Journal articles on the topic 'Australia Armed Forces Women History'

The establishment of armed forces has roots deep in history, times when the proportion in men in arms of any country was higher than that of women. Nowadays in most countries women have equal rights to participate in almost all the working sectors of any nation. However, the participation of women in the Indian Army was initiated in 1992 whereas it was founded in 1895. In the 19th century women got their place in defense forces with a limited quota to serve. This paper will deal with female recruitment issues in the armed forces of India and Hungary.

Between 1941 and 1945, as the U.S. military machine sent millions of Americans——and American culture——around the world, several thousand African Americans spent time in Australia. Armed with little knowledge of Australian racial values and practices, black Americans encoutered a nation whose long-standing commitment to the principle of "White Australia" appeared to rest comfortably with the segregative policies commonly associated with the American South. Nonetheless, while African Americans did encounter racism and discrimination——practices often encouraged by the white Americans who were also stationed in Australia during the war——there is compelling evidence that their experiences were not always negative. Indeed, for many black Americans, Australians' apparent open-mindedness and racial views of white Britons and others with whom African Americans came into contact during the war. Making use of U.S. Army censors' reports and paying attention to black Americans' views of their experiences in Australia, this article not only casts light on an aspect of American-Australian relations that has hitherto recieved scant scholarly attention and reveals something about the African American experience, but also offers insights into race relations within the U.S. armed forces.

France and England have, through the course of history, shared in many historical events, sometimes as the opposing countries on the battlefield and at other times united through conflict, research and discovery. The two countries have, since the late 19th and early 20th century, seen dramatic changes in the role and status of women within their societies, this being especially so with regard to the employment of women. No longer content with their dual roles as wife and mother, they have increasingly looked outside the home and family for a new challenge, and have increasingly turned to those areas of employment which have been seen as male preserves, including the armed forces, medicine and the police service. This paper seeks to trace the record of women's fight to enter the police forces of England and Wales and the non-military police forces of France.

In the crisis of the First World War, the vast expansion of military control over civil society included women's work. Women contributed not only directly to war production but also to maintaining the entire socioeconomic structure in jobs such as trolley conductor or farm worker. Hundreds and thousands of women volunteered for war work in social and relief organisations. If their work under wartime conditions did not differ radically from the centuries-old tradition of nursing and other forms of care-giving, the considerable human force they now brought to military support work raised to a new level the debate over the proper role of women in modern democratic society. And whether members of the armed forces, employees or civilian volunteers, they all wore uniforms.

The analysis of numerous scientific publications demonstrates the great relevance of gender studies at the current stage of Ukrainian social development, in almost all spheres of social relations. As for ensuring equal participation of men and women in the functioning of the military organisation of the state, the implementation of such a gender balance contributes to improving civilian control over it through the possibility of developing the capacity of regulatory bodies in gender issues, promoting dialogue between the community and control bodies, and drawing public attention to the problems of accountability of institutions of this organisation. The main purpose of this study is to highlight the state of gender equality in the military organisation of the state through the lens of civilian democratic control. The study determined the state of legislative regulation of the concept of military organisation of the state and civil democratic control. The study analysed the introduction of a gender perspective in Ukraine in the subject matter and the dynamics of establishing a gender balance in the military organisation of the state; the impact on existing trends of legislative initiatives. It is stated that the modern Ukrainian army is mostly “male”. Despite the fact that women are allowed to serve in the military, they do not take part in making socially important decisions, they do not hold high military positions, and career growth is challenging for them. The study identified the main problems of implementing gender equality in the Armed Forces of Ukraine and other structures of the Defence Forces of Ukraine, which are more based on social stereotypes of pre-defined roles for men and women. Civil control over the Armed Forces is described as a socio-political process in this area

Between 1939 and 1945, more than 500 voluntary organisations operated across South Australia, the largest with a membership of more than 30,000 women. Focusing on the voluntary activities of these South Australian women – which ranged from providing material comforts for servicemen to fundraising as participants in beauty and pin-up competitions – this article reveals that female voluntarism was a highly visible and ubiquitous part of the home front experience in Australia during World War II. Oral histories, press reports and archival sources show that female voluntary work was considered crucial to the upkeep of male morale, and thus functioned to ease concerns regarding the war’s impact on traditional gender relations. In practice, however, the close relationship between paid and unpaid work meant voluntarism did not necessarily limit the wartime gains of South Australian women. Instead the rhetoric used to describe women’s voluntary work obscured the social and economic benefits it often provided.

The mental health of the men and women who served in the U.S. Armed Forces is an area of great concern in the United States. Studies have shown the mental health of university students is also a concern with a growing need for support services and prevention measures. The main objective of this study was to determine the effects of participation in particular greenhouse activities on depression, anxiety, and stress levels of students who served in the U.S. Armed Forces. The study included a control group and a treatment group. Participants completed a pre- and post 21-item Depression Anxiety and Stress Scale (DASS-21) survey, along with a questionnaire designed to capture participants’ demographic information and information regarding their military service history. The treatment consisted of a 6-week indoor plant care program. Results of the study found that student veterans who participated in the plant care class had decreased levels of depression and stress when compared with the control group. In the post-test open-ended questions, student veterans described a noticeable feeling of reduced stress along with the ability to relax while having feelings of a sense of place (belonging). Participants also indicated that they would continue to grow plants as a hobby.

During the summer of 1975, a year after the Carnation Revolution, thousands of Portuguese men and women took to the streets in order to prevent what they feared could be a communist takeover. A military-led government had trumpeted the transition to socialism and the Armed Forces Movement was discussing the dissolution of the recently elected constitutional convention. This article offers a new account of the significance and political impact of the anti-communist rallies, demonstrations and riots during 1975 and provides an interpretation of the mechanisms by which anticommunist mobilization empowered moderate leaders and reversed the balance of power within the military, playing a crucial role in the triumph of electoral democracy.

