account national level (2001), Referendums: Towards Good Practice in Europe (2005), On the Code of Good Practice on Referendums (2007) and others.

A few years ago a posthumous collection of essays by F. R. Leavis appeared with the title The Critic as Anti-Philosopher. The idea seemed to be that because in his approach to literature Leavis rejected theory and the deduction of conclusions from principles, there was something un- or anti-philosophical about him. If so, Edmund Burke is also an anti-philosopher.It would, though, be a shame if it was thought that, as a result, Burke's works are unworthy of philosophical attention, particularly these days when what is called particularism is an emerging trend in ethics and politics. Jim McCue's Edmund Burke and Our Present Discontents (Claridge Press, 1997), nicely coinciding with the bi-centenary of Burke's death, might be a good place to start a philosophical exhumation of Burke's political thought.Not everyone will agree with McCue's judgements related to our present discontents or even with his extrapolation to them of Burkean themes. Nonetheless, there is plenty of philosophical meat in what he draws out of Burke. How, for example, is it possible for Burke consistently to oppose the French Revolution, while having argued strongly in favour of the American Revolution (and incidentally against Warren Hastings' adventures in India)? Was Burke not just an opportunist, a career Whig who jumped ship at an opportune moment, and thereby securing for himself a posthumous reputation as a seminal Tory thinker? McCue convincingly shows that on the key issue of sovereignty, Burke's apparent shifting of position conceals a deeper consistency. Burke's underlying insight is that in matters of sovereignty the consent of the governed is far more important than democracy in any formal sense or, indeed, any abstract notion of authority, such as the divine right of kings. In working out this thought in an actual case far more weight would be accorded local facts, manners and attitudes than abstract principle. The danger with constitutional arrangements based on abstractions, however good they sound to philosophical analysis, is that by wiping away the very traditions and balances which have in practice restrained rulers and executives they will be ‘powerful to usurp, impotent to restore’.Against their professed aims top-down constitutions are likely to be ‘strong only to destroy the rights of men’, by, for example, handing power over to an elected but unrepresentative assembly or, even worse, to an unelected and unrepresentative bureaucracy. Burke would clearly have hated the European Commission. He would have defended the hereditary principle in the House of Lords (because of what it does, not because of any abstract justification). What, though, would he have said of Scottish devolution, if, as we have to believe, the Scots just do not want to be treated as a branch of a London-based executive? Is there any analogy here with the ‘habits of soreness, jealousy and distrust’ Burke discerned in the American colonists subjected to a Parliamentary tax they found both burdensome and unjustified?

The inspiration for writing this editorial came from a recent visit to the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN, Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire) in Geneva. There I had the opportunity to take a closer look at the technology of proton production and acceleration in cyclotrons. I was impressed by this direct insight into physical findings that have an impact on many other scientific fields. I learned how these scientific discoveries are used in medicine, especially in oncology, and how this interdisciplinary approach can improve patients' lives. This experience gave me a new perspective and encouraged me to research and write about this important and innovative field. In the following, we will explore how proton therapy has changed the way and success of treatments in oncology and how the interdisciplinary collaboration between physics and medicine has contributed to this progress. In addition, I have focused on the relevance of this technology to veterinary medicine and the potential it offers for improving cancer treatment in our pets. Interdisciplinarni pristopi k onkološkim zdravljenjem: Protonska terapija na presečišču fizike in medicine Navdih za pisanje tega uredniškega članka je nastal z nedavnim obiskom Evropske organizacije za jedrske raziskave (CERN, Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire) v Ženevi. Tam sem imela priložnost pobliže spoznati tehnologijo pridobivanja protonov in njihovega pospeševanja v ciklotronih. Ta neposreden vpogled v fizikalno znanje, ki seva v mnoga druga znanstvena področja, me je navdušil. Spoznala sem, kako se ta znanstvena odkritja uporabljajo v medicini, zlasti v onkologiji, in kako lahko ta interdisciplinarni pristop izboljša življenja bolnikov. Ta izkušnja mi je dala novo perspektivo in me spodbudila k raziskovanju in pisanju o tem pomembnem in inovativnem področju. V nadaljevanju bomo raziskali, kako je protonska terapija preoblikovala način in uspešnost zdravljenj v onkologiji in kako je interdisciplinarno sodelovanje med fiziko in medicino prispevalo k temu napredku. Pri tem sem se osredotočila o pomenu te tehnologije za veterinarsko medicino in kakšen potencial predstavlja pri izboljšanju zdravljenja raka pri naših ljubljenčkih.

Introduction: At the Crossroad Well, I’ve been an important pawn [in regeneration], for instance, changing doors and windows, enlarging them, eliminating shutters and thus having big open windows, light […] Then came the florist, through a common friend, who was the second huge pawn who trusted in this […] then came the pastry shop. (Alberto, 54, shop owner). Alberto is the owner of Pleasure Factory, one of two upmarket restaurants in a gentrifying crossroads area in northern Milan. He started buying apartments and empty stores in the 1980s, later becoming property manager of the building where he still lives. He also opened two restaurants, and then set up a neighbourhood commercial organisation. Alberto’s activities, and those of people like him, have been able to reverse the image and the usage of this public crossroad. This is something of which all of the involved actors are well aware. They have “bet,” as they say, and somehow “won” by changing people’s common understanding of, and approach to, this zone. This paper argues for the necessity of a closer look at the ways that place is produced through the multiple activities of small entrepreneurs and social actors, such as Alberto. This is because these activities represent the softer side of gentrification, and can create zones of pleasure and authenticity. Whilst market forces and multiple public interventions of gentrification’s “hard” side can lead to the displacement of people and uneven development, these softer zones of authenticity and pleasure have the power to shape the general neighbourhood brand (Atkinson 1830). Speaking rhetorically, these zones act as synecdoche for the surrounding environment. Places are in part built through the “atmosphere” that consumers seek throughout their daily routines. Following Gernot Böhme’s approach to spatial aesthetics, atmosphere can be viewed as the “relation between environmental qualities and human states” (114) and this relation is worked out daily in gentrified neighbourhoods. Not only do the passer-bys, local entrepreneurs, and sociologists contribute to the local making of atmosphere, but so does the production of the environmental qualities. These are the private and public interventions aimed at refurbishing, and somehow sanitising, specific zones of central neighbourhoods in order to make them suitable for middle class tastes (Julier 875). Not all gentrification processes are similar however, because of the unique influence of each city’s scalar rearrangements. The following section therefore briefly describes the changes in Milan in recent times. The paper will then describe the making of a zone of authentic pleasure at the Isola crossroads. I will show that soft gentrification happens through the making of specific zones where supply and demand match in ways that make for pleasant living. Milan, from Global to Local and Back Milan has a peculiar role in both the Italian and European contexts. Its metropolitan area, of 7.4 million inhabitants on a 12 000 km² surface, makes it the largest in Italy and the fifth in Europe (following Ruhr, Moscow, Paris and London). The municipal power has been pushing for a long-term strategy of population growth that would make Milan the “downtown” of the overall metropolitan area (Bricocoli and Savoldi 19), and take advantage of scalar rearrangements, such as State reconfigurations and setbacks. The overall goal of the government of Milan has been to increase the tax base and the local government’s political power. Milan also demonstrates the entrepreneurial turn adopted by many global cities, evident in the amount of project-based interventions, the involvement of international architecture studios (“La città della Moda” by Cesar Pelli; “Santa Giulia” by Norman Foster; “City-Life” and “the Fair” by Zaha Hadid and David Libeskind), and the hosting of mega-events, such as the Expo 2015. The Milan growth machine works then at different scales (global, national, city-region, neighbourhood) with several organisational actors involved, enormous investments and heavy political struggles to decide which coalition of winning actors will ride the tiger of uneven development. However, when we look at those transformations through the lens of the neighbourhood what we see is the making of zones within the larger texture of its streets and squares. This zone-making is similar to leopard’s spots within a contained urban space, it works for some time in specific streets and crossroads, then moves throughout the neighbourhood, as the process of gentrification goes on. The neighbourhood, which the zone of authentic pleasure I’m describing occurs, is called Isola (Island) because of its clustered shape between a railroad on the southern border and three major roads on the others. Isola was, until the 1980s, a working-class residential space with a strong tradition of left-wing political activism, with some small manufacturing businesses and minor commercial activities. This area remained quite removed from the overall urban development that radically shifted Milan towards a service economy in the 1960s and 1970s. However, during the 1980s and 1990s, the land price impacts of private activities and public policies in surrounding neighbourhoods increasingly pushed people and activities in the direction of Isola. Alberto explains this drift through the example of his first apartment: Just look at the evolution of my apartment. I bought it [in the 1980s] for 57 million lira, I remember, then sold it in 1992 for 160, then it was sold again for 200 000 euros, then four years ago for 250 000 and you have to understand that we’re talking about 47 square metres. If you consider the last price, 250 000, I’ll tell you that when I first came to the neighbourhood you could easily buy an entire building with that money. The building at number five in this street was entirely sold for 550 millions lira—you understand now why Isola is a huge real estate investment, people like it, its central, well served by the underground—well it still has to grow from a commercial standpoint… This evolution in land prices is clear when translated into the price for square metre: 2.4 euros for square meter in 1985, 3.4 in 1992, 4.2 in 2000 and 5.3 in 2006. The ratio increase is 120% in 20 years, demonstrating both the general boost in the economy of the area and also what is at stake within uneven development. What this paper argues is that parallel to this political economy dimension, which may be called the “hard side” of gentrification, there is also a “soft side” that deserves a closer attention. Pastry shops, cafés, bars, restaurants are as strategic as real estate investments (Zukin, Landscapes 195). The spatial concept that best captures the rationale of these activities is the zone, meaning a small and localised cluster of activities. I chose to add the features of pleasure and authenticity because of the role they play in ordinary consumption practices. In order to illustrate the specific relevance of soft gentrification I will now turn to the description of the Isola crossroad, a place that has been re-created through the interventions of several actors, such as Alberto above, and also Franca and her pastry shop. A Zone of Authentic Pleasure: Franca’s Pleasure Corner We’re walking through a small residential street and arrive at a crossroad. We turn to look to the four corners, one is occupied by a public school building, the second and the third by upmarket restaurants, and the last by a “typical” Sicilian pastry shop and café. We decide to enter here, find a seat and order a coffee together with a small cassata, a cake made with sweet cheese, almonds, pistachios and