Auswahl der wissenschaftlichen Literatur zum Thema „Shier's Participation Model“

Background For children 6-12 years old, there is a shortage of electronic Health (eHealth) services that promote their participation in health care. Therefore, a digital communication tool, called Sisom, was developed to give children a voice in their health care. Children with long-term diseases want to be more involved in their health care and have the right to receive information, be listened to, express their opinions, and participate in decision making in health care. However, the outcomes of using Sisom in practice at pediatric oncology clinics have not been investigated. Objective The aim of this study was to investigate children’s participation during appointments with pediatricians at pediatric oncology clinics, with or without the use of the eHealth service Sisom. Methods A quasiexperimental design with mixed methods was used. We analyzed 27 filmed appointments with pediatricians for 14 children (8 girls and 6 boys) aged 6-12 years (mean 8.3 years) with a cancer diagnosis. The intervention group consisted of children who used Sisom prior to their appointments with pediatricians at a pediatric oncology clinic, and the control group consisted of children who had appointments with pediatricians at 4 pediatric oncology clinics. Data from observations from the videos were quantitatively and qualitatively analyzed. The quantitative analysis included manual calculations of how many times the pediatricians spoke directly to the children, the proportion of the appointment time that the children were talking, and levels of participation by the children. For the qualitative analysis, we used directed content analysis to analyze the children’s levels of participation guided by a framework based on Shier’s model of participation. Results Pediatricians directed a greater proportion of their discussion toward the child in the intervention group (731 occasions) than in the control group (624 occasions), but the proportion of the appointment time the children talked was almost the same for both the intervention and control groups (mean 17.0 minutes vs 17.6 minutes). The levels of participation corresponded to the first three levels of Shier’s participation model: children were listened to, children were supported to express their views, and children’s views were taken into account. The results showed an increased level of participation by the children in the intervention group. Several codes that were found did not fit into any of the existing categories, and a new category was thus formed: children received information. Conclusions This study shows that the eHealth service Sisom can increase children’s participation during appointments with health care professionals. Further studies employing a randomized control design focusing on the effects of eHealth services on children’s health outcomes, perceived participation, and cost-effectiveness could make a significant contribution to guiding the implementation of eHealth services in pediatric care.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to investigate magneto-mechanical coupling occurring in magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) systems. The authors study influence of the strength of the background field on the coupling of mechanically isolated, conductive cylindrical structures and the so-called shields. This coupling has a strong impact on frequency-dependent thermal losses occurring in the shield structures which are of high importance in MRI systems. Design/methodology/approach In the investigations, numerical methods are applied. First, finite element methods taking into account the full magneto-mechanical coupling are used to investigate the coupled physical phenomena. As these calculations may be time-consuming, several approximate predictive methods are derived. Modal expansion factors and participation factors are based on combinations of structural eigenmode calculations and eddy current calculations using Biot–Savart representations of the dynamic gradient field. In addition, a parallelism factor expressed in terms of the shield vibrations is defined to measure the coupling between the distinct cylinders. Findings It is found that the strength of the background field strongly influences the coupling of the distinct shields, which strongly increases the parallelism of the shield vibrations. Furthermore, modal expansion and participation factors are significantly influenced, caused by frequency shifts due to magnetic stiffening and increased magnetic coupling. Research limitations/implications The current work is limited to the modal expansions of a single shield. This needs to be extended in the future as comparison of modal expansion factors and finite element simulation indicate. Originality/value The defined factors estimating parallelism and modal participation in magneto-mechanical coupling are original work and studied for the first time.

Purpose During the COVID-19 pandemic, the three-dimensional (3D) printing community is actively participating to address the supply chain gap of essential medical supplies such as face masks, face shields, door adapters, test swabs and ventilator valves. This paper aims to present a comprehensive study on the role of 3D printing during the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, its safety and its challenges. Design/methodology/approach This review paper focuses on the applications of 3D printing in the fight against COVID-19 along with the safety and challenges associated with 3D printing to fight COVID-19. The literature presented in this paper is collected from the journal indexing engines including Scopus, Google Scholar, ResearchGate, PubMed, Web of Science, etc. The main keywords used for searches were 3D printing COVID-19, Safety of 3D printed parts, Sustainability of 3D printing, etc. Further possible iterations of the keywords were used to collect the literature. Findings The applications of 3D printing in the fight against COVID-19 are 3D printed face masks, shields, ventilator valves, test swabs, drug deliveries and hands-free door adapters. As most of these measures are implemented hastily, the safety and reliability of these parts often lacked approval. The safety concerns include the safety of the printed parts, operators and secondary personnel such as the workers in material preparation and transportation. The future challenges include sustainability of the process, long term supply chain, intellectual property and royalty-free models, etc. Originality/value This paper presents a comprehensive study on the applications of 3D printing in the fight against COVID-19 with emphasis on the safety and challenges in it.

As the hospitality industry globally suffers persistent skills shortages, organisations are increasingly looking to non-traditional labour markets to fill vacancies. Indeed, hospitality has a long tradition of employing from society’s margins [1]. Research has shown hospitality firms are more likely than other industries to hire people experiencing disability [2]. Therefore, hospitality has the need, the tradition and the capacity to implement and support lasting change in the employment of disability youth. The Australian National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS), which is overhauling the sector and transforming the way persons experiencing disability access services, is modelled on research demonstrating the broader economic benefits of greater inclusive workforce participation [3]. The scheme is also consistent with the fact that employment is the key to exits from disadvantage for most people of working age [4]. Yet Australia ranks 21st out of 29 OECD nations in disability employment rates [5]. These poor rates of providing inclusive employment are often levelled at firms’ unwillingness to hire applicants with a disability [6]. In late 2016, a disability services provider (DSP) and a registered charity partnered in a mobile coffee cart social enterprise to create open employment pathways for a group of disability youth previously employed in the ‘sheltered workshop’ model. A 360-degree ethnography combining interview and observational methods [7] was designed to investigate the holistic experiences of the youth and to gain insights into the levers and barriers regarding open employment. The agency/structure dualism framed the study, as it is recognised that agency is in itself not sufficient when its expression is constrained by an individual’s social deficits and the legacies of their entrenched disadvantage [8]. In all, five ‘baristas’ experiencing disability (across 10 interviews), 11 co-workers/managers from the DSP and the charity, and 21 customers comprised the sample. Previous research has identified industry’s reticence to employ people with disability as a key barrier, despite ability and willingness to work [5]. This study, however, identified a complex range of structural factors inhibiting the agency of disability youth to self-determine towards open employment. These included a history of poor experiences in institutional settings (e.g. schooling and sporting), the safety and security of sheltered workshops, parental oversight and the staffing requirements of DSP social enterprises. Surprising individual-level factors were also manifest, including the inability to responsibly manage new- found workplace independence and an absence of extrinsic motivators to work – given that the disability youth enjoyed financial security regardless of earnings. This research challenges the conventional wisdom that organisations alone need to revisit their willingness, capacity and preparedness for providing accessible employment, and rather suggests that deep-seated structural factors, and their impacts on youth, require concomitant attention. Corresponding author Richard Robinson can be contacted at: richard.robinson@uq.edu.au References (1) Baum, T. Human Resources in Tourism: Still Waiting for Change? A 2015 Reprise. Tourism Management 2015, 50, 204–212. (2) Houtenville, A.; Kalargyrou, V. Employers’ Perspectives about Employing People with Disabilities. Cornell Hospitality Quarterly 2014, 56(2), 168–179. (3) Deloitte Access Economics. The Economic Benefits of Increasing Employment for People with Disability; Australian Network on Disability: Sydney, Australia, 2011. (4) McLachlan, R.; Gilfillan, G.; Gordon, J. Deep and Persistent Disadvantage in Australia; Productivity Commission Staff Working Paper: Canberra, Australia, 2013. (5) Darcy, S.A.; Taylor, T.; Green, J. 'But I Can Do the Job': Examining Disability Employment Practice through Human Rights Complaint Cases. Disability and Society 2016, 31(9), 1242–1274. (6) Lysaght, R.; Cobigo, V.; Hamilton, K. Inclusion as a Focus of Employment-Related Research in Intellectual Disability from 2000 to 2010: A Scoping Review. Disability and Rehabilitation 2012, 34(16), 1339–1350. (7) Sandiford, P. Participant Observation as Ethnography or Ethnography as Participant Observation in Organizational Research. In The Palgrave Handbook of Research Design in Business and Management; Strand K. (Ed.); Palgrave Macmillan: London, 2015; pp 411–446. (8) Graham, J.; Shier, M.; Eisenstat, M. Young Adult Social Networks and Labour Market Attachment. Journal of Social Policy 2015, 44(4), 769–786.