Background: Episiotomy is the most common surgical incision in midwifery. It's important to study the frequency of episiotomy and its associated factors in women with spontaneous vaginal delivery SVD. Therefore, this study conducted to determine the prevalence of episiotomy and the affecting factors of performing episiotomy among delivering women in King Salman Armed Forces Hospital in Tabuk City, Saudi Arabia. Methods: This study is a descriptive “prospective” cross sectional design. Done among all women who are delivered with spontaneous vaginal delivery (SVD) in KSAFWRH labour and delivery ward. Results: Overall responders are 215 of total 300 research tools were analysed using SPSS 22 software. 132 the indication was prime parity, 66 were because of rigid perineum, while 63 were due to baby distress .The prime who had episiotomy due to prime parity were 132(91.06%), while the multi paras had episiotomy due to rigid perineum with 39(59.09%). There is a significant relation in the fetal distress and history of C/S and child birth attendance with most of the variables. Conclusion: The primary objectives of this study were to determine the prevalence of episiotomy and the affecting factors of performing episiotomy among delivering women. 300 research tool was distributed to midwifes to fill for each active vaginal delivery case, excluded 93 paper due to incomplete data. Within 207 complete research tools findings are showing 132 the indication was prime parity, 66 were because of rigid perineum, while 63 were due to baby distress .The prime who had episiotomy due to prime parity were 132(91.06%), while the multi paras had episiotomy due to rigid perineum with 39(59.09%). Chi- Square test was applied to calculate the p-value, there is a significant relation in the fetal distress and history of C/S and child birth attendance with most of the variables.

Introduction: Myocardial Infarction, major part of Coronary Artery Disease (CAD) is the leading cause of death for both men and women in the World. In 2008 among all death caused by non-communicable diseases CAD causes more than 27% of death in Bangladesh. Objective: To analyze the socio-demographic and modifiable risk factors of Myocardial Infarction among Armed Forces personnel attended at the Combined Military Hospital Dhaka Methods: This cross sectional study was conducted in July 2012 to Dec 2012 among 104 purposively selected armed forces personnel reported in Combined Military Hospital Dhaka. Data were collected through face-to-face interview using a pretested semi-structured questionnaire. Result: Majority of the respondents (66.3%)age group was 45-60 years and 93.3% were Muslim and most are (69.2%) retired. Smoking rate were 61.5% and almost all of them used to do physical exercise in terms of mild, moderate and strenuous forms (26.0%, 54.8% and 19.2%) respectively. About 62.5% had a history of taking extra salt with food. Almost all of them had several chronic diseases like hypertension, DM and Bronchial Asthma. Conclusion: The study found group of Socio-demographic and modifiable risk factors are responsible for Myocardial Infarction which could be minimized by preventive measures taken by competent authority. Study on larger sample size is necessary for more appropriate description. AKMMC J 2020; 11(2) : 97-101

In the aftermath of the Second World War, the British Commonwealth faced the twin ‘threats’ of decolonisation and communism, with many across the Commonwealth seeing decolonisation as the first step towards communist dictatorship. Recent scholarship has shown that the British attempted to ‘manage’ the decolonisation process to prevent socialist movements or national liberation movements sympathetic to the Soviet Bloc from coming to power. Therefore Britain, along with the Dominions, co-ordinated their intelligence services to combat the communist threat across the Commonwealth. This paper explores how this co-ordination of anti-communist efforts was implemented in Britain, Australia and South Africa in the early Cold War era, which involved the breaking of strikes using the armed forces, the close monitoring of ‘persons of interest’ and the (attempted) banning of the Communist Party. It also seeks to demonstrate that the history of anti-communism, similar to communism, has an international dimension that is only starting to be investigated by historians.

AbstractThe Housewives' Associations were the largest women's organizations in Australia during the interwar years and were the first consumer-watch agencies. This article examines the gendered economic identity they cultivated in successfully mobilizing women under the banner of free-market economics against the protectionism of the mainstream political parties and the labor movement. In challenging the dominant economic discourse, they asserted the claims of consumption to the same status and recognition in the functioning of the economic system as the overwhelmingly masculine forces of capital and labor. In the process, they also threw into question the relevance of class as a basis for women's political activism.

This article offers the first empirical study of the origins, nature and effects of Australian Defence Force (ADF) opinions about the Australian media's coverage of Defence issues and ADF operations. It summarises the history of fractious military–media relations in Australia, and looks at the principal contributors to the current antipathy between the parties. It argues that while the media routinely denounce the military's motivations in its dealings with the fourth estate, they have no means of understanding its rationale, as until now there has been no empirical analysis of what the military thinks of the media's treatment of it and how these opinions have been shaped. The article then presents and examines the results of its survey of the 2011 intake at the Australian Command and Staff College. From an analysis of these results, it proposes why the ADF has such a low opinion of Australian media coverage of the armed forces, and examines the consequences of these opinions for current and future military–media relations.

During the Italian occupation in the USSR, the soldiers of Italian Armed Forces often had relationships with Soviet women, opposed by the authorities for motives of politics and security. Some of the officers openly practised concubinage, in contrast to the racism expressed on that campaign. The authorities in situ also decided to open brothels for the troops, filled with local women, in order to avoid both enemy espionage and the spread of venereal disease. As for the Germans in the USSR, the organization of brothels was difficult from the start due to the absence among the civilians of a ‘prostitution outlook’ and to the inexperience of the women, who at best offered to work out of hunger. Sexual crimes were also committed then, facilitated by the conflict’s climate and often disregarded by military justice, which had other priorities. Such aspects of the Italian occupation in the USSR have been superficially studied, in part because they are at odds with the collective imagination and a national awareness based on war memoirs and military publications, often reticent on the more inconvenient aspects of the Italian presence abroad during the Second World War.