candied fruit. While we are experiencing this southern Italian breakfast at some thousand miles of spatial distance from its original site, a short man enters. He’s a well renowned TV comedian, best known for his would-be-magician gags. Everybody in the café recognises him but pretends to ignore his presence, he buys some pastries and leaves. Other customers come and go. The shop owner, an Italian lady in her forties called Franca, approaches to me and declares: “as you can see for yourself, we see elegant people here.” In this kind of neighbourhood it is common to see and share space with such “elegant” and well-known people, and to feel that a pleasant atmosphere is created through this public display. Franca opened the pastry shop three years ago, a short time after the upmarket restaurants on the other corners. However, when we interviewed her she wasn’t yet satisfied with the atmosphere: “when I go downtown and come back, I feel depressed … it’s developing but still has not grown enough … Isn’t one of the classic rich places in Milan—it’s kind of a weird place.” Through these and other similar statements she expressed a feeling of delusion toward the neighbourhood—a feeling on which she’s building her tale—that emerged in contrast to the kind of environment Franca would consider more apt for her shop. Franca’s a newcomer, but knows that the neighbourhood has been “sanitised.” “It really was a criminal area” she states, using overtly derogatory terms just like they were neutral: “riffraff” for the customers of ordinary bars, “dull” for the northern part of the neighbourhood where “there even are kebab shops.” In contrast she lists her beloved customers: journalists, architects, two tenors, people working at the theatre nearby, and the local TV celebrity described earlier. When she refers to the crossroad she speaks of it as, “maybe the gem of the neighbourhood.” At some point she declares what makes her proud: A place like this regenerates the neighbourhood—to be sure, if I ever open a harbour bar I’d attract riffraff who would discredit the place. In short it’s not, to make an example, a club where you play cards, that bring in the underworld, noise, nuisance—here the customer is the typical middle class, all right people. The term “all right people” reoccurs in several of Franca’s statements. Her initial economic sacrifices, relative though if, as she says, she’s able to open another shop in a more central place (“we would like to become a chain-store”), are now compensated by the recognition she gets from her more polished clients. She also expresses a personal satisfaction in the role she has played in the changes in Isola: “until now it’s just a matter of personal satisfaction—of seeing, I’ve built this stuff.” Franca’s story demonstrates that the soft side of gentrification is also produced by individuals that have little in common with the huge capital investment that is at stake in real estate development, or the chain stores that are also opening in the neighbourhood. In one way, Franca is alone in her quest for regeneration, as most entrepreneurs are. In another way, though, she is not. Not only is she participating in the “upgrading” together with other small business owners and consumers who all agree on the direction to follow, thus building together a zone of authentic pleasure, but she can also rely on a “critical infrastructure” of architects, designers and consultants (Zukin, Landscapes 202) that knows perfectly how to do the job. With much pride in her interior design choices, Franca pointed out how her café mixes chic with classic and opposing them to a flashy and folk décor. She showed us the black-and-white pictures at the wall depicting Paris in the 1960s, the unique design coffee machine model she owns, and the flower vases conceived by a famous designer and filled by her neighbour florist. The colours chosen for the interior are orange, tied to oranges—a typical product of Sicily, whereas the brown colour relates to the land, and the gold is linked to elegance. The mixing of warm colours, Franca explained, makes the atmosphere cosy. Where did this owner get all these idea(l)s? Franca relied on an Italian interior design studio, which works at a global scale furnishing hotels, restaurants, bars, shops, bathing establishments, and airports in New York, Barcelona, Paris, and Milan. The architect with whom she dealt with let her “work together” in order to have an autonomous set of choices that match the brand’s offer. Authenticity thus becomes part of the décor in a systematic way, and the feeling of a pleasant atmosphere is constantly reproduced through the daily routines of consumption. Again, not alone in the regeneration process but feeling as if she is “on her own,” Franca struggles daily to protect the atmosphere she’s building: “My point is avoiding having kids or tramps as customers—I don’t want an indiscriminate presence, like people coming here for a glass of wine and maybe getting drunk. I mean, this is not the place to come and have a bianchino [cheap white wine]. People coming here have a spumante, and behave in a completely different fashion.” The opposition between a bianchino, the cheap white wine, and the spumante is one that clarifies the moral boundary between the targets of soft gentrification. In Italian popular culture, and especially in the past, it was a common male habit to have bianchino from late morning onwards. Bars therefore served as gendered public spaces where common people would rest from working activities and the family sphere. Franca, together with many new bars and cafes that construct zones of authentic pleasure in gentrifying neighbourhoods, is trying to update this cultural practice. The spumante adds a sparkling element to consumption and is branded as a trendy aperitif wine, which appeals to younger tastes and lifestyles. By utilising a global design studio, Franca connects to global patterns of urban development and the homogenising of local atmospheres. Furthermore, by preferencing different consumption behaviours she contributes to the social transformation of the neighbourhood by selecting customers. This tendency towards segregation, rather than mixing, is a relevant feature here, since the Franca’s favourite clientele are clearly “people like us” (Butler 2469). Zones like the one described above are thus places where uneven development shows its social, interactive and public façade. Pleasure and Authenticity in Soft Gentrification The production of “atmosphere” in a gentrifying neighbourhood goes together with customers’ taste and preferences. The supply-side of building the environmental landscape for a “pleasant” zone needs a demand-side, consumers buying, supporting, and appreciating the outcome of the activities of business people like Franca. The two are one, most of the time, because tastes and preferences are linked to class, gender, and ethnicity, which makes a sort of mutual redundancy. To put it abruptly: similar people, spending their time in the same places and in a similar way. As I have shown above, the pastry shop owner Franca went for mixing chic and classic in her interior design. That is distinctiveness and familiarity, individualisation and commonality in one unique environment. Seen from the consumer’s perspective, this leads to what has been depicted by Sharon Zukin in her account of the crisis of authenticity in New York. People, she says, are yearning for authenticity because this: reflects the separation between our experience of space and our sense of self that is so much a part of modern mentalities. Though we think authenticity refers to a neighbourhood’s innate qualities, it really expresses our own anxieties about how places change. The idea of authenticity is important because it connects our individual yearning to root ourselves in a singular time and place to a cosmic grasp or larger social forces that remake our world from many small and often invisible actions. (220) Among the “many small and invisible actions” are the ones made by Franca and the global interior design firm she hired, but also those done daily by her customers. For instance, Christian a young advertising executive who lives two blocks away from the pastry shop. He defines himself an “executive creative director” [in English, while the interview was in Italian]. Asked on cooking practices and the presentation he makes to his guests, he declares that the main effort is on: The mise en place—the mise en place with no doubt. The mise en place must be appropriate to what you’re doing. Sometimes you get the mise en place simply serving a plateau, when you correctly couple cheese and salami, even better when you couple fresh cheese with vegetables or you give a slightly creative touch with some fruit salad, like seitan with avocado, no? They become beautiful to see and the mise en place saves it, the aesthetics does its job …Do you feel there are foods, beverages or consumption occasions you consider not worth giving up at all? The only thing I wouldn’t give up is going out in the morning, and having a cappuccino down there in the tiny pastry shop and having some brioches while I’m at the bar. Those that are not frozen beforehand but cooked just in time and have a breakfast, for just two euros, two euros and ten […] cappuccino and fresh brioche, baked just then, otherwise I cannot even think—if I’m in Milan I hardly think correctly—I mean I can’t wake up really without a good cappuccino and a good brioche. Christian is one of the new residents that was attracted to this neighbourhood because of the benefits of its uneven development: relatively affordable rent prices, services, and atmosphere. Commonality is among them, but also distinctiveness. Each morning he can have his “good cappuccino and good brioche” freshly baked to suit his taste and that allows him to differentiate between other brioches, namely the industrialised ones, those “frozen beforehand.” More importantly, he can do this by simply crossing the street and entering one of the pleasure zones that are making Isola, there and now, the new gentrified Milanese neighbourhood. Zones of Authentic Pleasure In this paper I have argued that a closer attention to the softer side of gentrification can help to understand how taste and uneven development mesh together, to produce the common shape we find in gentrified neighbourhoods. These typical urban spaces are made of streets, sidewalks, squares, and walls, but also shop windows and signs, pavement cafés, planters, and the street-life that turns around all of this. Both built environment and interaction produces the atmosphere of authentic pleasure, which is offered by local entrepreneurs and sought by the people who go there. Pleasure is a central feature because of the increasing role of consumption activities in the city and the role of individual consumption practices. I f we observe closely the local scale where all of these practices take place, we can clearly distinguish one zone from another because of their localised effervescence. Neighbourhoods are not equally affected by gentrification. Internally specific zones emerge as those having the capacity to subsume the entire process. These are the ones I have described in this paper—zones of authentic pleasure, where the supply and demand for an authentic distinctive and communal atmosphere takes place. Ephemeral spaces; if one looks at the political economy of place through a macro lens. But if the aim is to understand why certain zones prove to be successful and others not, then exploring how soft gentrification is daily produced and consumed is fundamental.Acknowledgments This article draws on data produced by the research team for the CSS project ‘Middle Class and Consumption: Boundaries, Standards and Discourses’. The team comprised Marco Santoro, Roberta Sassatelli and Giovanni Semi (Coordinators), Davide Caselli, Federica Davolio, Paolo Magaudda, Chiara Marchetti, Federico Montanari and Francesca Pozzi (Research Fellows). The ethnographic data on Milan were mainly produced by Davide Caselli and by the Author. The author wishes to thank the anonymous referees for wise and kind remarks and Michelle Hall for editing and suggestions. References Atkinson, Rowland. “Domestication by Cappuccino or a Revenge on Urban Space? Control and Empowerment in the Management of Public Spaces.” Urban Studies 40.9 (2003): 1829–1843. Böhme, Gernot. “Atmosphere as the Fundamental Concept of a New Aesthetics.” Thesis Eleven 36 (1993): 113–126. Bricocoli, Massimo, and Savoldi Paola. Milano Downtown: Azione Pubblica e Luoghi dell’Abitare. Milano: et al./Edizioni, 2010. Butler, Tim. “Living in the Bubble: Gentrification and Its ‘Others’ in North London.” Urban Studies 40.12 (2003): 2469–2486. Julier, Guy. “Urban Designscapes and the Production of Aesthetic Consent.” Urban Studies 42.5/6 (2005): 869–887. Zukin, Sharon. Landscapes of Power. From Detroit to Disney World. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991. ———. Naked City. The Death and Life of Authentic Urban Places. New York: Oxford UP, 2010.