The concept of the “writer flâneur”, as developed by Walter Benjamin, sought to make sense of the seemingly chaotic nineteenth century city. While the flâneur provided a way for new urban structures to be ordered, it was also a transgressive act that involved engaging with urban spaces in new ways. In the contemporary city, where spaces are now heavily controlled and ordered, some members of the city’s socio-ecological community suffer as a result of idealistic notions of who and what belongs in the city, and how we must behave as urban citizens. Many of these ideals emerge from nineteenth century conceptions of the city in contrast to the country (Williams). However, a reimagining of the flâneur can allow for new transgressions of urban space and result in new literary imaginaries that capture the complexity of urban environments, question some of the more damaging processes and systems, offer new ways of connecting with the city, and propose alternative ways of living with the non-human in such places. With reference to the work of Debra Benita Shaw, Rob Shields and Donna Haraway, I will examine how the urban walking figure might be reimagined as cyborg, complicating boundaries between the real and imagined, the organic and inorganic, and between the human and non-human (Haraway Cyborgs). I will argue that the cyborg flâneur allows for new ways of writing and reading the urban and can work to reimagine the city as posthuman multispecies community. As one example of cyborg flânerie, I look to the app Story City to show how a writer can develop new environmental imaginaries in situ as an act of resistance against the anthropocentric ordering of the city. This article intends to begin a conversation about the ethical, political and epistemological potential of cyborg flânerie and leads to several questions which will require further research.Shaping the City: Environmental ImaginariesIn a sense, the flâneur is the product of a utopian imaginary of the city. According to Shields, Walter Benjamin used the flâneur as a literary device to make sense of the changing modern city of Paris: The flâneur is a hero who excels under the stress of coming to terms with a changing ‘social spatialisation’ of everyday social and economic relations which in the nineteenth century increasingly extended the world of the average person further and further to include rival mass tourism destinations linked by railroad, news of other European powers and distant colonies. This expanding spatialization took the form of economic realities such as changing labour markets and commodity prices and social encounters with strangers and foreigners which impinged on the life world of Europeans. (Fancy Footwork 67)Through his writing, these new spaces and inhabitants were made familiar again to those that lived there. In consequence, the flâneur was seen as a heroic figure who approached the city like a wilderness to be studied and tamed:Even to early 20th-century sociologists the flâneur was a heroic everyman—masculine, controlled and as in tune with his environment as James Fenimore Cooper’s Mohican braves were in their native forests. Anticipating the hardboiled hero of the detective novel, the flâneur pursued clues to the truth of the metropolis, attempting to think through its historical specificity, to inhabit it, even as the truth of empire and commodity capitalism was hidden from him. (Shields Flanerie 210)In this way, the flâneur was a stabilising force, categorising and therefore ordering the city. However, flânerie was also a transgressive act as the walker engaged in eccentric and idle wandering against the usual purposeful walking practices of the time (Coates). Drawing on this aspect, flânerie has increasingly been employed in the humanities and social sciences as a practice of resistance as Jamie Coates has shown. This makes the flâneur, albeit in a refigured form, a useful tool for transgressing strict socio-ecological conventions that affect the contemporary city.Marginalised groups are usually the most impacted by the strict control and ordering of contemporary urban spaces in response to utopian imaginaries of who and what belong. Marginalised people are discouraged and excluded from living in particular areas of the city through urban policy and commercial practices (Shaw 7). Likewise, certain non-human others, like birds, are allowed to inhabit our cities while those that don’t fit ideal urban imaginaries, like bats or snakes, are controlled, excluded or killed (Low). Defensive architecture, CCTV, and audio deterrents are often employed in cities to control public spaces. In London, the spiked corridor of a shop entrance designed to keep homeless people from sleeping there (Andreou; Borromeo) mirrors the spiked ledges that keep pigeons from resting on buildings (observed 2012/2014). On the Gold Coast youths are deterred from loitering in public spaces with classical music (observed 2013–17), while in Brisbane predatory bird calls are played near outdoor restaurants to discourage ibis from pestering customers (Hinchliffe and Begley). In contrast, bright lights, calming music and inviting scents are used to welcome orderly consumers into shopping centres while certain kinds of plants are cultivated in urban parks and gardens to attract acceptable wildlife like butterflies and lorikeets (Wilson; Low). These ways of managing public spaces are built on utopian conceptions of the city as a “civilising” force—a place of order, consumption and safety.As environmental concerns become more urgent, it is important to re-examine these conceptions of urban environments and the assemblage of environmental imaginaries that interact and continue to shape understandings of and attitudes towards human and non-human nature. The network of goods, people and natural entities that feed into and support the city mean that imaginaries shaped in urban areas influence both urban and surrounding peoples and ecologies (Braun). Local ecologies also become threatened as urban structures and processes continue to encompass more of the world’s populations and locales, often displacing and damaging entangled natural/cultural entities in the process. Furthermore, conceptions and attitudes shaped in the city often feed into global systems and as such can have far reaching implications for the way local ecologies are governed, built, and managed. There has already been much research, including work by Lawrence Buell and Ursula Heise, on the contribution that art and literature can make to the development of environmental imaginaries, whether intentional or unintentional, and resulting in both positive and negative associations with urban inhabitants (Yusoff and Gabrys; Buell; Heise). Imaginaries might be understood as social constructs through which we make sense of the world and through which we determine cultural and personal values, attitudes and beliefs. According to Neimanis et al., environmental imaginaries help us to make sense of the way physical environments shape “one’s sense of social belonging” as well as how we “formulate—and enact—our values and attitudes towards ‘nature’” (5). These environmental imaginaries underlie urban structures and work to determine which aspects of the city are valued, who is welcomed into the city, and who is excluded from participation in urban systems and processes. The development of new narrative imaginaries can question some of the underlying assumptions about who or what belongs in the city and how we might settle conflicts in ecologically diverse communities. The reimagined flâneur then might be employed to transgress traditional notions of belonging in the city and replace this with a sense of “becoming” in relation with the myriad of others inhabiting the city (Haraway The Trouble). Like the Benjaminian flâneur, the postmodern version enacts a similar transgressive walking practice. However, the postmodern flâneur serves to resist dominant narratives, with a “greater focus on the tactile and grounded qualities of walking” than the traditional flâneur—and, as opposed to the lone detached wanderer, postmodern flâneur engage in a network of social relationships and may even wander in groups (Coates 32). By employing the notion of the postmodern flâneur, writers might find ways to address problematic urban imaginaries and question dominant narratives about who should and should not inhabit the city. Building on this and in reference to Haraway (Cyborgs), the notion of a cyborg flâneur might take this resistance one step further, not only seeking to counter the dominant social narratives that control urban spaces but also resisting anthropocentric notions of the city. Where the traditional flâneur walked a pet tortoise on a leash, the cyborg flâneur walks with a companion species (Shields Fancy Footwork; Haraway Companion Species). The distinction is subtle. The traditional flâneur walks a pet, an object of display that showcases the eccentric status of the owner. The cyborg flâneur walks in mutual enjoyment with a companion (perhaps a domestic companion, perhaps not); their path negotiated together, tracked, and mapped via GPS. The two acts may at first appear the same, but the difference is in the relationship between the human, non-human, and the multi-modal spaces they occupy. As Coates argues, not everyone who walks is a flâneur and similarly, not everyone who engages in relational walking is a cyborg flâneur. Rather a cyborg flâneur enacts a deliberate practice of walking in relation with naturecultures to transgress boundaries between human and non-human, cultural and natural, and the virtual, material and imagined spaces that make up a place.The Posthuman City: Cyborgs, Hybrids, and EntanglementsIn developing new environmental imaginaries, posthuman conceptions of the city can be drawn upon to readdress urban space as complex, questioning utopian notions of the city particularly as they relate to the exclusion of certain others, and allowing for diverse socio-ecological communities. The posthuman city might be understood in opposition to anthropocentric notions where the non-human is seen as something separate to culture and in need of management and control within the human sphere of the city. Instead, the posthuman city is a complex entanglement of hybrid non-human, cultural and technological entities (Braun; Haraway Companion Species). The flâneur who experiences the city through a posthuman lens acknowledges the human as already embodied and embedded in the non-human world. Key to re-imagining the city is recognising the myriad ways in which non-human nature also acts upon us and influences decisions on how we live in cities (Schliephake 140). This constitutes a “becoming-with each other”, in Haraway’s terms, which recognises the interdependency of urban inhabitants (The Trouble 3). In re-considering the city as a negotiated process between nature and culture rather than a colonisation of nature by culture, the agency of non-humans to contribute to the construction of cities and indeed environmental imaginaries must be acknowledged. Living in the posthuman city requires us humans to engage with the city on multiple levels as we navigate the virtual, corporeal, and imagined spaces that make up the contemporary urban experience. The virtual city is made up of narratives projected through media productions such as tourism campaigns, informational plaques, site markers, and images on Google map locations, all of which privilege certain understandings of the city. Virtual narratives serve to define the city through a network of historical and spatially determined locales. Closely bound up with the virtual is the imagined city that draws on urban ideals, potential developments, mythical or alternative versions of particular cities as well as literary interpretations of cities. These narratives are overlaid on the places that we engage with in our everyday lived experiences. Embodied encounters with the city serve to reinforce or counteract certain virtual and imagined versions while imagined and virtual narratives enhance locales by placing current experience within a temporal narrative that extends into the past as well as the future. Walking the City: The Cyber/Cyborg FlâneurThe notion of the cyber flâneur emerged in the twenty-first century from the practices of idly surfing the Internet, which in many ways has become an extension of the cityscape. In the contemporary world where we exist in both physical and digital spaces, the cyber flâneur (and indeed its cousin the virtual flâneur) have been employed to make sense of new digital sites of connection, voyeurism, and consumption. Metaphors that evoke the city have often been used to describe the experience of the digital including “chat rooms”, “cyber space”, and “home pages” while new notions of digital tourism, the rise of online shopping, and meeting apps have become substitutes for engaging with the physical sites of cities such as shopping malls, pubs, and attractions. The flâneur and cyberflâneur have helped to make sense of the complexities and chaos of urban life so that it might become more palatable to the inhabitants, reducing anxieties about safety and disorder. However, as with the concept of the flâneur, implicit in the cyberflâneur is a reinforcement of traditional urban hierarchies and social structures. This categorising has also worked to solidify notions of who belongs and who does not. Therefore, as Debra Benita Shaw argues, the cyberflâneur is not able to represent the complexities of “how we inhabit and experience the hybrid spaces of contemporary cities” (3). Here, Shaw suggests that Haraway’s cyborg might be used to interrupt settled boundaries and to reimagine the urban walking figure. In both Shaw and Shields (Flanerie), the cyborg is invoked as a solution to the problematic figure of the flâneur. While Shaw presents these figures in opposition and proposes that the flâneur be laid to rest as the cyborg takes its place, I argue that the idea of the flâneur may still have some use, particularly when applied to new multi-modal narratives. As Shields demonstrates, the cyborg operates in the virtual space of simulation rather than at the material level (217). Instead of setting up an opposition between the cyborg and flâneur, these figures might be merged to bring the cyborg into being through the material