La incorporación de la mujer en las Fuerzas Armadas españolas ha sido uno de los acontecimientos más relevantes que se han dado en la historia del país. Esto ha originado un desarrollo normativo al objeto de regular la situación del personal femenino en estas unidades ya que, hasta hace treinta años, esta profesión era realizada únicamente por hombres. La sucesión de leyes ha facilitado la incorporación de un gran número de mujeres. Todo se ha desarrollado al objeto de alcanzar una igualdad efectiva. Esto ha permitido que, España se sitúe como un país referente en la OTAN en este contexto.The integration of women in the Spanish Armed Forces has been one of the most important events that have taken place in our recent history. This has led to the legal development of the professional status of women in these units, run only by men until thirty years ago. The succession of laws has facilitated the incorporation of a large number of women. Everything has been developed in order to achieve effective equality. This has allowed Spain to be a reference country in NATO.

Abstract In the fall of 2019, Pinjra Tod (Break the Cage), an autonomous collective of women students working to ensure secure, affordable, and non-discriminatory accommodation for women students throughout Delhi, joined forces with other student organizations to coordinate a joint protest and public meeting against the continuing siege of Kashmir. The action took place at the Arts Faculty of Delhi University. In this pamphlet, Pinjra Tod interrogates Narendra Modi's corporate plans for a “paradise” in Kashmir under the capitalist guise of “freedom,” and its intersection with far-right racialized nationalism. Further, they report on the horrific stories emerging from Kashmir: stories of the detention and torture of minors and young men, arbitrary midnight raids, and constant threats and danger of sexual violence against women by the armed forces. They articulate the present state of emergency as an intensification of the long and brutal history of oppression by the Indian state impacting the lives and democratic aspirations of the people of Kashmir. Raising their voices against the continuing lockdown and in support of and solidarity with the people of Kashmir, Pinjra Tod presents a set of demands which include that Articles 370 and 35A of India's constitution be reinstated; that the popular participation of Kashmiri people in any further policy decision be ensured; that all political leaders, social activists, youth, and children be released; and that special provisions be made for all Kashmiri students across all universities whose studies were disrupted.

Purpose – There exists no detailed account of the 40 Australian women teachers employed within the “concentration camps” established by British forces in the Orange River and Transvaal colonies during the Boer War. The purpose of this paper is to critically respond to this dearth in historiography. Design/methodology/approach – A large corpus of newspaper accounts represents the richest, most accessible and relatively idiosyncratic source of data concerning this contingent of women. The research paper therefore interprets concomitant print-based media reports of the period as a resource for educational and historiographical data. Findings – Towards the end of the Boer War in South Africa (1899-1902) a total of 40 Australian female teachers – four from Queensland, six from South Australia, 14 from Victoria and 16 from New South Wales – successfully answered the imperial call conscripting educators for schools within “concentration camps” established by British forces in the Orange River and Transvaal colonies. Women’s exclusive participation in this initiative, while ostensibly to teach the Boer children detained within these camps, also exerted an influential effect on the popular consciousness in reimagining cultural ideals about female teachers’ professionalism in ideological terms. Research limitations/implications – One limitation of the study relates to the dearth in official records about Australian women teachers in concentration camps given that; not only are Boer War-related records generally difficult to source; but also that even the existent data is incomplete with many chapters missing completely from record. Therefore, while the data about these women is far from complete, the account in terms of newspaper reports relies on the existent accounts of them typically in cases where their school and community observe their contributions to this military campaign and thus credit them with media publicity. Originality/value – The paper’s originality lies in recovering the involvement of a previously underrepresented contingent of Australian women teachers while simultaneously offering a primary reading of the ideological work this involvement played in influencing the political narrative of Australia’s educational involvement in the Boer War.

Britain's “long” eighteenth century, which began with one aristocratic revolution in 1688 and ended with another in 1832, was a pageant of success. The nation's art and architecture reached their elegant and original best. Its capital became the center of print culture, finance, fashion, and commercial creativity, the largest and most vibrant city in the Western world. The British constitution became a topic for eulogy, as much by the unenlightened and illiterate at home as by the Enlightenment literati abroad. The armed forces, fiscal system, and bureaucracy of the British state grew in efficacy and range, bringing victory in all but one of a succession of major wars. Legitimized by achievement and buttressed by massive economic and political power, Britain's landed elite kept at bay every domestic revolution except the industrial one, which only enriched it more. The American Revolution, of course, was not averted; but while this crisis embarrassed the British Empire, it did not destroy it. Even before 1776, the conquest of Canada had reduced the thirteen colonies' strategic significance, just as their profitability to the mother country had been outstripped by its Indian possessions; their final loss was made up, and more than made up, with relentless and almost contemptuous speed. Between 1780 and 1820 some 150 million men and women in India, Africa, the West Indies, Java, and the China coast succumbed to British naval power and trading imperatives.

Remembering the 1914–18 War has a complex and contentious history in Ireland. Recent scholarship has re-examined the complexity of the Irish experience during this period, both by addressing the place of Irishmen in the Allied Forces and by retrieving the contribution of women towards the formation of the Irish Free State. However, the reinstatement of the female experience within the nationalist narrative has overlooked other female experiences of wartime in Ireland which were significantly different from those of their British counterparts. This essay examines an aspect of the ‘Home Front’ in Ireland when women's involvement in war industries, particularly in the Dublin munitions factories, are seen as crucial to the European war effort. Though the revolutionary, armed female volunteer is recognisably a figure of modernity, the female munitions worker, operating within the technological machinery of warfare, is also one. This essay explores the mobilization of women within the Irish war industries and suggests that there is still much work to be done in uncovering the extent of Irishwomen's contribution to the military war effort. Considering the complexities and contradictions of these parallel frameworks for modern Irish womanhood, this essay addresses how the Irish case adds important new dimensions to our understanding of the war's wide-ranging impacts on concepts of gender and the public roles of women that continue to resonate as the twentieth century unfolds.