Introduction This article aims to explore some of the ideological discourses that reinforce marriage as a central social and cultural institution in US-American society. Andrew Cherlin argues that despite social secularisation, rising divorce rates and the emergence of other, alternative forms of love and living, marriage “remains the most highly valued form of family life in American culture, the most prestigious way to live your life” (9). Indeed, marriage in the US has become an ideological and political battlefield, with charged debates about who is entitled to this form of state-sanctioned relationship, with the government spending large sums of money to promote the value of marriage and the highest number of people projected to get married (nearly 90 per cent of all people) compared to other Western nations (Cherlin 4). I argue here that the idea of marriage as the ideal form for an intimate relationship permeates US-American culture to an extent that we can speak of a marital hegemony. This hegemony is fuelled by and reflected in the saturation of American popular culture with celebratory depictions of the white wedding as public performance and symbolic manifestation of the values associated with marriage. These depictions contribute to the discursive production of weddings as “one of the major events that signal readiness and prepare heterosexuals for membership in marriage as an organizing practice for the institution of marriage” (Ingraham 4). From the representation of weddings as cinematic climax in a huge number of films, to TV shows such as The Bachelor, Bridezillas and Race to the Altar, to the advertisement industry and the bridal magazines that construct the figure of the bride as an ideal that every girl and woman should aspire to, popular discourses promote the desirability of marriage in a wide range of media spheres. These representations, which I call bridal fictions, do not only shape and regulate the production of gendered, raced, classed and sexual identities in the media in fundamental ways. They also promote the idea that marriage is the only adequate framework for an intimate relationship and for the constitution of an acceptable gendered identity, meanwhile reproducing heterosexuality as norm and monogamy as societal duty. Thus I argue that we can understand contemporary bridal fictions as a symbolic legitimation of marital hegemony that perpetuates the idea that “lifelong marriage is a moral imperative” (Coontz 292). Marital Hegemony By drawing on Gramsci’s term and argument of cultural hegemony, I propose that public, political, religious and popular discourses work together in intersecting, overlapping, ideologically motivated and often even contradictory ways to produce what can be conceptualised as marital hegemony. Gramsci understands the relationship between state coercion and legitimation as crucial to an understanding of constituted consensus and co-operation. By legitimation Gramsci refers to processes through which social elites constitute their leadership through the universalizing of their own class-based self-interests. These self-interests are adopted by the greater majority of people, who apprehend them as natural or universal standards of value (common sense). This ‘hegemony’ neutralizes dissent, instilling the values, beliefs and cultural meanings into the generalized social structures. (Lewis 76-77)Marital hegemony also consists of those two mechanisms, coercion and legitimation. Coercion by the social elites, in this case by the state, is conducted through intervening in the private life of citizens in order to regulate and control their intimate relationships. Through the offering of financial benefits, medical insurance, tax cuts and various other privileges to married partners only (see Ingraham 175-76), the state withholds these benefits from all those that do not conform to this kind of state-sanctioned relationship. However, this must serve as the topic of another discussion, as this paper is more interested in the second aspect of hegemony, the symbolic legitimation. Symbolic legitimation works through the depiction of the white wedding as the occasion on which entering the institution of marriage is publicly celebrated and marital identity is socially validated. Bridal fictions work on a semiotic and symbolic level to display and perpetuate the idea of marriage as the most desirable and ultimately only legitimate form of intimate, heterosexual relationships. This is not to say that there is no resistance to this form of hegemony, as Foucault argues, eventually there is no “power without resistances” (142). However, as Engstrom contends, contemporary bridal fictions “reinforce and endorse the idea that romantic relationships should and must lead to marriage, which requires public display—the wedding” (3). Thus I argue that we can understand contemporary bridal fictions as one key symbolic factor in the production of marital hegemony. The ongoing centrality of marriage as an institution finds its reflection, as Otnes and Pleck argue, in the fact that the white wedding, in spite of all changes and processes of liberalisation in regard to gender, family and sexuality, “remains the most significant ritual in contemporary culture” (5). Accordingly, popular culture, reflective as well as constitutive of existing cultural paradigms, is saturated with what I have termed here bridal fictions. Bridal representations have been subject to rigorous academic investigation (c.f. Currie, Geller, Bambacas, Boden, Otnes and Pleck, Wallace and Howard). But, by using the term “bridal fictions”, I seek to underscore the fictional nature of these apparent “representations”, emphasising their role in producing pervasive utopias, rather than representing reality. This is not to say that bridal fictions are solely fictive. In fact, my argument here is that these bridal fictions do have discursive influence on contemporary wedding culture and practices. With my analysis of a bridal advertisement campaign later on in this paper, I aim to show exemplarily how bridal fictions work not only in perpetuating marriage, monogamy and heteronormativity as central organizing principles of intimate life. But moreover, how bridal fictions use this framework to promote certain kinds of white, heterosexual, upper-class identities that normatively inform our understanding of who is seen as entitled to this form of state-sanctioned relationship. Furthermore my aim is to highlight the role of postfeminist frames in sustaining marital hegemony. Second Wave feminism, seeing marriage as a form of “intimate colonization” (in Finlay and Clarke 416), has always been one of the few sources of critique in regard to this institution. In contrast, postfeminist accounts, now informing a significant amount of contemporary bridal fictions, evoke marriage as actively chosen, unproblematic and innately desired state of being for women. By constructing the liberated, self-determined figure of the postfeminist bride, contemporary bridal fictions naturalise and re-modernise marriage as framework for the constitution of modern feminine identity. An analysis of postfeminist bridal identities, as done in the following, is thus vital to my argument, because it highlights how postfeminist accounts deflect feminism’s critique of marriage as patriarchal, political and hegemonic institution and hence contribute to the perpetuation and production of marital hegemony. The Postfeminist Bride Postfeminism has emerged since the early 1990s as the dominant mode of constructing femininities in the media. Angela McRobbie understands postfeminism as “to refer to an active process by which feminist gains of the 1970s and 80s come to be undermined”, while simultaneously appearing to be “a well-informed and even well-intended response to feminism” (“Postfeminism” 255). Based on the assumption that women nowadays are no longer subjected to patriarchal power structures anymore, postfeminism actively takes feminism into account while, at the same time, “undoing” it (McRobbie “Postfeminism” 255). In contemporary postfeminist culture, feminism is “decisively aged and made to seem redundant”, which allows a conscious “dis-identification” and/or “forceful non-identity” with accounts of Second Wave feminism (McRobbie Aftermath 15). This demarcation from earlier forms of feminism is particularly evident with regard to marriage and wedding discourses. Second wave feminist critics such as Betty Friedan (1973) and Carole Pateman were critical of the influence of marriage on women’s psychological, financial and sexual freedom. This generation of feminists saw marriage as a manifestation of patriarchal power, which is based on women’s total emotional and erotic loyalty and subservience (Rich 1980), as well as on “men’s domination over women, and the right of men to enjoy equal sexual access to women” (Pateman 1988 2). In contrast, contemporary postfeminism enunciates now that “equality is achieved, in order to install a whole repertoire of new meanings which emphasise that it [feminism] is no longer needed, it is a spent force” (McRobbie “Postfeminism” 255). Instead of seeing marriage as institutionlised subjugation of women, the postfeminist generation of “educated women who have come of age in the 1990s feel that the women’s liberation movement has achieved its goals and that marriage is now an even playing field in which the two sexes operate as equal partners” (Geller 110). As McRobbie argues “feminism was anti-marriage and this can now to be shown to be great mistake” (Aftermath 20). Accordingly, postfeminist bridal fictions do not depict the bride as passive and waiting to be married, relying on conservative and patriarchal notions of hegemonic femininity, but as an active agent using the white wedding as occasion to act out choice, autonomy and power. Genz argues that a characteristic of postfemininities is that they re-negotiate femininity and feminism no longer as mutually exclusive and irreconcilable categories, but as constitutive of each other (Genz; Genz and Brabon). What I term the postfeminist bride embodies this shifted understanding of feminism and femininity. The postfeminist bride is a figure that is often celebrated in terms of individual freedom, professional success and self-determination, instead of resting on traditional notions of female domesticity and passivity. Rather than fulfilling clichés of the homemaker and traditional wife, the postfeminist bride is characterised by an emphasis on power, agency and pleasure. Characteristic of this figure, as with other postfemininities in popular culture, is a simultaneous appropriation and repudiation of feminist critique. Within postfeminist bridal culture, the performance of traditional femininity through the figure of the bride, or by identification with it, is framed in terms of individual choice, depicted as standing outside of the political and ideological struggles surrounding gender, equality, class, sexuality and race. In this way, as Engstrom argues, “bridal media’s popularity in the late 20th and early 21st centuries in the United States as indicative of a postfeminist cultural environment” (18). And although the contemporary white wedding still rests on patriarchal traditions that symbolise what the Second Wave called an “intimate colonization” (such as the bride’s vow of obedience; the giving away of the bride by one male chaperone, her father, to the next, the