practice of flânerie, while refiguring the flâneur as posthuman. The traditional flâneur sought to define space, but the cyborg flâneur might be seen to perform space in relation to an entangled natural/cultural community. By drawing on this notion of the cyborg, it becomes possible to circumvent some of the traditional associations with the urban walking figure and imagine a new kind of flâneur, one that walks the streets as an act to complicate rather than compartmentalise urban space. As we emerge into a post-truth world where facts and fictions blur, creative practitioners can find opportunities to forge new ways of knowing, and new ways of connecting with the city through the cyborg flâneur. The development of new literary imaginaries can reconstruct natural/cultural relationships and propose alternative ways of living in a posthuman and multispecies community. The rise of smart-phone apps like Story City provides cyborg flâneurs with the ability to create digital narratives overlaid on real places and has the potential to encourage real connections with urban environments. While these apps are by no means the only activity that a cyborg flâneur might participate in, they offer the writer a platform to engage audiences in a purposeful and transgressive practice of cyborg flânerie. Such narratives produced through cyborg flânerie would conflate virtual, corporeal, and imagined experiences of the city and allow for new environmental imaginaries to be created in situ. The “readers” of these narratives can also become cyborg flâneurs as the traditional urban wanderer is combined with the virtual and imagined space of the contemporary city. As opposed to wandering the virtual city online, readers are encouraged to physically walk the city and engage with the narrative in situ. For example, in one narrative, readers are directed to walk a trail along the Brisbane river or through the CBD to chase a sea monster (Wilkins and Diskett). The reader can choose different pre-set paths which influence the outcome of each story and embed the story in a physical location. In this way, the narrative is layered onto the real streets and spaces of the cityscape. As the reader is directed to walk particular routes through the city, the narratives which unfold are also partly constructed by the natural/cultural entities which make up those locales establishing a narrative practice which engages with the urban on a posthuman level. The murky water of the Brisbane River could easily conceal monsters. Occasional sightings of crocodiles (Hall), fish that leap from the water, and shadows cast by rippling waves as the City Cat moves across the surface impact the experience of the story (observed 2016–2017). Potential exists to capitalise on this narrative form and develop new environmental imaginaries that pay attention to the city as a posthuman place. For example, a narrative might direct the reader’s attention to the networks of water that hydrate people and animals, allow transportation, and remove wastes from the city. People may also be directed to explore their senses within place, be encouraged to participate in sensory gardens, or respond to features of the city in new ways. The cyborg flâneur might be employed in much the same way as the flâneur, to help the “reader” make sense of the posthuman city, where boundaries are shifted, and increasing rates of social and ecological change are transforming contemporary urban sites and structures. Shields asks whether the cyborg might also act as “a stabilising figure amidst the collapse of dualisms, polluted categories, transgressive hybrids, and unstable fluidity” (Flanerie 211). As opposed to the traditional flâneur however, this “stabilising” figure doesn’t sort urban inhabitants into discrete categories but maps the many relations between organisms and technologies, fictions and realities, and the human and non-human. The cyborg flâneur allows for other kinds of “reading” of the city to take place—including those by women, families, and non-Western inhabitants. As opposed to the nineteenth century reader-flâneur, those who read the city through the Story City app are also participants in the making of the story, co-constructing the narrative along with the author and locale. I would argue this participation is a key feature of the cyborg flâneur narrative along with the transience of the narratives which may alter and eventually expire as urban structures and environments change. Not all those who engage with these narratives will necessarily enact a posthuman understanding and not all writers of these narratives will do so as cyborg flâneurs. Nevertheless, platforms such as Story City provide writers with an opportunity to engage participants to question dominant narratives of the city and to reimagine themselves within a multispecies community. In addition, by bringing readers into contact with the human and non-human entities that make up the city, there is potential for real relationships to be established. Through new digital platforms such as apps, writers can develop new environmental imaginaries that question urban ideals including conceptions about who belongs in the city and who does not. The notion of the cyborg is a useful concept through which to reimagine the city as a negotiated process between nature and culture, and to reimagine the flâneur as performer who becomes part of the posthuman city as they walk the streets. This article provides one example of cyborg flânerie in smart-phone apps like Story City that allow writers to construct new urban imaginaries, bring the virtual and imagined city into the physical spaces of the urban environment, and can act to re-place the reader in diverse socio-ecological communities. The reader then becomes both product and constructer of urban space, a cyborg flâneur in the cyborg city. This conversation raises further questions about the cyborg flâneur, including: how might cyborg flânerie be enacted in other spaces (rural, virtual, more-than-human)? What other platforms and narrative forms might cyborg flâneurs use to share their posthuman narratives? How might cyborg flânerie operate in other cities, other cultures and when adopted by marginalised groups? In answering these questions, the potential and limitations of the cyborg flâneur might be refined. The hope is that one day the notion of a cyborg flâneur will no longer necessary as the posthuman city becomes a space of negotiation rather than exclusion. ReferencesAndreou, Alex. “Anti-Homeless Spikes: ‘Sleeping Rough Opened My Eyes to the City’s Barbed Cruelty.’” The Guardian 19 Feb. 2015. 25 Aug. 2017 <https://www.theguardian.com/society/2015/feb/18/defensive-architecture-keeps-poverty-undeen-and-makes-us-more-hostile>.Borromeo, Leah. “These Anti-Homeless Spikes Are Brutal. We Need to Get Rid of Them.” The Guardian 23 Jul. 2015. 25 Aug. 2017 <https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/jul/23/anti-homeless-spikes-inhumane-defensive-architecture>.Braun, Bruce. “Environmental Issues: Writing a More-than-Human Urban Geography.” Progress in Human Geography 29.5 (2005): 635–50. Buell, Lawrence. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination. Malden: Blackwell, 2005.Coates, Jamie. “Key Figure of Mobility: The Flâneur.” Social Anthropology 25.1 (2017): 28–41.Hall, Peter. “Crocodiles Spotted in Queensland: A Brief History of Sightings and Captures in the Southeast.” The Courier Mail 4 Jan. 2017. 20 Aug. 2017 <http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/crocodiles-spotted-in-queensland-a-brief-history-of-sightings-and-captures-in-the-southeast/news-story/5fbb2d44bf3537b8a6d1f6c8613e2789>.Haraway, Donna J. Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham: Duke UP, 2016.———. The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness. Vol. 1. Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2003.———. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. Oxon: Routledge, 1991.Heise, Ursula K. Sense of Place and Sense of Planet: The Environmental Imagination of the Global. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. Hinchliffe, Jessica, and Terri Begley. “Brisbane’s Angry Birds: Recordings No Deterrent for Nosey Ibis at South Bank.” ABC News 2 Jun. 2015. 25 Aug. 2017 <http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-02-06/recorded-bird-noise-not-detering-south-banks-angry-birds/6065610>.Low, Tim. The New Nature: Winners and Losers in Wild Australia. London: Penguin, 2002.Neimanis, Astrid, Cecilia Asberg, and Suzi Hayes. “Posthumanist Imaginaries.” Research Handbook on Climate Governance. Eds. K. Bäckstrand and E. Lövbrand. Massachusetts: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2015. 480–90.Schliephake, Christopher. Urban Ecologies: City Space, Material Agency, and Environmental Politics in Contemporary Culture. Maryland: Lexington Books, 2014.Shaw, Debra Benita. “Streets for Cyborgs: The Electronic Flâneur and the Posthuman City.” Space and Culture 18.3 (2015): 230–42.Shields, Rob. “Fancy Footwork: Walter Benjamin’s Notes on Flânerie.” The Flâneur. Ed. Keith Tester. London: Routledge, 2014. 61–80.———. “Flânerie for Cyborgs.” Theory, Culture & Society 23.7-8 (2006): 209–20.Yusoff, Kathryn, and Jennifer Gabrys. “Climate Change and the Imagination.” Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Climate Change 2.4 (2011): 516–34.Wilkins, Kim, and Joseph Diskett. 9 Fathom Deep. Brisbane: Story City, 2014. Williams, Raymond. The Country and the City. New York: Oxford UP, 1975.Wilson, Alexander. The Culture of Nature: North American Landscape from Disney to the Exxon Valdez. Toronto: Between the Lines, 1991.

History, State of and Necessity for Research on the Roman and Migration Period Military Equipment from Poland. Subjective Approach (Despite Good Intentions)Significant studies on military equipment from the Roman Period have been initiated by Martin Jahn (1916a; 1921). For many years his works have been the main point of reference for research on weaponry of the Germanic peoples. This picture has not been changed radically by the post-war works of Klaus Raddatz, devoted mostly to the Germanic military equipment in the Late Pre-Roman Period (1966), Younger Roman Period (1967), and wide spectrum from the Late Pre-Roman until the Migration Period (1985). Although important at the time, they were insufficiently involving inner cultural diversity of the ‘Germanic’ world, presenting the issue from the first and foremost northern European perspective.After the war the studies on weaponry of the Central European Barbaricumhave been based mostly on the materials of the Przeworsk culture, due to abundance of military equipment in graves of this cultural unit. It is achronicler’s duty to mention rather unsuccessful work of Janina Elantkowska (1961), but then underline also the fundamental works of Kazimierz Godłowski in the field of chronology of weapon graves (1970; 1992; 1994), enabling further, more precise works on armaments of the Przeworsk culture. This scholar has educated several hoplologists, experts in archaeological military equipment (active – just like him – at the Jagiellonian University) who broaden the knowledge in this field considerably. Among those one should name especially Piotr Kaczanowski (1988) – the author of the studies on inlaid pole weapon heads, finds of imported weapons from the area of Barbaricum (Kaczanowski 1992) or the classification of heads of shafted weapons from the Przeworsk culture (Kaczanowski 1995). The latter is especially important, because establishing typologies and chronology of the pole weapon heads enabled further studies on military equipment in multiple aspects, thanks to the ability to precisely date graves equipped only with spear- or javelin heads, until that time dated very widely. Equally important person ‘descended’ from Kraków is Marcin Biborski, to whom academics owe research on Barbarian and Roman swords from the Barbarian Europe (Biborski 1978; 1994a; 1994b; 1994c; 1994d; Biborski, Ilkjær 2006); he has also begun the discourse on the ritual weapon destruction (Biborski 1981), as well as decorations of shafted weapon heads and swords (1986). Both aforementioned researchers have initiated the metal analysis of swords, which enabled devising of criteria for identification of the Roman imports (Biborski et alii1982; 2003). In the Kraków’s academia the classification of spurs has also been developed (Ginalski 1991), as well as axes (Kieferling 1994). Acomplement to the abovementioned is the study of weapon sets from graves, i.e. Germ. Waffenkombination issue (Kontny 2001; 2002; 2003a; 2008b), and – embracing broader territorial range – studies on pole weapon heads ornamented with astitch-like pattern (Kontny 2008a) and negative ornament on their blades (Kontny 2017a), or an eye-motif decoration placed at the sockets (Czarnecka, Kontny 2008), as well as the newest registers of watery deposits of weapons from the area of Poland (Kontny forthcoming b).Piotr Kaczanowski has also initiated the studies on weaponry of the Wielbark culture (Kaczanowski, Zaborowski 1988). Due to the specifics of burial rituals (taboo on weapons in grave goods) the research on arms of the Wielbark culture has arather short history. In the aforementioned work singular finds of weapons from graves have been used, interpreted by enduring traditions of the Oksywie culture – in the period of the Wielbark culture formation – or the Przeworsk culture – at the former areas of this cultural unit, later occupied by the Wielbark culture peoples. What was used there abundantly was the archival source – the files of Martin Jahn, in which one could find notes and sketches presenting finds of weapons from, i.a. Pomerania. However, the authors did not refer to written sources, especially very important remark of Tacitus (Tacyt, Germania 44, 1) about short swords and round shields, which were supposed to be distinctive for the peoples of Gotones, Rugii, and Lemovii, associated with the area of the Wiebark culture. This gap has been filled, which gave an opportunity for verification of the part of archaeological sources for reconstruction of the Wielbark military equipment and complementing their list (Kontny 2006a; 2008d).The usefulness of the accounts of Tacitus for the reconstruction of weapons from the Roman Period occurred to be insignificant, but it came to light