This updated issue of the professional publication Bulletin of the Slovenian Armed Forces is dedicated to the question of the Slovenian commitment to finding peaceful solutions to conflicts. As Commander­in­Chief of the Defence Forces of the Republic of Slovenia, I find this subject not only necessary but also entirely essential. There are many reasons for this. The historical experience of the Slovenian people has not always been pleasant regarding the preservation of national identity, manifested in the language as well as in the cultural and national tradition. Despite different repressive and denationalising measures taken by many foreign authorities, our ancestors managed to preserve the Slovenian nation through much wisdom, deep national awareness and political skill. The importance of consistent compliance with the provisions of international law in crisis situations, including wars, was seen in 1991. Slovenia won the war, not only in a military sense but also by complying with all legal norms, thus soon becoming recognised as a young European democratic country founded on high legal and moral principles. The lessons of war in 1991 increased the resolve of the Slovenian people for clear rejection of the use of force in finding solutions to any kind of conflict. For this reason, my pleasure at being invited to write about the topic of Slovenian people in the service of peace is that much greater, in part also due to the fact that I spent a large part of my professional life, from 1992 to 2005, working in the United Nations, first as the ambassador of the Republic of Slovenia, later as UN Assistant Secretary­General. In both functions I dealt with peacekeeping operations to a considerable extent. United Nations peacekeeping operations were in full swing at that time and underwent great development on the one hand, but also bitter disappointment and moments of deep doubt on the other. However, they continued to develop to the current extent. The topic of the Bulletin is presented in truly deep, scientific, theoretical and practical ways, from strategic and tactical levels, considering the evolutionary and transformational characteristics of peacekeeping operations, and deriving from historical experience. The most respected authors in the Slovenian professional field have thrown light upon important conceptual changes in the area of peacekeeping operations, which result from numerous factors, in particular from important geopolitical changes in the world. We must not disregard the increasing cooperation of regional organisations in the implementation of peacekeeping operations, which has indirectly brought about a different understanding of the term “peacekeeping operation” and opened technical discussions in the area of terminology as well as in the technical fulfilment of obligations, all the way to the question of the necessity of a preliminary UN mandate. These deficiencies can also be seen in Slovenia and point to the need for conducting a deep technical discussion as soon as possible and unifying the understanding of both the structure of the Slovenian Armed Forces and the broader defence and security system. The introductory and in particular the more theoretical parts of the Bulletin may be taken as important contributions in this regard. Some of the articles offer interesting historical insight into the cooperation of Slovenian men, and later women, in various endeavours for peace launched by individual great powers and international organisations. Although it is difficult to understand the military intervention of European forces on the island Crete in 1897 as a peacekeeping operation, the objective which is still in the forefront of contemporary efforts of the international community in this area was achieved for at least some time. This intervention ensured an armistice between the parties involved in the conflict and enabled a diplomatic solution on the island without unnecessary victims. The confidence that the highest political and military authorities in the Austro­Hungarian Empire had in the 2nd Battalion of the 87th Infantry Regiment from Celje was truly special. This was particularly the case because the military unit was mainly composed of Slovenes, and at the time of deployment in Crete its commander was a Slovene as well. However, we need to emphasise that such thinking is unconventional. By studying the literature on peacekeeping operations we see that such operations were first mentioned around 1919 in connection with peace conferences after the end of World War I and with managing various border issues in Europe, different plebiscites and other situations which, besides political and other diplomatic action, also required the protection of security and were followed by military operations intended for this particular purpose. History tells us much about peacekeeping operations intended to maintain truces. In these operations, coalition forces were deployed to an area in which a truce already existed and had to be maintained among well organised and disciplined armed forces. Today, the status of armed forces is quite different. We have to look at all of history and every aspect of international military engagement which is not armed combat by nature but a military presence with various aspects of employment of military force and the constant readiness and capability of peace forces to defend themselves effectively and be prepared to use weapons to fulfil their mandate. If today we see peacekeeping operations as valid in this respect, it is clear that we have to be familiar with history and evaluate what we can learn from past experience and how we are obliged to consider the present. Of course, we must consider the present. If we look at the status of peacekeeping operations today, we see how important this military activity is for the modern world. I will only dwell upon the United Nations, which from the standpoint of peacekeeping operations is the most important organisation operating today. Approximately 140,000 soldiers participate in peacekeeping operations under the auspices of the United Nations. No other military force has that number of uniformed personnel operating abroad. These people are assigned to eighteen currently active peacekeeping operations, each costing the organisation about seven billion dollars. This is the largest component of the budget of the United Nations. However, this expenditure is small in comparison to other kinds of military deployment outside the UN, to operations which are not peacekeeping operations by nature. Peacekeeping operations have become very multidimensional. The latest such operations, established in Africa (Darfur, Chad, Central African Republic), have been among the most demanding from the very beginning. We can thus conclude that peacekeeping operations are becoming increasingly more complex, which also results in a higher degree of risk. In 2007, 67 members of UN peacekeeping operations lost their lives. Looking at individual operations we see that six people died in Lebanon alone that year. Ever since peacekeeping operations have been in existence, Lebanon has been one of the most dangerous areas. Today, however, it is somewhat outside the sphere of interest. This may be due to the fact that there is a peacekeeping operation active in the area, on account of which a state of relative peace can be better