husband; her loss of name in marriage etc.), feminist awareness of the patriarchal dimensions of marriage and the ritual of the wedding is virtually absent from contemporary bridal culture. Instead, the patriarchal customs of the white wedding are now actively embraced by the women themselves in the name of tradition and choice. This reflects a prevailing characteristic of postfeminism, which is a trend towards the reclamation of conservative ideals of femininity, following the assumption that the goals of traditional feminist politics have been attained. This recuperation of traditional forms of femininity is one key characteristic of postfeminist bridal culture, as Engstrom argues: “bridal media collectively have become the epitomic example of women’s culture, a genre of popular culture that promotes, defends, and celebrates femininity” (21). Bridal fictions indeed produce traditional femininity by positioning the cultural, social and historical significance of the wedding as a necessary rite of passage for women and as the most important framework for the constitution of their (hetero)sexual, classed and gendered identities. Embodied in its ritual qualities, the white wedding symbolises the transition of women from single to belonging, from girlhood to womanhood and implicitly from childlessness to motherhood. However, instead of seeing this form of hegemonic femininity as a product of unequal, patriarchal power relations as Second Wave did, postfeminism celebrates traditional femininity in modernised versions. Embracing conservative feminine roles (e.g. that of the bride/wife) is now a matter of personal choice, individuality and freedom, characterised by awareness, knowingness and sometimes even irony (McRobbie “Postfeminism”). Nevertheless, the wedding is not only positioned as the pinnacle of a monogamous, heterosexual relationship, but also as the climax of a (female) life-story (“the happiest day of the life”). Combining feminist informed notions of power and choice, the postfeminist wedding is constructed as an event which supposedly enables women to act out those notions, while serving as a framework for gendered identity formation and self-realisation within the boundaries of an officialised and institutionalised relationship. “Modern” Brides I would like to exemplarily illustrate how postfeminism informs contemporary bridal fictions by analysing an advertising campaign of the US bridal magazine Modern Bride that paradigmatically and emblematically shows how postfeminist frames are used to construct the ‘modern’ bride. These advertisements feature American celebrities Guiliana Rancic (“host of E! News”), Daisy Fuentes (“host of Ultimate Style”) and Layla Ali, (“TV host and world champion”) stating why they qualify as a “modern bride”. Instead of drawing on notions of passive femininity, these advertisements have a distinct emphasis on power and agency. All advertisements include the women’s profession and other accomplishments. Rancic claims that she is a modern bride because: “I chased my career instead of guys.” These advertisements emphasise choice and empowerment, the key features of postfeminism, as Angela McRobbie (“Postfeminism”) and Rosalind Gill argue. Femininity, feminism and professionalism here are not framed as mutually exclusive, but are reconciled in the identity of the “modern” bride. Marriage and the white wedding are clearly bracketed in a liberal framework of individual choice, underpinned by a grammar of self-determination and individualism. Layla Ali states that she is a modern bride: “Because I refuse to let anything stand in the way of my happiness.” This not only communicates the message that happiness is intrinsically linked to marriage, but clearly resembles the figure that Sharon Boden terms the “super bride”, a role which allows women to be in control of every aspect of their wedding and “the heroic creator of her big day” while being part of a fairy-tale narrative in which they are the centre of attention (74). Agency and power are clearly visible in all of these ads. These brides are not passive victims of the male gaze, instead they are themselves gazing. In Rancic’s advertisement this is particularly evident, as she is looking directly at the viewer, where her husband, looking into another direction, remains rather face- and gazeless. This is in accord with bridal fictions in general, where husbands are often invisible, serving as bystanders or absent others, reinforcing the ideal that this is the special day of the bride and no one else. Furthermore, all of these advertisements remain within the limited visual repertoire that is common within bridal culture: young to middle-aged, heterosexual, able-bodied, conventionally attractive women. The featuring of the non-white bride Layla Ali is a rare occasion in contemporary bridal fictions. And although this can be seen as a welcomed exception, this advertisement remains eventually within the hegemonic and racial boundaries of contemporary bridal fictions. As Ingraham argues, ultimately “the white wedding in American culture is primarily a ritual by, for, and about the white middle to upper classes. Truly, the white wedding” (33). Furthermore, these advertisements illustrate another key feature of bridal culture, the “privileging of white middle- to upper-class heterosexual marriage over all other forms” (Ingraham 164). Semiotically, the discussed advertisements reflect the understanding of the white wedding as occasion to perform a certain classed identity: the luscious white dresses, the tuxedos, the jewellery and make up, etc. are all signifiers for a particular social standing. This is also emphasised by the mentioning of the prestigious jobs these brides hold, which presents a postfeminist twist on the otherwise common depictions of brides as practising hypergamy, meaning the marrying of a spouse of higher socio-economic status. But significantly, upward social mobility is usually presented as only acceptable for women, reinforcing the image of the husband as the provider. Another key feature of postfeminism, the centrality of heterosexual romance, becomes evident through Daisy Fuentes’ statement: “I’m a modern bride, because I believe that old-school values enhance a modern romance.” Having been liberated from the shackles of second wave feminism, which dismissed romance as “dope for dupes” (Greer in Pearce and Stacey 50), the postfeminist bride unapologetically embraces romance as central part of her life and relationship. Romance is here equated with traditionalism and “old school” values, thus reinforcing sexual exclusiveness, traditional gender roles and marriage as re-modernised, romantic norms. Angela McRobbie describes this “double entanglement” as a key feature of postfeminism that is comprised of “the co-existence of neo-conservative values in relation to gender, sexuality and family life […] with processes of liberalisation in regard to choice and diversity in domestic, sexual and kinship relations” (“Postfeminism” 255–56). These advertisements illustrate quite palpably that the postfeminist bride is a complex figure. It is simultaneously progressive and conservative, fulfilling ideals of conservative femininity while actively negotiating in the complex field of personal choice, individualism and social conventions; it oscillates between power and passivity, tradition and modern womanhood, between feminism and femininity. It is precisely this contradictory nature of the postfeminist bride that makes the figure so appealing, as it allows women to participate in the fantasy world of bridal utopias while still providing possibilities to construct themselves as active and powerful agents. Conclusion While we can generally welcome the reconfiguration of brides as powerful and self-determined, we have to remain critical of the postfeminist assumption of women as “autonomous agents no longer constrained by any inequalities or power imbalances whatsoever” (Gill 153). Where marriage is assumed to be an “even playing field” as Geller argues (110), feminism is no longer needed and traditional marital femininity can be, once again, performed without guilt. In these ways postfeminism deflects feminist criticism with regard to the political dimensions of marital femininity and thus contributes to the production of marital hegemony. But why is marital hegemony per se problematic? Firstly, by presenting marital identity as essential for the construction of gendered identity, bridal fictions leave little room for (female) self-definition outside of the single/married binary. As Ingraham argues, not only “are these categories presented as significant indices of social identity, they are offered as the only options, implying that the organization of identity in relation to marriage is universal and in no need of explanation” (17). Hence, by positioning marriage and singledom as opposite poles on the axis of proper femininity, bridal fictions stigmatise single women as selfish, narcissistic, hedonistic, immature and unable to attract a suitable husband (Taylor 20, 40). Secondly, within bridal fictions “weddings, marriage, romance, and heterosexuality become naturalized to the point where we consent to the belief that marriage is necessary to achieve a sense of well-being, belonging, passion, morality and love” (Ingraham 120). By presenting the white wedding as a publicly endorsed and visible entry to marriage, bridal fictions produce in fundamental ways normative notions about who is ‘fit’ for marriage and therefore capable of the associated cultural and social values of maturity, responsibility, ‘family values’ and so on. This is particularly critical, as postfeminist identities “are structured by, stark and continuing inequalities and exclusions that relate to ‘race’ and ethnicity, class, age, sexuality and disability as well as gender” (Gill 149). These postfeminist exclusions are very evident in contemporary bridal fictions that feature almost exclusively young to middle-aged, white, able-bodied couples with upper to middle class identities that conform to the heteronormative matrix, both physically and socially. By depicting weddings almost exclusively in this kind of raced, classed and gendered framework, bridal fictions associate the above mentioned values, that are seen as markers for responsible adulthood and citizenship, with those who comply with these norms. In these ways bridal fictions stigmatise those who are not able or do not want to get married, and, moreover, produce a visual regime that determines who is seen as entitled to this kind of socially validated identity. The fact that bridal fictions indeed play a major role in producing marital hegemony is further reflected in the increasing presence of same-sex white weddings in popular culture. These representations, despite their message of equality for everyone, usually replicate rather than re-negotiate the heteronormative terms of bridal culture. This can be regarded as evidence of bridal fiction’s scope and reach in naturalising marriage not only as the most ideal form of a heterosexual relationship, but increasingly as the ideal for any kind of intimate relationship. References Bambacas, Christyana. “Thinking about White Weddings.” Journal of Australian Studies 26.72 (2002): 191–200.The Bachelor, ABC, 2002–present. Boden, Sharon. Consumerism, Romance and the Wedding Experience. Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Bridezillas, We TV, 2004–present. Cherlin, Andrew. The-Marriage-Go-Round. The State of Marriage and the Family in America Today. New York: Vintage, 2010. Coontz, Stephanie. Marriage. A History. New York: Penguin, 2005. Currie, Dawn. “‘Here Comes the Bride’: The Making of a ‘Modern Traditional’ Wedding in Western Culture.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 24.3 (1993): 403–21. Engstrom, Erika. The Bride Factory. Mass Portrayals of Women and Weddings. New York: Peter Lang, 2012. Fairchild Bridal Study (2005) 27 May 2012. ‹http://www.sellthebride.com/documents/americanweddingsurvey.pdf›. Finlay, Sara-Jane, and Victoria Clarke. “‘A Marriage of Inconvenience?’ Feminist Perspectives on Marriage.” Feminism & Psychology 13.4 (2003): 415–20. Foucault, M. (1980) “Body/Power and Truth/Power” in Gordon, C. (ed.) Michel Foucault: Power/Knowledge, Harvester, U.K. Friedan, Betty. The Feminine Mystique. Ringwood: Penguin Books, 1973. Geller, Jaqlyn. Here Comes the Bride. Women, Weddings, and the Marriage Mystique. New York: Four Walls Eight Windows, 2001. Genz, Stéphanie. Postfemininities in Popular Culture. New York: Palgrave, 2009. Genz, Stéphanie, and Benjamin Brabon. Postfeminsm. Cultural Texts and Theories. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009. Gill, Rosalind. “Postfeminist Media Culture. Elements of a Sensibility.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 10.2 (2007): 147–66. Gramsci, Antonio. Selections from the Prison Notebooks. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1971. Howard, Vicki. Brides, Inc. American Weddings and the Business of Tradition. Philadelphia: U of Pen Press, 2006. Ingraham, Chrys. White Weddings. Romancing Heterosexuality in Popular Discourse. New York: Routledge, 1999. Lewis, Jeff. Cultural Studies. London: Sage, 2008. McRobbie, Angela. “Post-Feminism and Popular Culture.” Feminist Media Studies 4.3 (2004): 255– 64. McRobbie, A. (2009). The Aftermath of Feminism. Gender, Culture and Social Change. London: Sage. Modern Bride, Condé Nast. Otnes, Cele, and Elizabeth Pleck. Cinderella Dreams. The Allure of the Lavish Wedding. Berkeley: U of California P, 2003. Pateman, Carole. The Sexual Contract. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1988. Pearce, Lynn, and Jackie Stacey. Romance Revisited. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1995. Race to the Altar, NBC, 2003. Rich, Adrienne. “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence.” Signs Summer.5 (1980): 631–60. Taylor, Anthea. Single Women in Popular Culture. The Limits of Postfeminism. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Wallace, Carol. All Dressed in White. The Irresistible Rise of the American Wedding. London: Penguin Books, 2004. Advertisements Analysed Guiliana Rancic. 29 Sept. 2012 ‹http://slackerchic.blogspot.de/2008/06/im-modern-bride-because-my-witness-was.html›. Daisy Fuentes. 29 Sept. 2012 ‹http://slackerchic.blogspot.de/2008/06/im-modern-bride-because-my-witness-was.html›. Layla Ali. 29 Sept. 2012 ‹http://slackerchic.blogspot.de/2008/06/im-modern-bride-because-my-witness-was.html›.

I miss the ferry to San Pietro, so after a long bus trip winding through the southern Sardinian rocky terrain past gum trees, shrubs, caper plants, and sheep, I take refuge from the rain in a bar at the port. While I order a beer and panini, the owner, a man in his early sixties, begins to chat asking me why I’m heading to the island. For the tuna, I say, to research cultural practices and changes surrounding the ancient tuna trap la tonnara, and for the Girotonno international tuna festival, which coincides with the migration of the Northern Bluefin Tuna and the harvest season. This year the slogan of the festival reads Dal Sulcis a Sushi ("From Sulcis to Sushi"), a sign of the diverse tastes to come. Tuna here is the best in the world, he exclaims, a sentiment I hear many times over whilst doing fieldwork in southern Italy. He excitedly gestures for me to follow. We walk into the kitchen and on a long steel bench sits a basin covered with cloth. He uncovers it, and proudly poised, waits for my reaction. A large pinkish-brown loin of cooked tuna sits in brine. I have never tasted tuna in this way, so to share in his enthusiasm I conjure my interest in the rich tuna gastronomy found in this area of Sardinia called Sulcis. I’m more familiar with the clean taste of sashimi or lightly seared tuna. As I later experience, traditional tuna preparations in San Pietro are far from this. The most notable characteristic is that the tuna is thoroughly cooked or the flesh or organs are preserved with salt by brining or drying. A tuna steak cooked in the oven is robust and more like meat from the land than the sea in its flavours, colour, and texture. This article is about taste: the taste of, and tastes for, tuna in a traditional fishing community. It is based on ethnographic fieldwork and is part of a wider inquiry into the place of tradition and culture in seafood sustainability discourses and practices. In this article I use the notion of a taste network to explore the relationship between macro forces—international markets, stock decline and marine regulations—and transformations within local cultures of tuna production and consumption. Taste networks frame the connections between taste in a gustatory sense, tastes as an aesthetic preference and tasting as a way of learning about and attuning to modes and meanings surrounding tuna. As Antoine Hennion asserts, taste is more than a connoisseurship of an object, taste represents a cultural activity that concerns a wide range of practices, exchanges and attachments. Elspeth Probyn suggests that taste “acts as a connector between history, place, things, and people” (65) and “can also come to form communities: local places that are entangled in the global” (62). Within this framework, taste moves away from Bourdieu’s notion of taste as a social distinction towards an understanding of taste as created through a network of entities—social, biological, technological, and so forth. It turns attention to the mundane activities and objects of tuna production and consumption, the components of a taste network, and the everyday spaces where tradition and transformation are negotiated. For taste to change requires a transformation of the network (or components of that network) that bring such tastes into existence. These networks and their elements form the very meaning, matter, and moments of tradition and culture. As Hennion reminds us through his idea of “reservoir(s) of difference” (100), there are a range of diverse tastes that can materialise from the interactions of humans with objects, in this case tuna. Yet, taste networks can also be rendered obsolete. When a highly valued and endangered species like Bluefin is at the centre of such networks, there are material, ethical, and even political limitations to some tastes. In a study that follows three scientists as they attempt to address scallop decline in Brest and St Brieuc Bay, Michael Callon advocates for “the abandonment of all prior distinction between the natural and the social” (1). He draws attention to networks of actors and significant moments, rather than pre-existing categories, to figure the contours of power. This approach is particularly useful for social research that involves science, technology and the “natural” world. In my own research in San Pietro, the list of human and non-human actors is long and spans the local to the global: Bluefin (in its various meanings and as an entity with its own agency), tonnara owners, fishermen, technologies, fish shops and restaurants, scientific observers, policy (local, regional, national, European and international), university researchers, the sea, weather, community members, Japanese and Spanish buyers, and markets. Local discourses surrounding tuna and taste articulate human and non-human entanglements in quite particular ways. In San Pietro, as with much of Italy, notions of place, environment, identity, quality, and authenticity are central to the culture of tuna production and consumption. Food products are connected to place through ecological, cultural and technological dimensions. In Morgan, Marsden, and Murdoch’s terms this frames food and tastes in relation to a spatial dimension (its place of origin), a social dimension (its methods of production and distribution), and a cultural dimension (its perceived qualities and reputation). The place name labelling of canned tuna from San Pietro is an example of a product that represents the notion of provenance. The practice of protecting traditional products is well established in Italy through appellation programs, much like the practice of protecting terroir products in France. It is no wonder that the eco-gastronomic movement Slow Food developed in Italy as a movement to protect traditional foods, production methods, and biodiversity. Such discourses and movements like Slow Food create local/global frameworks and develop in relation to the phenomenon and ideas like globalisation, industrialization, and homogenisation. This study is based on ethnographic fieldwork in San Pietro over the 2013 tuna season. This included interviews with some thirty participants (fishers, shop keepers, locals, restaurateurs, and tonnara owners), secondary research into international markets, marine regulations, and environmental movements, and—of course—a gustatory experience of tuna. Walking down the main street the traditions of the tonnara and tuna are palpable. On a first impression there’s something about the streets and piazzas that is akin to Zukin’s notion of “vernacular spaces”, “sources of identity and belonging, affective qualities that the idea of intangible culture expresses, refines and sustains” (282). At the centre is the tonnara, which refers to the trap (a labyrinth of underwater nets) as well as the technique of tuna fishing and land based processing activities. For centuries, tuna and the tonnara have been at the centre of community life, providing employment, food security, and trade opportunities, and generating a wealth of ecological knowledge, a rich gastronomy based on preserved tuna, and cultural traditions like the famous harvest ritual la mattanza (the massacre). Just about every organ is preserved by salting and drying. The most common is the female ovary sac, which becomes bottarga. Grated onto pasta it has a strong metallic offal flavour combined with the salty tang of the sea. There is also the male equivalent lusciami, a softer consistency and flavour, as well as dried heart and lungs. There is canned tuna, a continuation of the tradition of brining and barrelling, but these are no ordinary cans. Each part of the tuna is divided into parts corresponding loosely to anatomy but more closely to quality based on textures, colour, and taste. There is the ventresca from the belly, the most prized cut because of its high fat content. Canned in olive oil or brine, a single can of this cut sells for around 30 Euros. Both the canned variety or freshly grilled ventresca is a sumptuous experience, soft and rich. Change is not new to San Pietro. In the long history of the tonnara there have been numerous transformations resulting from trade, occupation, and dominant economic systems. As Stefano Longo describes, with the development of capitalism and industrialization, the socio-economic structure of the tonnara changed and there was a dramatic decline in tonnare (plural) throughout the 1800s. The tonnare also went through different phases of ownership. In 1587 King Philip II formally established the Sardinian tonnare (Emery). Phillip IV then sold a tonnara to a Genovese man in 1654 and, from the late 18th century until today, the tonnara has remained in the Greco family from Genova. There were also changes to fishing and preservation technologies, such as the replacement of barrels after the invention of the can in the early 1800s, and innovations to recipes, as for example in the addition of olive oil. Yet, compared to recent changes, the process of harvesting, breaking down and sorting flesh and organs, and preserving tuna, has remained relatively stable. The locus of change in recent years concerns the harvest, the mattanza. For locals this process seems to be framed with concepts of before, and after, the Japanese arrived on the island. Owner Giuliano Greco, a man in his early fifties who took over the management of the tonnara from his father when it reopened in the late 1990s, describes these changes: We have two ages—before the Japanese and after. Before the Japanese, yes, the tuna was damaged. It was very violent in the mattanza. In the age before the pollution, there was a crew of 120 people divided in a little team named the stellati. The more expert and more important at the centre of the boat, the others at the side because at the centre there was more tuna. When there was mattanza it was like a race, a game, because if they caught more tuna they had more entrails, which was good money for them, because before, part of the wage was in nature, part of the tuna, and for this game the tuna was damaged because they opened it with a knife, the heart, the eggs etc. And for this method it was very violent because they wanted to get the tuna entrails first. The tuna remained on the boat without ice, with blood everywhere. The tonnara operated within clear social hierarchies made up of tonnarotti (tuna fishermen) under the guidance of the Rais (captain of tonnara) whose skills, charisma and knowledge set him apart. The Rais liaised with the tonnarotti, the owners, and the local community, recruiting men and women to augment the workforce in the mattanza period. Goliardo Rivano, a tonnarotto (singular) since 1999 recalls “all the town would be called on for the mattanza. Not only men but women too would work in the cannery, cutting, cleaning, and canning the tuna.” The mattanza was the starting point of supply and consumption networks. From the mattanza the tuna was broken down, the flesh boiled and brined for local and foreign markets, and the organs salted and dried for the (mainly) local market. Part of the land-based activities of tonnarotti involved cleaning, salting, pressing and drying the organs, which supplemented their wage. As Giuliano described, the mattanza was a bloody affair because of the practice of retrieving the organs; but since the tuna was boiled and then preserved in brine, it was not important whether the flesh was damaged. At the end of the 1970s the tonnara closed. According to locals and reportage, pollution from a nearby factory had caused a drastic drop in tuna. It remained closed until the mid 1990s when Japanese buyers came to inquire about tuna from the trap. Global tastes for tuna had changed during the time the tonnara was closed. An increase in western appetites for sushi had been growing since the early 1970s (Bestore). As Theadore Bestore describes in detail, this coincided with a significant transformation of the Japanese fishing industry’s international role. In the 1980s, the Japanese government began to restructure its fleets in response to restricted access to overseas fishing grounds, which the declaration of Excusive Economic Zones enforced (Barclay and Koh). At this time, Japan turned to foreign suppliers for tuna (Bestore). Kate Barclay and Sun-Hui Koh describe how quantity was no longer a national food security issue like it had been in post war Japan and “consumers started to demand high-quality high-value products” (145). In the late 1990s, the Greco family reopened the tonnara and the majority of the tuna went to Japan leaving a smaller portion for the business of canning. The way mattanza was practiced underwent profound changes and particular notions of quality emerged. This was also the beginning of new relationships and a widening of the taste network to include international stakeholders: Japanese buyers and markets became part of the network. Giuliano refers to the period as the “Japanese Age”. A temporal framing that is iterated by restaurant and fish shop owners who talk about a time when Japanese began to come to the island and have the first pick of the tuna. Giuliano recalls “there was still blood but there was not the system of opening tuna, in total, like before. Now the tuna is opened on the land. The only operation we do on the boat is blooding and chilling.” Here he references the Japanese technique of ikejime. Over several years the technicians taught Giuliano and some of the crew about killing the tuna faster and bleeding it to maintain colour and freshness. New notions of quality and taste for raw or lightly cooked tuna entered San Pietro. According to Rais Luigi “the tuna is of higher quality, because we treat it in a particular way, with ice.” Giuliano describes the importance of quality. “Before they used the stellati and it took five people, each one with a harpoon to haul the tuna. Now they only use one hook, in the mouth and use a chain, by hand. On board there is bleeding, and there is blood, but now we must keep the quality of the meat at its best.” In addition to the influence of Japanese tastes, the international Girotonno tuna festival had its inauguration in 2003, and, along with growing tourism, brought cosmopolitan and international tastes to San Pietro. The impact of a global taste for tuna has had devastating effects on their biomass. The international response to the sharp decline was the expansion of the role of inter-governmental monitoring bodies like International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas (ICCAT), the introduction of quotas, and an increase in the presence of marine authorities on fleets, scientific research and environmental campaigns. In San Pietro, international relationships further widened and so did the configuration of taste networks, this time to include marine regulators, a quota on Bluefin, a Spanish company, and tuna ranches in Malta. The mattanza again was at the centre of change and became a point of contention within the community. This time because as a practice it is endangered, occurring only once or twice a year, “for the sake of tradition, culture” as Giuliano stated. The harvest now takes place in ranches in Malta because for the last three years the Greco family have supplied the tonnara’s entire quota (excluding tuna from mattanza or those that die in the net) to a major Spanish seafood company Riccardo Fuentes e Hijos, which transports them live to Malta where they are fattened and slaughtered, predominantly for a Japanese market. The majority of tuna now leave the island whole, which has profoundly transformed the distribution networks and local taste culture, and mainly the production and trade in tuna organs and canned tuna. In 2012, ICCAT and the European Union further tightened the quotas, which along with competition with industrial fisheries for both quota and markets, has placed enormous pressure on the tonnara. In 2013, it was allocated a quota that was well under what is financially sustainable. Add to the mix the additional expense of financing the obligatory scientific observers, and the tonnara has had to modify its operations. In the last few years there has been a growing antagonism between marine regulations, global markets, and traditional practices. This is exemplified in the limitations to the tuna organ tradition. It is now more common to find dried tuna organs in vacuum packs from Sicily rather than local products. As the restaurateur Secondo Borghero of Tonno della Corsa says “the tonnara made a choice to sell the live tuna to the Spanish. It’s a big problem. The tuna is not just the flesh but also the interior—the stomach, the heart, the eggs—and now we don’t have the quantity of these and the quality around is also not great.” In addition, even though preserved organs are available for consumption, local preserving activities have almost ceased along with supplementary income. The social structures and the types of actors that are a part of the tonnara have also changed. New kinds of relationships, bodies, and knowledge are situated side by side because of the mandate that there be scientific observers present at certain moments in the season. In addition, there are coast guards and, at various stages of the season, university staff contracted by ICCAT take samples and tag the tuna to generate data. The changes have also introduced new types of knowledge, activities, and institutional affiliations based on scientific ideas and discourses of marine biology, conservation, and sustainability. These are applied through marine management activities and regimes like quotas and administered through state and global institutions. This is not to say that the knowledge informing the Rais’s decisions has been done away with but as Gisli Palsson has previously argued, there is a new knowledge hierarchy, which places a significant focus on the notion of expert knowledge. This has the potential to create unequal power dynamics between the marine scientists and the fishers. Today in San Pietro tuna tastes are diverse. Tuna is delicate, smooth, and rich ventresca, raw tartare clean on the palate, novel at the Girotono, hearty tuna al forno, and salty dry bottarga. Tasting tuna in San Pietro offers a material and affective starting point to follow the socio-cultural, political, and ecological contours and contentions that are part of tuna traditions and their transformations. By thinking of gustatory and aesthetic tastes as part of wider taste networks, which involve human and non-human entities, we can begin to unpack and detail better what these changes encompass and figure forms and moments of power and agency. At the centre of tastes and transformation in San Pietro are the tonnara and the mattanza. Although in its long existence the tonnara has endured many changes, those in the past 15 years are unprecedented. Several major global events have provided conditions for change and widened the network from its once mainly local setting to its current global span. First, Japanese and global tastes set a demand for tuna and introduced different tuna production and preparation techniques and new styles of serving tuna raw or lightly cooked tuna. Later, the decline of Bluefin stocks and the increasing involvement of European and international monitoring bodies introduced catch limitations along with new processes and types of knowledge and authorities. Coinciding with this was the development of relationships with middle companies, which again introduced new techniques and technologies, namely the gabbie (cage) and ranches, to the taste network. In the cultural setting of Italy where the conservation of tradition is of particular importance, as I have explained earlier through the notion of provenance, the management of a highly regulated endangered marine species is a complex project that causes much conflict. Because of the dire state of the stocks and continual rise in global demand, solutions are complex. Yet it would seem useful to recognise that tuna tastes are situated within a network of knowledge, know-how, technology, and practices that are not simple modes of production and consumption but also ways of stewarding the sea and its species. Ethics Approval Original names have been used when participants gave consent on the official consent form to being identified in publications relating to the study. This is in accordance with ethics approval granted through the University of Sydney on 21 March 2013. Project number 2012/2825. References Barclay, Kate, and Koh Sun-Hui “Neo-liberal Reforms in Japan’s Tuna Fisheries? A History of Government-business Relations in a Food-producing Sector.” Japan Forum 20.2 (2008): 139–170. Bestor, Theadore “Tsukiji: The Fish Market at the Center of the World.” Foreign Policy 121 (2000): 54–63. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Harvard UP, 1984. Callon, Michael “Some Elements of a Sociology of Translation: Domestication of the Scallops and the Fishermen of St Brieuc Bay” Power, Action, Belief: a New Sociology of Knowledge? Ed. John Law. London: Routledge, 1986. 196–223. Emery, Katherine “Tonnare in Italy: Science, History and Culture of Sardinian Tuna Fishing.” Californian Italian Studies 1 (2010): 1–40. Hennion, Antoine “Those Things That Hold Us Together: Taste and Sociology” Cultural Sociology 1 (2007): 97–114. Longo, Stefano “Global Sushi: A Socio-Ecological Analysis of The Sicilian Bluefin Tuna Fishery.” Dissertation. Oregon: University of Oregon, 2009. Morgan, Kevin, Marsden, Terry, and Johathan Murdoch. Worlds of Food: Place, Power, and provenance in the Food Chain. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006. Palsson, Gisli. Coastal Economies, Cultural Accounts: Human Ecology and Icelandic Discourse. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1991. Probyn, Elspeth “In the Interests of Taste & Place: Economies of Attachment.” The Global Intimate. Eds. G. Pratt and V. Rosner. New York: Columbia UP (2012). Zukin, Sharon “The Social Production of Urban Cultural Heritage: Identity and Ecosystem on an Amsterdam Shopping Street.” City, Culture and Society 3 (2012): 281–291.

Introduction Fashion has long been associated with resistance movements across Asia and Australia, from the hand-spun cotton Khadi of Mahatma Gandhi’s freedom struggle to the traditional ankle length robe worn by Tibetans in the ‘White Wednesday Movement’ (Singh et al.; Yangzom). There are many reasons why fashion and activism have been interlinked. Fashion can serve as a form of nonverbal communication (Crane), which can convey activists’ grievances and concerns while symbolising solidarity (Doerr). It can provide an avenue to enact individual agency against repressive, authoritarian regimes (Yangzom; Doerr et al.). Fashion can codify a degree of uniformity within groups and thereby signal social identity (Craik), while also providing a means of building community (Barry and Drak). Fashion, therefore, offers activists the opportunity to develop the three characteristics which unite a social or environmental movement: a shared concern about an issue, a sense of social identity, and connections between individuals and groups. But while these fashion functions map onto movement characteristics, it remains unclear whether activists across the world deliberately include fashion into their protest action repertoires. This uncertainty exists partly because of a research and media focus on large scale, mass protests (Lester and Hutchins), where fashion characteristics are immediately visible and amenable to retrospective interpretation. This focus helps explain the rich volume of research examining the manifestation of fashion in past protests, such as the black, red, and yellow colours worn during the 1988 Aboriginal Long March of Freedom, Justice, and Hope (Maynard Dress; Coghlan), and the pink anti-Trump ‘pussyhats’ (Thompson). However, the protest events used to identify these fashion characteristics are a relatively small proportion of actions used by environmental activists (Dalton et al.; Gulliver et al.), which include not only rallies and marches, but also information evenings, letter writing sessions, and eco-activities such as tree plantings. This article aims to respond to Barnard’s (Looking) call for more empirical work on what contemporary cultural groups visually do with what they wear (see also Gerbaudo and Treré) via a content analysis of 36,676 events promoted on Facebook by 728 Australian environmental groups between 2010 and 2019. The article firstly reports findings from an analysis of this dataset to identify how fashion manifests in environmental activism, building on research demonstrating the role of protest-related nonverbal communications, such as protest signage (Bloomfield and Doolin), images (Kim), and icons, slogans, and logos (Goodnow). The article then considers what activists may seek to achieve through incorporating fashion into their action repertoire, and whether this suggests solidarity with activists seeking to effect environmental change across the wider Asian region. Fashion Activism Fashion is created through a particular assemblage of clothes, accessories, and hairstyles (Barry and Drak), which in turn forms a prevailing custom or style of dress (Craik). It is a cultural practice, providing ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) for an individual to express their social roles (Craik) and political identity (Behnke). Some scholars argue that fashion became overtly political during the 1960s and 70s, as social movements politicised appearance (Edwards). This has only increased in relevance with the rise of far right, populist, and authoritarian regimes, whose sub-cultures enact politicised identities through their distinct fashion characteristics (Gaugele and Titton; Gaugele). Fashion can therefore play an important role in protest movements, as “political subjectivities, political authority, political power and discipline are rendered visible, and thereby real, by the way fashion co-establishes them” (Behnke 3). Across the literature scholars have identified two primary avenues by which fashion and activism are connected. The first of these relates to activism targeting the fashion industry. This type of activism is found in both Asia and Australia, and promotes sustainable consumption choices such as buying used goods and transforming existing items (Chung and Yim), as well as highlighting garment worker exploitation within the fashion industry (Khan and Richards). The second avenue is called ‘fashion activism’: the use of fashion to intentionally signal a message seeking to evoke social and/or political change (Thompson). In this conceptualisation, clothing is used to signify a particular message (Crane). An example of this type of fashion activism is the ‘SlutWalk’, a protest where participants deliberately wore outfits described as slutty or revealing as a response to victim-blaming of women who had experienced sexual assault (Thompson). A key element of fashion activism thus appears to be its message intentionality. Clothes are specifically utilised to convey a message, such as a grievance about victim-blaming, which can then be incorporated into design features displayed on t-shirts, pins, and signs both on the runway and in protest events (Titton). However, while this ‘sender/receiver’ model of fashion communication (Barnard, Fashion as) can be compelling for activists, it is complex in practice. A message receiver can never have full knowledge of what message the sender seeks to signify through a particular clothing item, nor can the message sender predict how a receiver will interpret that message. Particular arrangements of clothing only hold communicative power when they are easily interpreted and related to the movement and its message, usually only intelligible to a specific culture or subculture (Goodnow). Even within that subculture it remains problematic to infer a message from a particular style of dress, as demonstrated in examples where dress is used to imply sexual consent; for example, in rape and assault cases (Lennon et al.). Given the challenges of interpreting fashion, do activists appear to use the ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) afforded by it as a protest tool? To investigate this question a pre-existing dataset of 36,676 events was analysed to ascertain if, and how, environmental activism engages with fashion (a detailed methodology is available on the OSF). Across this dataset, event categories, titles, and descriptions were reviewed to collate events connecting environmental activism to fashion. Three categories of events were found and are discussed in the next section: street theatre, sustainable fashion practices, and disruptive protest. Street Theatre Street theatre is a form of entertainment which uses public performance to raise awareness of injustices and build support for collective action (Houston and Pulido). It uses costumes as a vehicle for conveying messages about political issues and for making demands visible, and has been utilised by protesters across Australia and Asia (Roces). Many examples of street theatre were found in the dataset. For example, Extinction Rebellion (XR) consistently promoted street theatre events via sub-groups such as the ‘Red Rebels’ – a dedicated team of volunteers specialising in costumed street theatre – as well as by inviting supporters to participate in open street theatre events, such as in the ‘Halloween Dead Things Disco’. Dressed as spooky skeletons (doot, doot) and ghosts, we'll slide and shimmy down Sydney's streets in a supernatural style, as we bring attention to all the species claimed by the Sixth Mass Extinction. These street theatre events appeared to prioritise spectacle rather than disruption as a means to attract attention to their message. The Cairns and Far North Environment Centre ‘Climate Action Float’, for example, requested that attendees: Wear blue and gold or dress as your favourite reef animal, solar panel, maybe even the sun itself!? Reef & Solar // Blue & Gold is the guiding theme but we want your creativity take it from there. Most groups used street theatre as one of a range of different actions organised across a period of time. However, Climacts, a performance collective which uses ‘spectacle and satire to communicate the urgency of the climate and biodiversity crisis’ (Climacts), utilised this tactic exclusively. Their Climate Guardians collective used distinctive angel costumes to perform at the Climate Conference of Parties 26, and in various places around Australia (see images on their Website). Fig. 1: Costumed protest against Downer EDI's proposed work on the Adani coalmine; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). Sustainable Fashion Practices The second most common type of event which connected fashion with activism were those promoting sustainable fashion practices. While much research has highlighted the role of activism in raising awareness of problems related to the fashion industry (e.g. Hirscher), groups in the dataset were primarily focussed on organising activities where supporters communally created their own fashion items. The most common of these was the ‘crafternoon’, with over 260 separate crafternoon events identified in the dataset. These events brought activists