that the Roman author had not always used the contemporaneous sources (the aforementioned description fits the picture of weaponry of the Oksywie culture). Discoveries of further Wielbark military objects as well as the renewed analysis of the discovery from Żarnowiec (Kontny 2006b) considerably broaden the database of sources and were used to formulate the working hypothesis about the influence of the Przeworsk model on the Wielbark military equipment in the Early Roman and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period, later replaced by the Scandinavian pattern (Kontny 2006b, 152; 2008d, 195). The probability of this concept grew, since the analysis of male belts led to similar inferences (Madyda-Legutko 2015). Therefore, the need for verification of the suggested picture occurred, with the use of possibly complete corpus of Wielbark military finds; all the more because the issue was complicated by the discovery of the inhumation burial with asword and sword bead in Juszkowo near Pruszcz Gdański, i.e. in the area of the important settlement centre of the Wielbark culture. The grave is dated to the time of the decline of this cultural unit (Dyrda, Kontny, Mączyńska 2014; Kontny, Mączyńska 2015). In effect, the synthesis of the Wielbark military equipment has been developed (Kontny 2019a, 69–113), in which it was possible to confirm the Przeworsk inspirations to Wielbark armaments in the Early Roman Period and subphase C1a, as well as to notice later influences of the northern European weaponry model. What was added to this picture was the probable introduction into the sphere of nomadic influences in the terminal stadium of the Wielbark culture, suggesting, that it was in fact the eastern-Germanic-type weaponry then, in which the nomadic influences are quite noticeable, manifesting in the adaptation of bow and trilobate arrows with rhomboid blades, as well as spathae of the Asian type. It was also possible to classify some conceptions formulated in the pioneering work; thus, the suggestion of the Wielbark origins of the negative ornament on shafted weapon heads has been rejected (Kontny 2017a), as well as the one about the important role of abow in the Wielbark armamentarium (Kontny 2019a, 85–87). On the other hand, in the light of current research the idea of the axes’ importance seems valid (Kontny 2019a, 83–85; 2019c,154–158).As opposed to the weapons, the Wielbark spurs were analyzed on multiple occasions. The newest classification of Wielbark spurs (Smółka 2014, 48–51) was mentioned only in the form of summary of the unpublished M.A. thesis and therefore it is hard to refer to it in details and evaluate it. It is beyond doubt, however, that spurs from the Early Roman and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period, in principle, were based on Przeworsk forms – with obvious differences in material (the lack of iron examples in graves, which is conditioned by the burial rituals), slight morphological ones, as well as the larger popularity of the chair-shaped examples (Germ. Stuhlsporen). In the later timespan one should notice more explicit northern European influences, although along with the preservation of arangeof local forms (Kontny 2019a, 87–88), and at the dawn of the Wielbark culture’s existence one might indicate the examples of spurs having been imported or inspired by Roman solutions (Kontny 2020, 673–675; Kontny, Michalak 2020). These observations, to the large extent, inscribe into the general dynamics of changes in the Wielbark military equipment. Asaresearch objective one should recognise the intensification of studies on watery deposits, as at some sacrificial sites of this kind Wielbark-culture arms have been discovered.In the last few years there has been ahuge advancement in the research on weapons of the West Balt cultural circle from the area of north-eastern Poland. This issue has been basically unrecognised until recently, and the progress is owed to discovery and dissemination of the archives and collections of the former Prussia-Museum, as well as private files of scholars active in the pre-war period. Currently the researchers have at their disposal the studies on Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures’ swords from the Roman Period (Kontny 2017b; see Nowakowski 1994; 2007) as well as seaxes of the Elbląg and Olsztyn group from the Late Migration Period (Kontny 2013a; 2019a, 142–147; see Prassolow 2018). Besides, the idea of the use of battle knives has been rejected, as they were too short to serve this purpose (Kontny 2019a, 128–129). The earliest (Kontny 2007a) and latest (Kontny 2008c) finds of weapons from Bogaczewo culture have been elaborated, which allowed to establish the timeframes of the phenomenon of including weapons in grave inventories: from the dawn of the Late Pre-Roman Period until subphase C1b. Particular categories of blunt weapons have been comprehensively analyzed, i.e. socketed axes (weapon characteristic for the West Balt circle and some areas of eastern Europe) and axes from Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures (Kontny 2016a; 2018). Furthermore, the issue of using the organic blunt weapons has been introduced, which popularity in the Balt milieu is suggested by the Tacitus’ remark about fustis. It has been established (Kontny 2015a) that such weapon has been used in the West Balt Barrows culture, but most probably it has not played any important role in the Roman Period, and the account of Tacitus is (in this aspect) anachronic. Elaboration of shafted weapon heads (Kontny 2007b) has shown that examples from the Bogaczewo culture imitate solutions known from the Przeworsk culture, although they show some local features (e.g. asocket is frequently mounted on ashaft with ause of asingle nail, and not rivet, as it was in the Przeworsk culture). On the other hand, in the Sudovian culture similar inspirations might be indicated only in the earliest stadium of its development and they are rather scarce. Shafted weapons match, however, the Lithuanian pattern, proposed by Vytautas Kazakâvičius (Kazakâvičius 1988, 12–63). One can also encounter here the Scandinavian imports. In the case of the Sudovian culture it was also possible to attempt to reconstruct sizes of shafted weapons, thanks to the analysis of the position of their heads in inhumation graves (Kontny 2019a, 119–124). It was also indicated that the significance of javelins in both cultures is rather scarce, which manifests in the sporadic presence of more than one weapon head in grave inventories (Kontny 2019a, 119, table 1), as well as the sparsity of barbed heads (Nowakowski 2014). The influences of the Przeworsk culture are noticeable also in the decorations of weapon heads (see: Kontny 2008a; 2017a; Czarnecka, Kontny 2008). Only recently the topic of bow and arrows from the Bogaczewo and Sudovian cultures has been introduced. They were mainly used for hunting purposes (Kontny 2019a, 137–139). Equine equipment is quite well-represented in the Balt area, the proof of which are quite numerous finds of headgear and horse tack with chain reins, requiring – similarly to spurs – comprehensive studies (see Kontny 2019a, 139–141). On the presented background the research on Balt shields from the area of Poland seems at adisadvantage. It is necessary to challenge the possibility of an uncritical use of the (still incomplete) classification of middle-European shield-bosses and grips for the analysis of the Balt examples, as they indicate adifferent rhythm of popularity and morphological development, and in the same time also arange of primitive features (shield-bosses assembled from two parts, joint with rivets) and archaisms in construction (e.g. many attaching points at the brim; using big disc-headed nails and rivets as late as the Roman Period). It is also important to notice the large diversification in morphology of shield-bosses with blunt apex and probability of popularity of wooden shield-bosses (Kontny 2019a, 132–133, fig. 25), as well as the use of metal supports of shield constructions (Kontny 2019a, 136, fig. 30). The reconstruction of the shape of Sudovian culture shields was also proposed, on the basis of the location of shield elements in inhumation graves (Kontny forthcoming a).Numerous are the finds of the military equipment of the so-called Lubusz group (see the paper by Bartłomiej Rogalski in the hereby volume), located by the lower Oder River in the Early Roman Period and the beginnings of the Younger Roman Period. Distinctive feature of this cultural unit is the use of cremation and including into graves burnt and sometimes – by the Przeworsk custom – destroyed weapons. Studies of this issue still have not been fully published, although it has been approached for some time now (Wołągiewiczowie 1964); aM.A. dissertation was even written on this topic (Czarnecka 1995). The theses, which have been included there, became obsolete due to the rapid increase in the archaeological record, i.a. thanks to the fieldwork at the necropolis in Czelin, as well as the lake sacrificial site in Lubanowo. On the basis of the hitherto observations, it has to be acknowledged that the model of the military equipment is very similar to the solutions known from the Przeworsk culture (Kontny 2019b, 349). The forms of shafted weapon heads, single- or double-edged 74B. Kontnyswords, shield-bosses, grips, and even arrowheads and spurs (with the documented exam-ples of the so-called bow-shaped – Germ. Bügelsporen – and chair-shaped spurs correspond with the Przeworsk prototypes. There are no axes known from burial grounds of the Lubusz group so far, which diversifies it from the Wielbark-culture armament, and shows even more ties with the military equipment of the Przeworsk culture. However, their presence has been confirmed at the sacrificial sites; it is possible that the weapons discovered there have been seized from the defeated Wielbark-culture invaders from the east (similar interpretation is accepted for the analogical northern European deposits). Scarce examples of weapons from the dawn of the Lubusz group refer to the solutions known from Scandinavia. It is thus probable that the change, which can be observed here, is analogous to the process known from the Wielbark culture.Basically unrecognised remains the military equipment of the Dębczyno group, which superseded the Wielbark culture in Western Pomerania in the Younger Roman Period and functioned until the Migration Period. Also in the case of Luboszyce culture what is lacking is the synthetic approach towards the issue of military equipment from the typological and chronological point of view. The finds of weapons were collected in the monograph of this culture; the attention has been paid in this case to the diversity from the Przeworsk model of military equipment, expressed in the use of axes (their classification was proposed); singular ties to the Scandinavian patterns have been observed (Domański 1979, 43–54), although one cannot find here comprehensive analysis of the issue. Adissertation devoted to military equipment of the Luboszyce culture has been written lately; unfortunately, it was not printed (Demkowicz 2014); only some of the issues approached there were published (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015a; 2015b; 2016). They indicate the emulation – with slight modifications – the Przeworsk-culture model of weaponry in the early phases of development of the Luboszyce culture (phase C1), which might be indicated e.g. by the forms of shafted weapon heads and spurs, while new elements, such as asymmetric axes parallel to the ones known from the Elbe region, became numerous only from the C2 phase (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015a; 2015b; 2016). Scandinavian elements are represented i.a. by the knives with along grip, associated with the equipment of warriors (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz2016), although most probably not used in battle. Among the Scandinavian forms one might indicate also range of pole weapon heads (Andrzejewska, Demkowicz 2015b, 119), as well as ashield-boss and grip from the grave XII at Grzmiąca (Marcinkian 1978, 98, fig. 14:g,h).One has to notice new possibilities which occurred in amoment when the picture of diversities in the military equipment of the cultures: Przeworsk, Sudovian, Bogaczewo, and Wielbark has been recognised (see the synthesis of the hoplological research: Kontny 2019a), as well as – reaching beyond the borders of Poland – northern European Barbaricum, and – partly – Elbe circle. It presents possibilities of creating comparative models of military equipment, indicating mutual influences and reconstructing their mechanisms. Already now it was possible to indicate the culture-forming position of the Przeworsk pattern of military equipment in the Early Roman Period and subphase C1a; in the later time asimilar role was played by the Scandinavian model, although this influence was not that standardizing (Kontny 2019c). It was also possible to identify Przeworsk-culture and Balt archaeological materials at the chosen sacrificial sites in Scandinavia (Kontny 2017c; 2019e), as well as Crimea (Kontny 2013c). It allowed to form ahypothesis on undertaking even far-going military expeditions by the warriors from the area of current Poland in the Roman Period, while participating in frequently ethnically heterogeneous war bands (Kontny 2003b; 2019d); it can clarify, to some extent, also some changes in cultural ranges. Fuller knowledge of the picture of military equipment diversity in Barbaricum (paying attention especially to the analysis of the shafted weapon heads, being agood indication of the cultural affiliation) will allow to continue similar comparisons and deepen the knowledge in the field of history of wars in Barbaricum, on the top of that, reconstructed without any precise data from the written sources. Northern European sacrificial sites showed huge potential which is presented by this kind of studies. Such direction is even more promising because the studies of lake and riverine deposits identified lately in the area of Poland should create new research perspectives, although they not necessarily have acharacter identical to – truly not homogeneous – Scandinavian sites. It seems that there is an abundance of the most exciting topics for along time!