maintained. Peacekeeping operations are both dangerous and multidimensional, multidimensional because they are no longer focused merely on keeping belligerent parties apart. Modern peacekeeping operations include both standard and supplemental functions. Providing a secure environment for political normalisation, humanitarian activity and development is a comprehensive task, requiring the engagement of peacekeeping forces in operations that are far from being common types of military deployment. This raises different questions about the training and competence of peacekeeping forces. We also have to ask ourselves how we can fully consider the lessons learned from previous peacekeeping operations and organise a system of command, particularly in organisations such as the United Nations, while at the same time making sure that national contingents do not lose their identity. There are thus two lines of communication, one through channels established by international organisations and the other through those established by national systems of armed forces. How to balance this and achieve efficient functioning? How to ensure the operation of different cultures, members and levels of competence in a way that facilitates the success of peacekeeping operations? These are always important questions to consider. In recent years the question of interest has pointed to the complexity of modern peacekeeping operations. Peacekeeping operations are frequently required to facilitate an environment in which elections can be conducted and assist in the establishment of a legal order and institutions to maintain that order. Both tasks are extremely demanding. The establishment of a safe environment for conducting elections in a country with poor communications, with no tradition of elections and with violence linked to every political event, is an extremely difficult task. The establishment of a legal order in areas with no such tradition or adequate infrastructure is even harder. There is often a need to include the civilian police, whose tasks in peacekeeping operations are very demanding. Civilian police have a number of other particularities besides problems connected to the aforementioned multidimensionality. It is necessary to adapt to the local environment in order to facilitate effective police performance. How to facilitate this in an environment such as Haiti, for example, with its difficult past? How to facilitate this in linguistically demanding environments such as East Timor until recently and in other difficult circumstances? These are all extremely demanding tasks. However, there is not much understanding with regard to all the details and problems arising from their implementation. The international political community is often satisfied merely by defining the mandate of a peacekeeping operation. For many people this signifies the solution to the problem, considering that the mandate is defined and that the deployment of forces will occur. However, this is where real problem solving only begins. Only then does it become obvious what little meaning general resolutions of the United Nations Security Council and other acts by which mandates are defined have in the context of actual situations. Therefore, I am of the opinion that we have to take a detailed look at experience from the distant past as well as the present. When speaking of the civilian police we also have to consider the fully human aspects that characterise every peacekeeping operation. Once I spoke to a very experienced leader of civilian police operations about the need to send additional police officers to the mission in Kosovo in the spring, when winter is over and people become more active, which also results in a higher crime rate. He explained that this is not only a problem in the area of this mission but elsewhere in Europe. In spring, the crime rate rises everywhere. Therefore it is difficult to find police officers during this time who are willing to leave their homeland, where they are most needed, and go to a mission area which is just then facing increased needs. I mention this to broaden understanding of the fact that the deployment of peacekeeping forces, both military and civilian police, is not only a matter of mandates and military organisation, but sometimes of the purely elementary questions that accompany social development. I have already mentioned that memory of the past is a very important component of considering present peacekeeping operations. I would like to conclude with another thought. I believe the manner of organising the knowledge of peacekeeping operations is of great importance to all countries, especially those that are new to cooperating in peacekeeping operations. This knowledge cannot be gained from books written at universities, but only from monitoring and carefully analysing the previous experiences of others. It is very important that this knowledge be carefully organised, that these experiences be carefully gathered and analysed, and that a doctrine be developed gradually. This doctrine is required for a country like Slovenia, which is new at conducting peacekeeping operations, to be able to manage well and define its role in international peacekeeping operations properly. To achieve this objective, a new country must cooperate with those countries which have been conducting peacekeeping operations for a long time and therefore have a richer experience. The neighbouring Austria is known to have one of the longest and most interesting systems of experience in peacekeeping operations within the United Nations. Ever since it joined the UN, Austria has been active in numerous activities linked to peacekeeping operations. Its soldiers and the civilian police have participated in a number of peacekeeping operations. Experience gained in this way is of great value, and using this experience is necessary for successful planning of and operating in future peacekeeping operations. The future will be complicated! At one time, when the members of peacekeeping operations numbered approximately 80,000, the United Nations thought that nothing more could be done, and a larger number of members was unthinkable. Today the number of members is significantly larger, development will most likely still continue and conditions will become even more demanding. I do not wish to forecast events which have not yet taken place. However, I would like to strongly emphasise that the history of peacekeeping operations is not over yet and that the future will be full of risks and challenges. I would also again like to stress the importance of this issue of the Bulletin of the Slovenian Armed Forces, which is entering a new decade, and express my pleasure at being able to note down a few thoughts. Let me particularly emphasise that as Commander­in­Chief of the Slovenian Defence Forces I will continue to devote special attention to achievements in the area of cooperation in peacekeeping operations in the future, having a special interest in these experiences. I thank the authors of the articles of this important issue of the Bulletin for their scientific and professional contributions – and I greatly respect those who have already done important work in the name of the Republic of Slovenia with the Slovenian flag on their shoulders, with the hope that they continue to fulfil their obligations in accordance with the rules.