together to create protest-related kit such as banners, signs, and costumes from recycled or repurposed materials, as demonstrated by Hume Climate Action Now’s ‘Crafternoon for Climate’ event: Come along on Sunday arvo for a relaxed arvo making posters and banners for upcoming Hume Climate Action Now events… Bring: Paints, textas, cardboard, fabric – whatever you’ve got lying around. Don’t have anything? That’s cool, just bring yourself. Events highlighting fashion industry problems were less frequent and tended to prioritise sharing of information about the fashion industry rather than promoting protests. For example, Transition Town Vincent held a ‘Slowing Down Fast Fashion – Transition Town Vincent Movie Night’ while the Green Embassy promoted the ‘Eco Fashion Week’. This event, held in 2017, was described as Australia’s only eco-fashion week, and included runway shows, music, and public talks. Other events also focussed on public talks, such as a Conservation Council of ACT event called ‘Green Drinks Canberra October 2017: Summer Edwards on the fashion industry’ and a panel discussion organised by a group called SEE-Change entitled ‘The Sustainable Wardrobe’. Disruptive Protest and T-Shirts Few events in the dataset mentioned elements of fashion outside of street theatre or sustainable fashion practices, with only one organisation explicitly connecting fashion with activism in its event details. This group – Australian Youth Climate Coalition – organised an event called ‘Activism in Fashion: Tote Bags, T-shirts and Poster Painting!’, which asked: How can we consistently be involved in campaigning while life can be so busy? Can we still be loud and get a message across without saying a word? The iconic 21st century activist "t-shirt and tote-bag" combination is hard to miss these days! Unlike street theatre and sustainable fashion practices, fashion appeared to be a consideration for only a small number of disruptive protests promoted by environmental groups in Australia. XR Brisbane sought to organise a fashion parade during the 2019 Rebellion Week, while XR protesters in Melbourne stripped down to underwear for a march through Melbourne city arcades (see also Turbet). Few common fashion elements appeared consistently on individual activists participating in events, and these were limited to accessories, such as ‘Stop Adani’ earrings, or t-shirts sold for fundraising and promotional purposes. Indeed, t-shirts appeared to be the most promoted clothing item in the dataset, continuing a long tradition of their use in protests (e.g. Maynard, Blankets). Easy to create, suitable for displaying both text and imagery, t-shirts sharing anti-coal messages featured predominantly in the Stop Adani campaign, while yellow t-shirts were a common item in Knitting Nanna’s anti-coal seam gas mining protests. Fig. 2: Stop Adani earrings and t-shirts; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). The Role of Fashion in Environmental Activism As these findings demonstrate, fashion appears to be deliberately utilised in environmental activism primarily through street theatre and the promotion of sustainable fashion practices. While fewer examples of fashion in disruptive protest were found and no consistent fashion assemblage was identified, accessories and t-shirts were utilised by many groups. What may activists be seeking to achieve through incorporating fashion via street theatre and sustainable fashion practices? Some scholars have argued that incorporating fashion into protest allows activists to signal political dissent against authoritarian control. For example, Yanzoom noted that by utilising fashion as a means of communication, Tibetan activists were able to embody their political goals despite repression of speech and movement by political powerholders. However, a consistent fashion repertoire across protests in this Australian dataset was not found. The opportunities afforded by protected protest rights in Australia and absence of violent police repression of disruptive protests may be one explanation why distinctive dress such as the masks and black attire of Hong Kong pro-democracy protesters did not manifest in the dataset. Other scholars have observed that fashion sub-cultures also developed partly to express anti-establishment politics, such as the punk movement in the 1970s. Radical clothing accessorised by symbols, bright hair colours, body piercings, and heavy-duty books signalled opposition to the dominant political ideology (Craik). However, none of these purposes appeared to play a role in Australian environmental activism either. Instead, it appears that Maynard’s contention that Australian protest fashion barely deviates from everyday dress remains true today. Fashion within the events promoted in this large empirical dataset retained the ‘prevalence of everyday clothing’ (Maynard, Dress 111). The lack of a clearly discernible single protest fashion style within the dataset may be related to the shortcomings of the sender/receiver model of fashion communication. As Barnard (Fashion Statements) argued, fashion is not always used as a vehicle for conveying messages, but also as a platform for constructing and reproducing identity. Indeed, a multiplicity of researchers have noted how fashion acts as a signal of what social groups individuals belong to (see Roach-Higgins and Eicher). Activist groups have a variety of goals, which not only include promoting environmental change but also mobilising more people to join their cause (Gulliver et al., Understanding). Stereotyping can hinder achievement of these goals. It has been demonstrated, for example, that individuals who hold negative stereotypes of ‘typical’ activists are less likely to want to associate with them, and less likely to adopt their behaviours (Bashir et al.). Accordingly, some activist groups have been shown to actively promote dress associated with other identity groups, specifically to challenge cultural constructions of environmental activist stereotypes (see also Roces). For example, Bloomfield and Doolins’s study of the NZ anti-GE group MAdGE (Mothers against Genetic Engineering in Food and the Environment) demonstrated how visual protest artifacts conveyed the protesters’ social identity as mothers and customers rather than environmental activists, claiming an alternative cultural mandate for challenging the authority of science (see also Einwohner et al.). The data suggest that Australian activists are seeking to avoid this stereotype as well. The absence of a consistent fashion promoted within the dataset may reflect awareness of problematic stereotypes that activists may be then deliberately seeking to avoid. Maynard (Dress), for example, has noted how the everyday dress of Australian protesters serves to deflect stereotypical labelling of participants. This strategy is also mirrored by the changing nature of groups within the Australian environmental movement. The event database demonstrates that an increasing number of environmental groups are emerging with names highlighting non-stereotypical environmental identities: groups such as ‘Engineers Declare’ and ‘Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action’. Beyond these identity processes, the frequent use of costumed street theatre protest suggests that activists recognise the value of using fashion as a vehicle for communicating messages, despite the challenges of interpretation described above. Much of the language used to promote street theatre in the Facebook event listings suggests that these costumes were deliberately designed to signify a particular meaning, with individuals encouraged to dress up to be ‘a vehicle for myth and symbol’ (Lavender 11). It may be that costumes are also utilised in protest due to their suitability as an image event, convenient for dissemination by mass media seeking colourful and engaging imagery (Delicath and Deluca; Doerr). Furthermore, costumes, as with text or colours presented on t-shirts, may offer activists an avenue to clearly convey a visual message which is more resistant to stereotyping. This is especially relevant given that fashion can be re-interpreted and misinterpreted by audiences, as well as reframed and reinterpreted by the media (Maynard, Dress). While the prevalence of costumed performance and infrequent mentions of fashion in the dataset may be explained by stereotype avoidance and messaging clarity, sustainable fashion practices were more straightforward in intent. Groups used multiple approaches to educate audiences about sustainable fashion, whether through fostering sustainable fashion practices or raising awareness of fashion industry problems. In this regard, fashion in protest in Australia closely resembles Asian sustainable fashion activism (see e.g. Chon et al. regarding the Singaporean context). In particular, the large number of ‘crafternoons’ suggests their importance as sites of activism and community building. Craftivism – acts such as quilting banners, yarn bombing, and cross stitching feminist slogans – are used by many groups to draw attention to social, political and environmental issues (McGovern and Barnes). This type of ‘creative activism’ (Filippello) has been used to challenge aesthetic and political norms across a variety of contested socio-political landscapes. These activities not only develop activism skills, but also foster community (Barry and Drak). For environmental groups, these community building events can play a critical role in sustaining and supporting ongoing environmental activism (Gulliver et al., Understanding) as well as demonstrating solidarity with workers across Asia experiencing labour injustices linked to the fashion industry (Chung and Yim). Conclusion Studies examining protest fashion demonstrate that clothing provides a canvas for sharing protest messages and identities in both Asia and Australia (Benda; Yangzom; Craik). However, despite the fashion’s utility as communication tool for social and environmental movements, empirical studies of how fashion is used by activists in these contexts remain rare. This analysis demonstrates that Australian environmental activists use fashion in their action repertoire primarily through costumed street theatre performances and promoting sustainable fashion practices. By doing so they may be seeking to use fashion as a means of conveying messages, while avoiding stereotypes that can demobilise supporters and reduce support for their cause. Furthermore, sustainable fashion activism offers opportunities for activists to achieve multiple goals: to subvert the fast fashion industry, to provide participation avenues for new activists, to help build activist communities, and to express solidarity with those experiencing fast fashion-related labour injustices. These findings suggest that the use of fashion in protest actions can move beyond identity messaging to also enact sustainable practices while co-opting and resisting hegemonic ideas of consumerism. By integrating fashion into the vibrant and diverse actions promoted by environmental movements across Australia and Asia, activists can construct and perform identities while fostering the community bonds and networks from which movements demanding environmental change derive their strength. Ethics Approval Statement This study was approved by the Research Ethics Committee of the University of Queensland (2018000963). 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