Let me walk. Let me go at my own pace. Let me feel life as it moves through me and around me. Give me drama. Give me unexpected curvilinear corners. Give me unsettling churches and beautiful storefronts and parks I can lie down in. The city turns you on, gets you going, moving, thinking, wanting, engaging (Elkin 37, emphasis our own). Walking Is ThinkingAs feet pound the pavement, synaptic movement follows. To clear the head, one must get up and walk.In her 2016 book Flaneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London, Lauren Elkin traces the figure of the walking woman— often herself—through literary and artistic movements and the metropolis. She explores the act of flânerie, of wandering the city, as performed by George Sand, Virginia Woolf and Martha Gellhorn, amongst other peripatetic female thinkers. For Elkin, walking is at once an act of protest, of pleasure, a way to navigate personal pain, but also a way of thinking. She writes, “sometimes I walk because I have things on my mind, and walking helps me sort them out” (21).In “On the Rhythms of Walking and Seeing: Two Walks across the Page”, Evija Trofimova and Sophie Nicholls take this further, and amble towards one another thoughtfully, but from other sides of the globe. They address Elkins’s “sorting out” by coming together, not in the physical, but on the page. They address the frustration that can occur before the words appear on the page, when we as writers are “stuck”—and how moving away from the static confines of the office, away from the desk, and going for a walk, makes the work much richer when we return. Yet walking is more than that again: Trofimova and Nicholls also demonstrate how companionable the act of walking is, and how co-writing can achieve this simpatico too. Their essay is a conversation, a walk together, a work together. It is rhythmic and roaming, and like Elkin, references thinkers who have relied on the ramble to relieve the block.Walking Is WritingWhile we were editing this issue, Rebecca Solnit’s book Wanderlust: A History of Walking appeared on the reference list of many articles we received. Wanderlust, first published in 2001, has become a contemporary classic—part of a “Walking Canon”, if you will—for its exhaustive study of walking and its artistic, philosophical, and political histories. Like Trofimova and Nicholls, Daniel Juckes also engages with Solnit’s work in his article “Walking as Practice and Prose as Path Making: How Life Writing and Journey can Intersect.” Reflecting on W. G. Sebald, Marcel Proust, and the family memoir he was writing, Juckes refers to Solnit’s discussion of the connection between place, path, and memory. He writes that “if a person is searching for some kind of possible-impossible grounding in the past, then walking pace is the pace at which to achieve that sensation (both in the world and on the page).” Like in dreams, this realm of im/possibility can occur through writing, but is also fostered through walking. As Solnit reminds us, “exploring the world is one of the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains” (13). In Juckes’s work we see how walking and memory can be intimately connected; how both, as Juckes puts it, are bound up in “the making of connections between present and past,” as we tread across old associations and they are made anew.Walking Is PrivilegeAs we discuss the pedestrian benefits of walking, it would be remiss to fail to acknowledge those with restricted mobility due to a disability or illness. Ableism permeates the world we live in. As such, an important aspect of this issue is examining how issues relating to dis/ability are a critical part of discourses around walking, and highlight inequities in access and the language we use to discuss it.We are particularly proud of Chingshun Sheu’s article, “Forced Excursion: Walking as Disability in Joshua Ferris’s The Unnamed”, which engages with disability theory in its discussion of Ferris’s 2010 novel. In Ferris’s text, the protagonist’s involuntary stints of walking to exhaustion appear as disability, affecting his work, relationships and ultimately, his mortality. Sheu uses the text to explore the complexity and limitations of disability models, noting that “disability exists only at the confluence of differently abled minds and bodies and unaccommodating social and physical environs.”Walking Is PosthumanChantelle Bayes approaches these unaccommodating environs from a different angle, discussing how “marginalised groups are usually the most impacted by the strict control and ordering of contemporary urban spaces in response to utopian imaginaries of who and what belong.” Bayes’s article, “The Cyborg Flâneur: Reimagining Urban Nature through the Act of Walking”, recasts Benjamin’s flâneur as cyborg, drawing on feminist writings from Debra Benita Shaw, Rob Shields, and Donna Haraway—the latter of whom is particularly influential for her recent contributions to eco-feminist thought. Bayes takes us into virtual urban spaces, by examining how a revisionist concept of flânerie can be reconfigured online, allowing “for new environmental imaginaries to be created.” Bayes’s concept is at once exciting and daunting: is walking through an app what we have to look forward to in the age of the Anthropocene? Will our cities continue to be more accommodating to the lucky few? Walking as a non-corporeal action is an unsettling thought, and intriguing for this discomfort. Walking Is GentrificationLet us guide you through these city streets to our next article, as Craig Lyons, Alexandra Crosby and H. Morgan Harris take us to Sydney’s inner West, an area becoming increasingly unaccommodating for many thanks to rising living costs. Their article, “Going on a Field Trip: Critical Geographical Walking Tours and Tactical Media as Urban Praxis in Sydney, Australia”, situates us in Marrickville, which they remind us is “unceded land of the Cadigal and Wangal people of the Eora nation who call the area Bulanaming.” Already this space is contested, as all Australian urban spaces all, palimpsests of Indigeneity, colonisation, and capital. Field Trip recognises this layering, operating as “a critical geographical walking tour through an industrial precinct,” prompting participants to take part in an act of resistance merely by walking the space.It recalls Mirror Sydney, writer Vanessa Berry’s blog (a book of the same name was published this year) that maps Sydney’s disappearing quirks. In a June entry, she notes after a walk that “in the last week new signs have gone up, signs for the impending auction of the two warehouses that make up the green building: ‘Invest, Occupy or Redevelop.’ It’s the last option that has Marrickvillians nervous” (Berry). These redevelopment nerves are confronted by Lyons, Crosby, and Harris as they examine gentrification in the area, as developers seek to exploit the area’s diverse population to attract wealth. They see their walking tour as a work of activism, a way of confronting the rapid gentrification of their city, stating that “via a community-led, participatory walking tour like Field Trip, threads of knowledge and new information are uncovered. These help create new spatial stories and readings of the landscape, broadening the scope of possibility for democratic participation in cities.”Walking Is PoliticalBeing able to walk is to exercise democracy. Last year in Australia, Clinton Pryor, a Wajuk, Balardung, Kija and a Yulparitja man, walked from Perth, near his home in Western Australia, to Canberra, to protest the treatment of First Nations peoples in Australia (Morelli). Indeed, one of the places where Pryor, dubbed “the Spirit Walker”, met his most rapturous welcome was in Sydney’s Redfern, not far from Marrickville. When Pryor reached Redfern, and the crowd that awaited him, he said, “I just walked in here and can’t tell you what Redfern has meant to us all over the years. Everyone knows Redfern is where we made our stand,” referring to the place’s reputation as the heartland of Australia’s Black Power movement (Murphy).Pryor’s walk demonstrates ambulatory political power—it became a march. Alina Haliliuc transports us to Bucharest, far from Australia’s dusty roads, in her article “Walking into Democratic Citizenship: Anti-Corruption Protests in Romania’s Capital”. Like Pryor, the subjects of her article “have been using their bodies in public spaces to challenge politicians’ disregard for the average citizen.” Haliliuc draws attention to the how the Romanian public have mobilised, marching the streets and affecting real change, striving—or striding—for democracy in a region plagued by increasing political instability. Walking Is ArtFor about three years, from 1972, American artist Adrian Piper would dress up as a man she dubbed the “Mythic Being”, donning an afro wig, a moustache and sunglasses, walking the streets of New York City presenting as a man. She documented some of these public appearances in works that appeared in her 2018 retrospective at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) titled “Adrian Piper: A Synthesis of Intuitions 1965-2016”. John Bowles writes that Piper, who is mixed race, uses the Mythic Being figure to “engage critically with popular representations of race, gender, sexuality, and class, challenging viewers to accept personal responsibility for xenophobia, discrimination, and the conditions that allow them to persist” (257). After being lucky enough to view the MoMA exhibition earlier this year, I was reminded of the Mythic Being when reading Derrais Carter’s article, “Black Wax(ing): On Gil Scott-Heron and the Walking Interlude”. Carter examines Scott-Heron’s walks through Washington, DC as shown in the 1982 film about the musician, Black Wax. Like much of Piper’s oeuvre, the film is a meditation on race and power in the United States, splicing footage of live performances with “walking interludes” such as Scott-Heron strolling past the White House with his toddler daughter. Carter remarks that he is “interested in the film as a wandering text, one that pushes at tensions in order to untether the viewer from a constricting narrative about who they might be”. Walking can perform this untethering, at once generating and diffusing tension about identity and space. Scott-Heron’s cinematic strolls through DC, filmed when conservative President Ronald Reagan was at the height of his power, demonstrate how walking can be a subversive, revolutionary form of artistic expression. Walking Is WayfindingIn the feature article of this special issue, “Walking as Memorial Ritual: Pilgrimage to the Past”, Susan Sigre Morrison explores the complex relationship between the human and the nonhuman and centres on pilgrimage to shape this discussion. Morrison traces four pilgrimages she has taken as a young child through to her adulthood, reflecting on memory, ecocriticism, the sacred, and the Anthropocene along the way. Thickly woven, Morrison’s writing ranges between her own memories, the limestone of the Jurassic, the life of a small insect she encounters in a meal, and extracts from her mother’s diary entries telling of hikes she undertook with the child Morrison. Throughout, Morrison dwells on Donna Haraway’s concept of “making kin”, and asks, “How can narrative avoid the anthropocentric centre of writing, which is inevitable given the human generator of such a piece?”In thinking about walking and her body, walking and memory, walking and the nonhuman world, walking in the city and the country, Morrison lays down the suggestions of paths that many of the articles in this special issue then follow. “Landscape not only changes the writer, but writing transforms the landscape and our interaction with it”, Morrison writes, voicing a sentiment that, in various ways, many of the authors in this issue, and the scholars and writers they discuss, hold to be true, and fascinating, and from which so much work and thought around walking springs.Why do we walk? This is the question that we as editors kept returning to, when first we had the idea to collate a special issue on walking. While the history of walking is a well-trodden path, reaching back to the Romantics in England, the flâneurs in Paris, and the psychogeographers in cities everywhere, we resolved to look to the walkers of the contemporary world for this issue. In an age of increasingly sophisticated and prevalent technology, what is the role of the embodied act, the lived experience, of walking? With this special issue, it is our pleasure to offer a selection of work that speaks to why we walk, how we walk, and what walking means in contemporaneity. We thank the contributors, and those who expressed their interest in contributing, as well as the anonymous peer reviewers, for their work—and we hope that this issue might inspire, or prompt, or remind you, the reader, to search out your own walks.ReferencesBerry, Vanessa. “The Ming On Building”. Mirror Sydney, 15 June 2018. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://mirrorsydney.wordpress.com/2018/06/15/the-ming-on-building/>.Bowles, John Parish. Adrian Piper: Race, Gender, and Embodiment. Durham: Duke University Press, 2011.Elkin, Lauren. Flâneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London. London: Vintage, 2016.Morelli, Laura. “Spirit Walker, Clinton Pryor Reaches Redfern on His Walk for Justice.” NITV, 11 Aug. 2017. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/nitv-news/article/2017/08/11/spirit-walker-clinton-pryor-reaches-redfern-his-walk-justice>.Murphy, Damien. “Long Walk for Justice: ‘Spiritual Walker’ Clinton Pryor Crosses the Country for His People.” Sydney Morning Herald, 10 Aug. 2017. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/long-walk-for-justice-spiritual-walker-clinton-pryor-crosses-the-country-for-his-people-20170810-gxtsnt.html>.Solnit, Rebecca. Wanderlust: A History of Walking. London: Granta, 2014.