Purpose: The aim of this paper is to outline a history of the participation of Polish female soldiers in the World War I. Its outlines their commitment, struggle, and efforts made to contribute to Poland's military effort during the war. The article describes the legal situation of the military participation of women in Poland, and also deals with their role and place in society. Design/methodology/approach: The aim of the article was to organize, systematize and describe the knowledge about the role and participation of female soldiers of the Polish armed forces during the World War I. The above theoretical goal has been achieved by applying the methods of analysis, synthesis, deduction, induction and inference. Findings: In the course of the work were found results, which testify to historically underestimated contribution of women in war efforts. These, both in reinforcement and in other spheres of hostilities significantly contributed to the end of the war and its final result. Social implications: Publication of the article may contribute to increasing social awareness of the underestimated participation and involvement of female soldiers in military action during the war and of the social and cultural roles they fulfill. Originality/value: The article organizes and systematizes the knowledge about the military service of women in the described period. It is addressed both to people associated with all kinds of uniformed services, management and command, as well as people from the civilian environment

Introduction: Cervical cancer is the second most common malignancy among women all over the world and a leading cause of death in females. There are known risk factors in this regard including immunosuppression condition like SLE. Screening of women could decrease the incidence of cervical cancer dramatically by detection of early premalignant changes in the tissue. There was significant debate as female with SLE did in fact have an increased risk of cancer compared to the general population. Our study was conducted to determine the prevalence of abnormal cervical smear and colposcopy finding in patients with SLE. Patients and methods: Our study was carried out on 128 participants (64 SLE patients and 64 apparently healthy individuals as a control group). Patients were recruited from Rheumatology, Obstetrics and Gynecology Department of Armed Forces Hospitals of South Region. Gazan, KSA. The study was explained to all patients and informed consent was obtained before enrollment in the study. All patients underwent thorough complete history taking, clinical evaluation, local and bimanual examination, speculum examination with pap smear intake, colposcopy examination to whom have abnormal pap smear patients with suspicious area, multiple biopsies where be taken for histopathologic examination. Results: The results of our study demonstrated that, there is a significant association between cervical cancer and SLE patients (p=0.034). There is a significant association between ASCUS (Atypical squamous cells of undetermined significance) with younger age of marriage (p=0.019) and shorter duration of SLE (0.014). There is a significant association between cervical cancer with coital bleeding and history of cervical lesion (p=0.003). There is a high significant association between cervical cancer (especially ASCUS and CIN II) with passive smoking. Other examined parameters did not show any significant association (p>0.05).

In the wake of the Indian Uprising in 1857, British sanitary campaigner and statistician Florence Nightingale renewed her efforts to reform Britain's military forces at home and in India. With the Uprising following so soon after the Crimean War (1854-56), where poor sanitary conditions had also taken an enormous toll, in 1859 Nightingale pressed the British Parliament to establish a Royal Commission on the Sanitary State of the Army in India, which delivered its report in 1863. Western Australia was the only colony to present its case before the Commissioners as an ideal location for a foreign sanatorium, with glowing assessments offered by colonial elites and military physicians. In the meantime, Nightingale had also commenced an investigation into the health of Indigenous children across the British Empire. Nearly 150 schools responded to her survey from Ceylon, Natal, West Africa, Canada and Australia. The latter's returns came from just three schools in Western Australia: New Norcia, Annesfield in Albany and the Sisters of Mercy in Perth, which together yielded the highest death rate of the respondents. Although Nightingale herself saw these inquiries as separate, their juxtaposition invites closer analysis of the ways in which metropolitan elites envisioned particular racial futures for Anglo and indigenous populations of empire, and sought to steer them accordingly. The reports reflect prevailing expectations and anxieties about the social and biological reproduction of white society in the colonies, and the concomitant decline of Indigenous peoples. Read together, these two inquiries reveal the complex ways in which colonial matters of reproduction and dispossession, displacement and replacement, were mutually constituting concerns of empire. In this article I situate the efforts to attract white women and their wombs to the temperate colony of Western Australia from British India in the context of contemporary concerns about Anglo and Aboriginal mortality. In doing so, I reflect on the intersections of gender, race, medicine and environment in the imaginaries of empire in the mid-nineteenth century.

In August 1940, three New Zealand radio broadcasters set sail on an army troop ship from Wellington. They were bound for Egypt, where the New Zealand armed forces were part of the British Empire’s push to drive the German and Italian armies out of North Africa and the Middle East. With them was a mobile recording van, equipped to capture on lacquer discs the voices and sounds of New Zealanders at war, and send those re- cordings back home for radio broadcasts on the other side of the world. For the next five years, the Mobile Broadcasting Unit recorded interviews and reports about the fighting and the day-to-day business of war, as well as thousands of simple messages home from servicemen, and a few women. Today, the 1600 surviving Mobile Unit discs form part of the sound archives of Radio New Zealand, held by audiovisual archive Ngā Taonga Sound & Vision. In this article the author will outline the history of the Mobile Units and the context in which they worked. She will also describe on-going work to identify the speakers heard in their recordings and make this collection more discoverable and accessible to researchers. Ngā Taonga Sound & Vision is currently digitising the collection and preservation archivist Sandy Ditchburn will describe some of the challenges she has encoun- tered in capturing sound from the 80-year-old lacquer discs.

Objective: To determine the reference Interval of liver function tests during uncomplicated pregnancy inpopulation of Rawalpindi and assess their correlation over first and second trimesters of pregnancy. Study Design: Cross sectional study. Place and Duration of Study: Department of Chemical Pathology & Endocrinology Armed Forces Institute ofPathology Rawalpindi from Feb 2017 to Jun 2018. Methodology: Seven hundred and fifty four pregnant women with uncomplicated, single intrauterine pregnancy were recruited from Rawalpindi. Thirteen patients with known history of Diabetes Mellitus, hypertension, liver disease, renal disorders and those on anti-epileptics, non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs and steroids were excluded from the study. Blood sample was taken from each subject to analyze serum bilirubin, albumin, total alkaline phosphates and alanine aminotransferase on random access discrete auto analyser, ADVIA 1800 Chemistry system manufactured in Japan for Siemens Healthcare Diagnostics Inc. Data for serum bilirubin, albumin, ALP and ALT were expressed as mean ± standard deviation. As the reference data followed the Gaussian distribution, therefore the 2.5th and 97.5th percentiles were estimated by values approximately 2SD on each side of mean. Results: After analysis of serum samples of 754 subjects, the reference intervals for bilirubin, albumin, ALP andALT during first trimester were; bilirubin 3-9 µmol/l, albumin 31-45 g/L, ALP 122-224 U/l and ALT 3-35 U/l, while of second trimester were: bilirubin 2- 7µmol/l, albumin 28-45 g/L, ALP131-300U/l and ALT 1-33U/l. Conclusion: First and second trimester wise reference values of Liver Function Tests have been determined inpregnancy in this study. This would not only........