Introduction Curation-related discourses have become widespread. The growing public profile of curators, the emergence of new curation-related discourses and their proliferation beyond the confines of museums, particularly on social media, have led some to conclude that we now live in an age of curation (Buskirk cited in Synder). Curation is commonly understood in instrumentalist terms as the evaluation, selection and presentation of artefacts around a central theme or motif (see O’Neill; Synder). However, there is a growing academic interest in what underlies the shifting discourses and practices. Many are asking what do these changes mean (Martinon) now that “the curatorial turn” has positioned curation as a legitimate object of academic study (O’Neill). This article locates an exploration of the curatorial turn in journalism studies since 2010 within the shifting meanings of curation from antiquity to the digital age. It argues that the industry is facing a Foucauldian moment where the changing political economy of news and the proliferation of user-generated content on social media have disrupted the monopolies traditional news media held over the circulation of knowledge of current affairs and the power this gave them to shape public debate. The disruptions are profound, prompting a rethinking of journalism (Peters and Broersma; Schudson). However, debates have polarised between those who view news curation as symptomatic of the demise of journalism and others who see it as part of a wider revival of the profession, freed from monopolistic institutions to circulate a wider array of knowledge and viewpoints (see Picard). This article eschews such polarisations and instead draws on Robert Picard’s argument that journalism is in transition and that journalism, as a set of professional practices, is adapting to the age of curation but that those traditional news providers that fail to adapt will most likely decline. However, Picard’s approach does not address the definitional problem as to what distinguishes news curating from other journalistic practices when the commonly used instrumental definition can apply to editing. This article aims to negotiate this problem by addressing some of the conceptual ambiguities that arise from wholly instrumental notions of news curation. From “Cura” to the Curatorial Turn and the Age of Curation Modern instrumentalist definitions are necessary but not sufficient for an exploration of the curatorial turn in journalism. Tracing the meanings of curation over time facilitates an expansion of the instrumental to include metaphoric conceptualisations. The term originated in a Latin allegory about a mythological figure, personified as the “cura”, translated literally as care or concern, and who created human beings from the clay of the earth. Having created the human, the cura was charged by the gods with the lifelong care of the human (Reich) and at the same time became a symbol of curiosity and creativity (see Nowotny). “Curators” first emerged in Imperial Rome to denote a public officer charged with maintaining order and the emperor’s finances (Nowotny) but by the fourteenth century the meaning had shifted to that of religious officer charged with the care of souls (Gaskill). At this point the metaphorical associations of creativity and curiosity subsided. Six hundred years later souls had been replaced by artefacts valorised because of their contribution to human knowledge or as a testament to exceptional human creativity (Nowotny). Objects of curiosity and originality, as well as their creators, were reified and curation became the specialist practice of an expert custodian charged with the care and preservation of artefacts but relegated to the background to collect, evaluate and archive artefacts entrusted to the care of museums and to be preserved for future generations. Instrumentalist meanings thus dominated. From the 1960s discourses shifted again from the privileging of a “producer who actually creates the object in its materiality” to an entire set of actors (Bourdieu 261). These shifts were part of the changing political economy of museums, the growing prevalence of exhibitions and the emergence of mega-exhibitions hosted in global cities and capable of attracting massive audiences (see O’Neill). The curator was no longer seen merely as a custodian but able to add cultural value to artefacts when drawing individual items together into a collection, interpreting their relevance to a theme then re-presenting them through a story or visuals (see O’Neill). The verb “to curate”, which had first entered the English lexicon in the early 1900s but was used sporadically (Synder), proliferated from the 1960s in museum studies (Farquharson cited in O’Neill) as mega-exhibitions attracted publicity and the higher profile of curators attracted the attention of intellectuals prompting a curatorial turn in museum studies. The curatorial turn in museum studies from the 1980s marks the emergence of curation as a legitimate object of academic enquiry. O’Neill identified a “Foucauldian moment” in museum studies where shifting discourses signified challenges to, and disruptions of, traditional forms of knowledge-based power. Curation was no longer seen as a neutral activity of preservation, but one located within a contested political economy and invested with contradictions and complexities. Philosophers such as Martinon and Nowotny have highlighted the impossibility of separating the oversight of valuable artefacts from the processes by which these are selected, valorised and signified and what, at times, has been the controversial appropriation of creative outputs. Thus, a new critical approach emerged. Recently, curating-related discourses have expanded beyond the “rarefied” world of museum studies (Synder). Social media platforms have facilitated the proliferation of user-generated content offering a vast array of new artefacts. Information circulates widely and new discourses can challenge traditional bases of knowledge. Audiences now actively search for new material driven in part by curiosity and a growing distrust of the professions and establishments (see Holmberg). The boundaries between professionals and lay people are blurring and, some argue, knowledge is being democratized (see Ibrahim; Holmberg). However, as new information becomes voluminous, alternative truths, misinformation and false information compete for attention and there is a growing demand for the verification, selection and presentation of artefacts, that is online curation (Picard; Bakker). Thus, the appropriation of social media is disrupting traditional power relations but also offering new opportunities for new information-related practices. Journalism is facing its own Foucauldian moment. A Foucauldian Moment in Journalism Studies Journalism has been traditionally understood as capturing today’s happenings, verifying the facts of an event, then presenting these as a narrative that reporters update as news unfolds. News has been seen as the preserve of professionals trained to interview eyewitnesses or experts, to verify facts and to compile what they found into a compelling narrative (Hallin and Mancini). News-gathering was typically the work of an individual tasked with collecting stand-alone stories then passing them onto editors to evaluate, select, prioritise and collate these into a collection that formed a newspaper or news programme . This understanding of journalism emerged from the 1830s along with a type of news that was accessible, that large numbers of people wanted to read and that, consequently, attracted advertising making news profitable (Park). The idea that presumed trained journalists were best placed to produce news appeared first in the UK and USA then spread worldwide (Hallin and Mancini). At the same time as there was growing demand for news, space constraints restricted how much could be published and the high costs of production served as a barrier to entry first in print then later in broadcast media (Picard; Curran and Seaton). The large news organisations that employed these professionals were thus able to control the circulation of information and knowledge they generated and the editors that selected content were able, in part, to shape public debates (Picard; Habermas). Social media challenge the control traditional media have had over the production and dissemination of news since the mid-1800s. Practically every major global news story in 2010 and 2011 from natural disasters to uprisings was broken by ordinary people on social media (Bruns and Highfield). Twitter facilitates a steady stream of updates at an almost real-time speed that 24-hour news channels cannot match. Facebook, Instagram and blogs add commentary, context, visuals and personal stories to breaking news. Experts and official sources routinely post announcements on social media platforms enabling anyone to access much of the same source material that previously was the preserve of reporters. Investigations by bloggers have exposed abuses of power by companies and governments that journalists on traditional media have failed to (Wischnowski). Audiences and advertisers are migrating away from traditional newspapers to a range of different online platforms. News consumers now actively use search engines to find available information of interest and look for efficient ways of sifting through the proliferation of the useful and the dubious, the revelatory and the misleading or inaccurate (see Picard). That is, news organisations and the professional journalists they employ are increasingly operating in a hyper-competitive (see Picard) and hyper-sceptical environment. This paper posits that cumulatively these are disrupting the control news organisations have and journalism is facing a Foucauldian moment when shifting discourses signify a disturbance of the intellectual rules that shape who and what knowledge of news is produced and hence the power relations they sustain. Social media not only challenge the core news business of reporting, they also present new opportunities. Some traditional organisations have responded by adding new activities to their repertoire of practices. In 2011, the Guardian uploaded its entire database of the expense claims of British MPs onto its Website and invited readers to select, evaluate and comment on entries, a form of crowd-sourced curating. Andy Carvin, while at National Public Radio (NPR) built an international reputation from his curation of breaking news, opinion and commentary on Twitter as Syria became too dangerous for foreign correspondents to enter. New types of press agencies such as Storyful have emerged around a curatorial business model that aggregates information culled from social media and uses journalists to evaluate and repackage them as news stories that are sold onto traditional news media around the world (Guerrini). Research into the growing market for such skills in the Netherlands found more advertisements for “news curators” than for “traditional reporters” (Bakker). At the same time, organic and spontaneous curation can emerge out of Twitter and Facebook communities that is capable of challenging news reporting by traditional media (Lewis and Westlund). Curation has become a common refrain attracting the attention of academics. A Curatorial Turn in Journalism The curatorial turn in journalism studies is manifest in the growing academic attention to curation-related discourses and practices. A review of four academic journals in the field, Journalism, Journalism Studies, Journalism Practice, and Digital Journalism found the first mention of journalism and curation emerged in 2010 with references in nearly 40 articles by July 2015. The meta-analysis that follows draws on this corpus. The consensus is that traditional business models based on mass circulation and advertising are failing partly because of the proliferation of alternative sources of information and the migration of readers in search of it. While some of this alternative content is credible, much is dubious and the sheer volume of information makes it difficult to discern what to believe. It is unsurprising, then, that there is a growing demand for “new types and practices of curation and information vetting” that attest to “the veracity and accuracy of content” particularly of news (Picard 280). However, academics disagree on whether new information practices such as curation are replacing or supplementing traditional newsgathering. Some look for evidence of displacement in the expansion of job advertisements for news curators relative to those for traditional reporters (Bakker). Others look at how new and traditional practices co-exist in organisations like the BBC, Guardian and NPR, sometimes clashing and sometimes collaborating in the co-creation of content (McQuail cited in Fahy and Nisbet; Hermida and Thurman). The debate has polarised between whether these changes signify the “twilight years of journalism or a new dawn” (Picard). Optimists view the proliferation of alternative sources of information as breaking the control traditional organisations held over news production, exposing their ideological biases and disrupting their traditional knowledge-based power and practices (see Hermida; Siapera, Papadopoulou, and Archontakis; Compton and Benedetti). Others have focused on the loss of “traditional” permanent journalistic jobs (see Schwalbe, Silcock, and Candello; Spaulding) with the implication that traditional forms of professional practice are in demise. Picard rejects this polarisation, counter-arguing that much analysis implicitly conflates journalism as a practice with the news organisations that have traditionally hosted it. Journalists may or may not be located within a traditional media organisation and social media is offering numerous opportunities for them to operate independently and for new types of hybrid practices and organisations such as Storyful to emerge outside of traditional operations. Picard argues that making the most of the opportunities social media presents is revitalising the profession offering a new dawn but that those traditional organisations that fail to adapt to the new media landscape and new practices are in their twilight years and likely to decline. These divergences, he argues, highlight a profession and industry in transition from an old order to a new one (Picard). This notion of journalism in transition usefully negotiates confusion over what curation in the social media age means for news providers but it does not address the uncertainty as to where it sits in relation to journalism. Futuristic accounts predict that journalists will become “managers of content rather than simply sourcing one story next to another” and that roles will shift from reporting to curation (Montgomery cited in Bakker; see Fahy and Nisbet). Others insist curators are not journalists but “information workers” or “gatecheckers” (McQuail 2013 cited in Bakker; Schwalbe, Silcock, and Candello) thereby differentiating the professional from the manual worker and reinforcing the historic elitism of the professions by implying curation is a lesser practice. However, such demarcation is problematic in that arguably both journalist and news curator can be seen as information workers and the instrumental definition outlined at the beginning of this article is as relevant to curation as it is to news editing. It is therefore necessary to revisit commonly used definitions (see Bakker; Guerrini; Synder). The literature broadly defines content creation, including news reporting, as the generation of original content that is distinguishable from aggregation and curation, both of which entail working with existing material. News aggregation is the automated use of computer algorithms to find and collect existing content relevant to a specified subject followed by the generation of a list or image gallery (Bakker; Synder). While aggregators may help with the collection component of news curation, the practices differ in their relation to technology. Apart from the upfront human design of the original algorithm, aggregation is wholly machine-driven while modern news curation adds human intervention to the technological processes of aggregation (Bakker). This intervention is conscious rather than automated, active rather than passive. It brings to bear human knowledge, expertise and interpretation to verify and evaluate content, filter and select artefacts based on their perceived quality and relevance for a particular topic or theme then re-present them in an accessible form as a narrative or infographics or both. While it does not involve the generation of original news content in the way news reporting does, curation is more than the collation of information. It can also involve the re-presenting of it in imaginative ways, the re-formulating of existing content in new configurations. In this sense, curation can constitute a form of creativity increasingly common in the social media age, that of re-mixing and re-imagining of existing material to create something novel (Navas and Gallagher). The distinction, therefore, between content creation and content curation lies primarily in the relation to original material and not the assumed presence or otherwise of creativity. In addition, curation outputs need not stand apart from news reports. They can serve to contextualize news in ways that short reports cannot while the latter provides original content to sit alongside curated materials. Thus the two types of news-related practices can complement rather than compete with each other. While this addresses the relation between reporting and curation, it does not clarify the relation between curating and editing. Bakker eludes to this when he argues curating also involves “editing … enriching or combining content from different sources” (599). But teasing out the distinctions is tricky because editing encompasses a wide range of sub-specialisations and divergent duties. Broadly speaking, editors are “newsrooms professionals … with decision-making authority over content and structure” who evaluate, verify and select information so are “quality controllers” in newsrooms (Stepp). This conceptualization overlaps with the instrumentalist definition of curation and while the broad type of skills and tasks involved are similar, the two are not synonymous. Editors tends to be relatively experienced professionals who have worked up the newsroom ranks whereas news curators are often new entrants ultimately answerable to editors. Furthermore, curation in the social media age involves voluminous material that curators sift through as part of first level content collection and it involves ever more complex verification processes as digital technologies make it increasingly easy to alter and falsify information and images. The quality control role of curators may also involve in-house specialists or junior staff working with external experts in a particular region or specialisation (Fahy and Nisbett). Some of job advertisements suggest a growing demand for specialist curatorial skills and position these alongside other newsroom professionals (Bakker). Whether this means they are journalists is still open to question. Conclusion This article has presented a more expansive conceptualisation of news curation than is commonly used in journalism studies, by including both the instrumental and the symbolic dimensions of a proliferating practice. It also sought to avoid confining this wider conceptualisation within unhelpful polarisations as to whether news curation is symbolic of a wider demise or revival of journalism by distinguishing the profession from the organisation in which it operates. The article was then free to negotiate the conceptual ambiguity surrounding the often taken-for-granted instrumental meanings of curation. It argues that what distinguishes news curation from traditional newsgathering is the relationship to original content. While the reporter generates the journalistic equivalent of original content in the form of news, the imaginative curator re-mixes and re-presents existing content in potentially novel ways. This has faint echoes of the mythological cura creating something new from the existing clay. The other conceptual ambiguity negotiated was in the definitional overlaps between curating and editing. On the one hand, this questions the appropriateness of reducing the news curator to the status of an “information worker”, a manual labourer rather than a professional. On the other hand, it positions news curators as one of many types of newsroom professionals. 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Introduction I am on the phone with a journalist discussing my research into anti-vaccination. As the conversation winds up, they ask a question I have come to expect: "how big do you think this is?" My answer is usually some version of the following: that we have no way of knowing. I and my fellow researchers can only see the information that is public or in the sunlight. How anti-vaccination information spreads through private networks is dark to us. It is private and necessarily so. This means that we cannot track how these conversations spread in the private or parochial spaces of Facebook, nor can we consider how they might extend into other modes of mediated communication. Modern communication is a complex and multiplatform accomplishment. Consider this: I am texting with my friend, I send her a selfie, in the same moment I hear a notification, she has DMed me a relevant Instagram post via that app. I move to Instagram and share another post in response; we continue our text message conversation there. Later in the day, I message her on Facebook Messenger while participating in a mutual WhatsApp group chat. The next day we Skype, and while we talk, we send links back and forth, which in hindsight are as clear as hieroglyphics before the Rosetta stone. I comment on her Twitter post, and we publicly converse back and forth briefly while other people like our posts. None of these instances are discrete conversational events, even though they occur on different platforms. They are iterations on the same themes, and the archival properties of social media and private messaging apps mean that neither of you forgets where you left off. The conversation slides not only between platforms and contexts but in and out of visibility. Digitally mediated conversation hums in the background of daily life (boring meetings, long commutes and bad dates) and expands our understanding of the temporal and sequential limits of conversation. In this article, I will explore digitally-mediated cross-platform conversation as a problem in two parts, and how we can understand it as part of the 'dark social'. Specifically, I want to draw attention to how 'dark' online spaces are part of our everyday communicative practices and are not necessarily synonymous with the illicit, illegal, or deviant. I argue that the private conversations we have online are also part of the dark social web, insofar as they are hidden from the public eye. When I think of dark social spaces, I think of what lies beneath the surface of murky waters, what hides behind in backstage areas, and the moments between platforms. In contrast, 'light' (or public) social spaces are often perceived as siloed. The boundaries between these platforms are artificially clean and do not appear to leak into other spaces. This article explores the dark and shadowed spaces of online conversation and considers how we might approach them as researchers. Conversations occur in the backchannels of social media platforms, in private messaging functions that are necessarily invisible to the researcher's gaze. These spaces are distinct from the social media activity analysed by Marwick and boyd. Their research examining teens' privacy strategies on social media highlights how social media posts that multiple audiences may view often hold encoded meanings. Social media posts are a distinct and separate category of activity from meditated conversations that occur one to one, or in smaller group chat settings. Second is the disjunction between social media platforms. Users spread their activity across any number of social media platforms, according to social and personal logics. However, these movements are difficult to capture; it is difficult to see in the dark. Platforms are not hermeneutically sealed off from each other, or the broader web. I argue that understanding how conversation moves between platforms and in the backstage spaces of platforms are two parts of the same dark social puzzle. Conversation Online Digital media have changed how we maintain our social connections across time and space. Social media environments offer new possibilities for communication and engagement as well as new avenues for control. Calls and texts can be ignored, and our phones are often used as shields. Busying ourselves with them can help us avoid unwanted face-to-face conversations. There are a number of critiques regarding the pressure of always-on contact, and a growing body of research that examines how users negotiate these demands. By examining group messaging, Mannell highlights how the boundaries of these chats are porous and flexible and mark a distinct communicative break from previous forms of mobile messaging, which were largely didactic. The advent of group chats has also led to an increasing complication of conversation boundaries. One group chat may have several strands of conversation sporadically re-engaged with over time. Manell's examination of group chats empirically illustrates the complexity of digitally-mediated conversations as they move across private, parochial, and public spaces in a way that is not necessarily temporally linear. Further research highlights the networked nature of digitally mediated interpersonal communication and how conversations sprawl across multiple platforms (Burchell). Couldry (16, 17) describes this complex web as the media manifold. This concept encompasses the networked platforms that comprise it and refers to its embeddedness in daily life. As we no longer “log on” to the internet to send and receive email, the manifold is both everywhere and nowhere; so too are our conversations. Gershon has described the ways we navigate the communicative affordances of these platforms as “media ideologies" which are the "beliefs, attitudes, and strategies about the media they [individuals] use" (391). Media ideologies also contain implicit assumptions about which platforms are best for delivering which kinds of messages. Similarly, Burchell argues that the relational ordering of available media technologies is "highly idiosyncratic" (418). Burchell contends that this idiosyncratic ordering is interdependent and relational, and that norms about what to do when are both assumed by individuals and learnt in their engagement with others (418). The influence of others allows us to adjust our practices, or as Burchell argues, "to attune and regulate one's own conduct … and facilitate engagement despite the diverse media practices of others" (418). In this model, individuals are constantly learning and renegotiating norms of conversation on a case by case, platform by platform basis. However, I argue that it is more illuminating to consider how we have collectively developed an implicit and unconscious set of norms and signals that govern our (collective) conduct, as digitally mediated conversation has become embedded in our daily lives. This is not to say that everyone has the same conversational skill level, but rather that we have developed a common toolbox for understanding the ebb and flow of digitally mediated conversations across platforms. However, these norms are implicit, and we only have a partial understanding of how they are socially achieved in digitally-mediated conversation. What Lies Beneath Most of what we do online is assumed not to be publicly visible. While companies like Facebook trace us across the web and peer into every nook and cranny of our private use patterns, researchers have remained focussed on what lies above in the light, not below, in the dark. This has meant an overwhelming focus on single platform studies that rely on the massification of data as a default measure for analysing sentiment and behaviour online. Sociologically, we know that what occurs in dark social spaces, or backstage, is just as important to social life as what happens in front of an audience (Goffman). Goffman's research uses the metaphor of the theatre to analyse how social life is accomplished as a performance. He highlights that (darkened) backstage spaces are those where we can relax, drop our front, and reveal parts of our (social) self that may be unpalatable to a broader audience. Simply, the public data accessible to researchers on social media are “trace data”, or “trace conversation”, from the places where conversations briefly leave (public) footprints and can be tracked and traced before vanishing again. Alternatively, we can visualise internet researchers as swabbing door handles for trace evidence, attempting to assemble a narrative out of a left-behind thread or a stray fingerprint. These public utterances, often scraped through API access, are only small parts of the richness of online conversation. Conversations weave across multiple platforms, yet single platforms are focussed on, bracketing off their leaky edges in favour of certainty. We know the social rules of platforms, but less about the rules between platforms, and in their darker spaces. Conversations briefly emerge into the light, only to disappear again. Without understanding how conversation is achieved and how it expands and contracts and weaves in and out of the present, we are only ever guessing about the social dynamics of mediated conversation as they shift between light, dark, and shadow spaces. Small things can cast large shadows; something that looms large may be deceptively small. Online they could be sociality distorted by disinformation campaigns or swarms of social bots. Capturing the Unseen: An Ethnomethodological Approach Not all data are measurable, computable, and controllable. There is uncertainty beyond what computational logics can achieve. Nooks and crannies of sociality exist beyond the purview of computable data. This suggests that we can apply pre-digital social research methods to capture these “below the surface” conversations and understand their logics. Sociologists have long understood that conversation is a social accomplishment. In the 1960s, sociologist Harvey Sacks developed conversation analysis as an ethnomethodological technique that seeks to understand how social life is accomplished in day-to-day conversation and micro-interactions. Conversation analysis is a detailed and systematic account of how naturally-occurring talk is socially ordered, and