The study uses a multidimensional comparative analysis of the employed and unemployed in respective US states in four groups of dependent variables in the form of months: January 2020, November 2020, December 2020, January 2021 and its impact on providing logistical support to the US Armed Forces stationed in Poland . The research period of the study covers the impact of the crisis caused by the COVID-19 infectious disease pandemic. It led to a sharp increase in unemployment in April 2020. Such a strong and rapid growth dynamics of unemployment rates in the United States has not yet been recorded in history. An analysis conducted by the US Bureau of Labor Statistics indicates serious damage to the US labor market as a result of the COVID-19 infectious disease. At the end of November 2020 there were 9.8 million fewer people employed than in February (excluding agricultural work which is of a seasonal nature) [https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2020/12/covid19-pandemic-usa- employment-inequality /, status on 03/27/2021]. In 2020, the US national unemployment rate was at 3.6% in January and reached a record 14.7% in April. It has dropped dramatically since then, to around 6.7% in November, but the recovery has been uneven for women and black people, Latinos and young people - still experiencing high levels of unemployment. Since the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, the number of long-term unemployed has been growing steadily [https://www.theguardian.com/business/2020/dec/31/us-unemployment-december-coronavirus as of 03/27/2021]. An analysis of government data from the Pew Research Center shows that job losses during the pandemic hit workers in low-wage jobs particularly hard [https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2021/02/10/unemployed -americans-are-feeling-the-emotional-strain-of-job-loss-most-have-considered-changing-occupations /, as of 27/03/2021]. From December 2019 to December 2020, the percentage decline in employment in low-wage occupations was more than twice as high as in occupations with average wages (-12.5% vs. -5.3%) while employment in high-wage occupations slightly increased in this period [https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2021/02/10/unemployed-americans-are-feeling-the-emotional-strain-of-job-loss-most-have-considered-changing- occupations /, as of 27/03/2021]. An estimated 20 million people have lost their jobs in the United States. The data was downloaded from the website: https://www.bls.gov/ to conduct the research. They were grouped, inferred and ranked. The last stage of the research was the calculation of unemployment rates in four groups of dependent variables and outlining a bar chart by applying the ranking with the use of the median in four groups of observed variables.

Objectives: Hepatitis B virus (HBV) is a major public health problem worldwide. The prevalence of HBV is dependent on the modes of transmission. Chronic hepatitis B (CHB) infection can progress to liver cirrhosis and hepatocellular carcinoma. Oman is regarded as an intermediate endemic region and has had a neonatal vaccine against HBV since 1990. However, little research has been conducted regarding risk factors for HBV transmission. Our study aimed to identify the prevalence of major risk factors for acquiring HBV in Oman. Methods: We conducted a retrospective chart review of all adult Omani patients diagnosed with CHB at two tertiary hospitals in Oman, Sultan Qaboos University Hospital and Armed Forces Hospital, between February 2009 and July 2013. The prevalence of major risk factors was identified by interviewing CHB patients using a standard questionnaire during their follow-up visits to the hepatology clinic at both hospitals. The risk factor frequency was stratified by age, gender, and educational level. Results: A total of 274 patients were interviewed; 52.2% of the participants were males. The median age for men was 35.9 years and 35.1 years for women, with 75.5% aged 20–39 years old. The antenatal screening was the most common means of identifying HBV infection in females, and pre-blood donation screening was the most common in males. Intra-familial contact with HBV infected persons and behavioral risks such as body piercing (females) and barber shaving (males) were more common than nosocomial risk factors. Knowledge about HBV infection was scarce among our participants. More than half of the participants had a positive family history of HBV infection. There was a significant association between HBV infection and age groups, and educational levels (p < 0.050 and p < 0.001, respectively). Among those who were infected due to intrafamilial contact or behavioral risk, there was a significant difference between the two sexes (p < 0.020) and between the three age groups (< 23, 23–28, >28) of HBV positive mothers (33.3%, 14.3%, and 6.6%, respectively; p < 0.050). There was also a statistically significant difference among different educational levels (p < 0.050). Conclusions: Direct contact of infected individuals within a family and exposure to high-risk behaviors such as piercing and barber shaving are the main reported risk factors for HBV infection in Omani patients. Reducing the vertical and horizontal transmission of HBV in Oman could be improved by implementing routine antenatal screening of pregnant women and a greater focus on contact screening, respectively.

The author presents the determinants and basic problems of existence of Polish science and culture in the period preceding the turbulent year of 1968, as well as the events directly related to this key date in Poland’s history. The departure, by Mr Gomułka’s team, from the ‘achievements’ of the Polish October of ’56, that is, from certain concessions of a democratic nature, evoked deep disappointment in both institutions and the scientific, cultural and artistic milieus, and this, in time, led to attempts at protest. The PRP authorities and, most of all, the sections therein which were responsible for science, education and culture, systematically intervened in activities of the respective professional groups. The tightening of censorship, restrictions in the allocation of printing paper for books and periodicals, the closing down of newspapers, weeklies and magazines ‘inconvenient’ from the point of view of the authorities, the lack of opportunities for dialogue and constructive criticism, repressions against those who openly expressed their independent opinions, and the systematic surveillance of the scientific and creative milieus, were only a part of operations undertaken by the PRP powers-that-be in the second half of the 1960s. It was in that climate that a conflict between the state and the Roman Catholic Church was played out in the process of the Polish State Millennium celebrations in 1966, which coincided with the escalation of the party’s conflict with the intellectuals and men and women of letters, as well as with intra-party infighting between factions within the PUWP. It was the shortcomings of the centralised, command economy and the growing shortages in the shops which resulted in Poland’s situation becoming unstable and threatening to explode. The role of the fuse was performed by the events of March 1968, which were enacted in the cultural and scientific milieus: the turbulent meetings of Warsaw’s men and women of letters, the removal of Adam Mickiewicz’s Dziady (Forefathers’ Eve) from the National Theatre’s repertoire, the manifestation in protest against the removal which followed the last performance, and finally, the students’ rally in the courtyard of Warsaw University, as well as the strikes on the part of students and the personnel of higher education institutions in Warsaw and other Polish cities as the continuation of that rally. It was after these events, when the party had launched an anti-intelligentsia campaign, supplemented with an anti-Semite witch hunt and smear campaign, unleashed by the ‘partisans’ faction around Mieczysław Moczar and by Mr Władysław Gomułka himself. An ‘ethnic criterion’ was applied to the Polish scientific and cultural milieus, eliminating, in the climate of a media witch hunt, renowned academic teachers, scholars, film-makers, publishers, journalists, men and women of letters of Jewish extraction and, finally, driving them to emigrate from Poland. The Polish Armed Forces’ participation in the aggression against Czechoslovakia in 1968 evoked another wave of protests in Poland. The world of culture and science and its representatives living in the West expressed solidarity with the Czech and Slovak nations. This resulted in new arrests and the further emigration of the intellectual elites. It was the most dogmatic and anti-liberal faction of the party apparatchiks, supported by secret and overtcollaborators with the security structures, who came from different professional groups that were also related to science, culture and education, which became highly vocal and obtained wide access to the mass media. It was in this period that Polish culture and science toughened up and delivered itself of illusions; however, it also suffered losses, the recouping of which would be a painful process and, subsequently, would subsequently take its full toll of years.