has been applied across a number of social contexts, including news interviews, judicial settings, suicide prevention hotlines, therapy sessions, as well as regular phone conversations (Kitzinger and Frith). Conversation analysis focusses on fine-grained detail, all of the little patterns of speech that make up a conversation; for example, the pauses, interruptions, self-corrections, false starts, and over-speaking. Often these too are hidden features of conversation, understood implicitly, but hovering on the edges of our social knowledge. One of the most interesting uses of conversational analysis is to understand refusal, that is, how we say 'no' as a social action. This body of research turns common-sense social knowledge – that saying no is socially difficult – into a systemic schema of social action. For instance, acceptance is easy to achieve; saying yes typically happens quickly and without hesitation. Acceptances are not qualified; a straightforward 'yes' is sufficient (Kitzinger and Frith). However, refusals are much more socially complex. Refusal is usually accomplished by apologies, compliments, and other palliative strategies that seek to cushion the blow of refusals. They are delayed and indirect conversational routes, indicating their status as a dispreferred social action, necessitating their accompaniment by excuses or explanations (Kitzinger and Frith). Research by Kitzinger and Frith, examining how women refuse sexual advances, illustrates that we all have a stock of common-sense knowledge about how refusals are typically achieved, which persists across various social contexts, including in our intimate relationships. Conversation analysis shows us how conversation is achieved and how we understand each other. To date, conversation analysis techniques have been applied to spoken conversation but not yet extended into text-based mediated conversation. I argue that we could apply insights from conversation analysis to understand the rules that govern digitally mediated conversation, how conversation moves in the spaces between platforms, and the rules that govern its emergence into public visibility. What rules shape the success of mediated communication? How can we understand it as a social achievement? When conversation analysis walks into the dark room it can be like turning on the light. How can we apply conversation analysis, usually concerned with the hidden aspects of plainly visible talk, to conversation in dark social spaces, across platforms and in private back channels? There is evidence that the norms of refusal, as highlighted by conversation analysis, are persistent across platforms, including in people's private digitally-mediated conversations. One of the ways in which we can identify these norms in action is by examining technology resistance. Relational communication via mobile device is pervasive (Hall and Baym). The concentration of digitally-mediated communication into smartphones means that conversational norms are constantly renegotiated, alongside expectations of relationship maintenance in voluntary social relationships like friendship (Hall and Baym). Mannell also explains that technology resistance can include lying by text message when explaining non-availability. These small, habitual, and often automatic lies are categorised as “butler lies” and are a polite way of achieving refusal in digitally mediated conversations that are analogous to how refusal is accomplished in face-to-face conversation. Refusals, rejections, and, by extension, unavailability appear to be accompanied by the palliative actions that help us achieve refusal in face-to-face conversation. Mannell identifies strategies such as “feeling ill” to explain non-availability without hurting others' feelings. Insights from conversation analysis suggest that on balance, it is likely that all parties involved in both the furnishing and acceptance of a butler lie understand that these are polite fabrications, much like the refusals in verbal conversation. Because of their invisibility, it is easy to assume that conversations in the dark social are chaotic and disorganised. However, there are tantalising hints that the reverse is true. Instead of arguing that individuals construct conversational norms on a case by case, platform by platform basis, I suggest that we now have a stock of common-sense social knowledge that we also apply to cross-platform mediated communication. In the spaces where gaps in this knowledge exist, Szabla and Blommaert argue that actors use existing norms of interactions and can navigate a range of interaction events even in online environments where we would expect to see a degree of context collapse and interactional disorganisation. Techniques of Detection How do we see in the dark? Some nascent research suggests a way forward that will help us understand the rhythms of cross-platform mediated conversation. Apps have been used to track participants' messaging and calling activities (Birnholtz, Davison, and Li). This research found a number of patterns that signal a user's attention or inattention, including response times and linguistic clues. Similarly, not-for-profit newsroom The Markup built a Facebook inspector called the citizen browser, a "standalone desktop application that was distributed to a panel of more than 1000 paid participants" (Mattu et al.). The application works by being connected to a participant's Facebook account and periodically capturing data from their Facebook feeds. The data is automatically deidentified but is still linked to the demographic information that participants provide about themselves, such as gender, race, location, and age. Applications like these point to how researchers might reliably collect interaction data from Facebook to glimpse into the hidden networks and interactions that drive conversation. User-focussed data collection methods also help us, as researchers, to sever our reliance on API access. API-reliant research is dependent on the largesse of social media companies for continued access and encourages research on the macro at the micro's expense. After all, social media and other digital platforms are partly constituted by the social acts of their users. Without speech acts that constitute mediated conversation, liking, sharing GIFs, and links, as well as the gaps and silences, digital platforms cease to exist. Digital platforms are not just archives of “big data”, but rather they are collections of speech and records of how our common-sense knowledge about how to communicate has stretched and expanded beyond face-to-face contexts. A Problem of Bots Ethnomethodological approaches have been critiqued as focussing too much on the small details of conversation, on nit-picking small details, and thus, as unable to comment on macro social issues of oppression and inequality (Kitzinger and Frith 311). However, understanding digitally-mediated conversation through the lens of talk-as-human-interaction may help us untangle our most pressing social problems across digital platforms. Extensive research examines platforms such as Twitter for “inauthentic” behaviour, primarily identifying which accounts are bots. Bots accounts are programmed Twitter accounts (for example) that automatically tweet information on political or contentious issues, while mimicking genuine engagement. Bots can reply to direct messages too; they converse with us as they are programmed to act as “humanly” as possible. Despite this, there are patterns of behaviour and engagement that distinguish programmed bot accounts, and a number of platforms are dedicated to their detection. However, bots are becoming increasingly sophisticated and better able to mimic “real” human engagement online. But there is as yet no systematic framework regarding what “real” digitally mediated conversation looks like. An ethnomethodological approach to understanding this would better equip platforms to understand inauthentic activity. As Yang and colleagues succinctly state, "a supervised machine learning tool is only as good as the data used for its training … even the most advanced [bot detection] algorithms will fail with outdated training datasets" (8). On the flipside, organisations are using chat bots to deliver cognitive behavioural therapy and assist people in moments of psychological distress. But the bots do not feel human; they reply instantly to any message sent. Some require responses in the form of emojis. The basis of therapy is talk. Understanding more accurately how naturally-occurring talk functions in online spaces could create more sensitive and genuinely therapeutic tools. Conclusion It is easy to forget that social media have largely mainstreamed over the last decade; in this decade, crucial social norms about how we converse online have developed. These norms allow us to navigate our conversations, with intimate friends and strangers alike across platforms, both in and out of public view, in ways that are often temporally non-sequential. Dark social spaces are a matter of intense marketing interest. Advertising firm Disruptive Advertising identified the very spaces that are the focus of this article as “dark social”: messaging apps, direct messaging, and native mobile apps facilitate user activity that is "not as easily controlled nor tracked". Dark social traffic continues to grow, yet our understanding of why, how, and for whom trails behind. To make sense of our social world, which is increasingly indistinguishable from online activity, we need to examine the spaces between and behind platforms, and how they co-mingle. Where are the spaces where the affordances of multiple platforms and technologies scrape against each other in uncomfortable ways? How do users achieve intelligible conversation not just because of affordances, but despite them? Focussing on micro-sociological encounters and conversations may also help us understand what could build a healthy online ecosystem. How are consensus and agreement achieved online? What are the persistent speech acts (or text acts) that signal when consensus is achieved? To begin where I started, to understand the scope and power of anti-vaccination sentiment, we need to understand how it is shared and discussed in dark social spaces, in messaging applications, and other backchannel spaces. Taking an ethnomethodological approach to these conversational interactions could also help us determine how misinformation is refused, accepted, and negotiated in mediated conversation. Focussing on “dark conversation” will help us more richly understand our social world and add much needed insight into some of our pressing social problems. References Burchell, Kenzie. "Everyday Communication Management and Perceptions of Use: How Media Users Limit and Shape Their Social World." Convergence 23.4 (2017): 409–24. Couldry, Nick. Media, Society, World: Social Theory and Digital Media Practice. Polity, 2012. Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Penguin, 1990. Gershon, Ilana. The Breakup 2.0: Disconnecting over New Media. Cornell University Press, 2010. Hall, Jeffrey A., and Nancy K. Baym. "Calling and Texting (Too Much): Mobile Maintenance Expectations, (Over)dependence, Entrapment, and Friendship Satisfaction." New Media & Society 14.2 (2012): 316–31. Hall, Margaret, et al. "Editorial of the Special Issue on Following User Pathways: Key Contributions and Future Directions in Cross-Platform Social Media Research." International Journal of Human–Computer Interaction 34.10 (2018): 895–912. Kitzinger, Celia, and Hannah Frith. "Just Say No? The Use of Conversation Analysis in Developing a Feminist Perspective on Sexual Refusal." Discourse & Society 10.3 (1999): 293–316. Ling, Rich. "Soft Coercion: Reciprocal Expectations of Availability in the Use of Mobile Communication." First Monday, 2016. Mannell, Kate. "A Typology of Mobile Messaging's Disconnective Affordances." Mobile Media & Communication 7.1 (2019): 76–93. ———. "Plural and Porous: Reconceptualising the Boundaries of Mobile Messaging Group Chats." Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication 25.4 (2020): 274–90. Marwick, Alice E., and danah boyd. "Networked Privacy: How Teenagers Negotiate Context in Social Media." New Media & Society 16.7 (2014): 1051–67. Mattu, Surya, Leon Yin, Angie Waller, and Jon Keegan. "How We Built a Facebook Inspector." The Markup 5 Jan. 2021. 9 Mar. 2021 <https://themarkup.org/citizen-browser/2021/01/05/how-we-built-a-facebook-inspector>. Sacks, Harvey. Lectures on Conversation: Volumes I and II. Ed. Gail Jefferson. Blackwell, 1995. Szabla, Malgorzata, and Jan Blommaert. "Does Context Really Collapse in Social Media Interaction?" Applied Linguistics Review 11.2 (2020): 251–79.

This study aims to find and make visible strategies educators use to enable influence and participations for the children in the schoolyard. The purposewas investigated through an unstructed survey with qualitative questions to give educators space to formulate their experince and thoughts about children´s influence and paritcipation in the yard. Shier´s (2001) participation model was used when designed the questionnaire, as well as a theoretical starting point when analyzing data. The model is a tool to make participation and influence visible. Importent concepts is highlighted such as attitudes as it turns out to be a significant aspect of the children´s opportunities in the encounter with the adult. The results show that the educators listen to the children´s opinions and wishes, that they can largely meet the needs, but factors such as lack of time and lack of staff can stand in the way. We see that Shier´s (2001) model challenges the preschool, at the organizational level where the educators do not have the same opportunities to influence. The challenge also ends up with the educators, are they prepared for a change, for example in routine situations? The focus in this study is more on a here and now perspective where in the results part of the study, different strategies emerge that are useful for the educators in the work of increasing children´s participation and influence in the yard. In the study´s conclusion, we present our knowledge contribution to the presschool profesion where we, among other things, highlight a result that strengthens previous research and literature. One result that clearly emerged is how crucial the educator´s attitude is in the encounter with the children for what opportunities are given to them.

Previous research shows that people with severe disabilities often are neglected in the work of enhancing user participation. It is shown that even though professionals increase the possibility for user participation in their work, it is not necessary that the users receive it. This study aims to show how professionals working for people with disabilities applies user participation in their everyday work. We used a qualitative exploratory method and interviewed ten social workers within service administration and supportive housing, located at three different municipalities in the region of Stockholm. Using Shier’s participation model in combination with theory of recognition we got similar results as previous research. The social workers have a great intention in enhancing user’s participation in their work, though organizational structures stand in their way. That drives them to use what is known as “silent knowledge”, a combination of their personality, previous experience and their ingenuity.