The DebateQuestion 1: Various commentators have frequently invoked the importance of moderate Muslims and the role that they can play in fighting extremism in the Muslim world. But it is not clear who is a moderate Muslim. The recent cancellation of Tariq Ramadan’s visa to the United States, the raids on several American Muslim organizations, and the near marginalization of mainstream American Muslims in North America pose the following question: If moderate Muslims are critical to an American victory in the war on terror, then why does the American government frequently take steps that undermine moderate Muslims? Perhaps there is a lack of clarity about who the moderate Muslims are. In your view, who are these moderate Muslims and what are their beliefs and politics? GEF: Who is a moderate Muslim? That depends on whom you ask and what that person’s (or government’s) agenda is. Moderate is also a quite relative term, understood differently by different people. For our purposes here, let’s examine two basically different approaches to this question: an American view and a Middle Eastern view of what characterizes a moderate Muslim. Most non-Muslims would probably define a moderate Muslim as anyone who believes in democracy, tolerance, a non-violent approach to politics, and equitable treatment of women at the legal and social levels. Today, the American government functionally adds several more criteria: Amoderate Muslim is one who does not oppose the country’s strategic and geopolitical ambitions in the world, who accepts American interests and preferences within the world order, who believes that Islam has no role in politics, and who avoids any confrontation – even political – with Israel. There are deep internal contradictions and warring priorities within the American approach to the Muslim world. While democratization and “freedom” is the Bush administration’s self-proclaimed global ideological goal, the reality is that American demands for security and the war against terror take priority over the democratization agenda every time. Democratization becomes a punishment visited upon American enemies rather than a gift bestowed upon friends. Friendly tyrants take priority over those less cooperative moderate and democratic Muslims who do not acquiesce to the American agenda in the Muslim world. Within the United States itself, the immense domestic power of hardline pro-Likud lobbies and the Israel-firsters set the agenda on virtually all discourse concerning the Muslim world and Israel. This group has generally succeeded in excluding from the public dialogue most Muslim (or even non-Muslim) voices that are at all critical of Israel’s policies. This de facto litmus test raises dramatically the threshold for those who might represent an acceptable moderate Muslim interlocutor. The reality is that there is hardly a single prominent figure in the Muslim world who has not at some point voiced anger at Israeli policies against the Palestinians and who has not expressed ambivalence toward armed resistance against the Israeli occupation of Palestinian lands. Thus, few Muslim leaders enjoying public legitimacy in the Muslim world can meet this criterion these days in order to gain entry to the United States to participate in policy discussions. In short, moderate Muslimis subject to an unrealistic litmus test regarding views on Israel that functionally excludes the great majority of serious voices representative of genuine Muslim thinkers in the Middle East who are potential interlocutors. There is no reason to believe that this political framework will change in the United States anytime soon. In my view, a moderate Muslim is one who is open to the idea of evolutionary change through history in the understanding and practice of Islam, one who shuns literalism and selectivism in the understanding of sacred texts. Amoderate would reject the idea that any one group or individual has a monopoly on defining Islam and would seek to emphasize common ground with other faiths, rather than accentuate the differences. Amoderate would try to seek within Islam the roots of those political and social values that are broadly consonant with most of the general values of the rest of the contemporary world. A moderate Muslim would not reject the validity of other faiths. Against the realities of the contemporary Middle East, a moderate Muslim would broadly eschew violence as a means of settling political issues, but still might not condemn all aspects of political violence against state authorities who occupy Muslim lands by force – such as Russia in Chechnya, the Israeli state in the Palestine, or even American occupation forces in Iraq. Yet even here, in principle, a moderate must reject attacks against civilians, women, and children in any struggle for national liberation. Moderates would be open to cooperation with the West and the United States, but not at the expense of their own independence and sovereignty.

The DebateQuestion 1: Various commentators have frequently invoked the importance of moderate Muslims and the role that they can play in fighting extremism in the Muslim world. But it is not clear who is a moderate Muslim. The recent cancellation of Tariq Ramadan’s visa to the United States, the raids on several American Muslim organizations, and the near marginalization of mainstream American Muslims in North America pose the following question: If moderate Muslims are critical to an American victory in the war on terror, then why does the American government frequently take steps that undermine moderate Muslims? Perhaps there is a lack of clarity about who the moderate Muslims are. In your view, who are these moderate Muslims and what are their beliefs and politics? GEF: Who is a moderate Muslim? That depends on whom you ask and what that person’s (or government’s) agenda is. Moderate is also a quite relative term, understood differently by different people. For our purposes here, let’s examine two basically different approaches to this question: an American view and a Middle Eastern view of what characterizes a moderate Muslim. Most non-Muslims would probably define a moderate Muslim as anyone who believes in democracy, tolerance, a non-violent approach to politics, and equitable treatment of women at the legal and social levels. Today, the American government functionally adds several more criteria: Amoderate Muslim is one who does not oppose the country’s strategic and geopolitical ambitions in the world, who accepts American interests and preferences within the world order, who believes that Islam has no role in politics, and who avoids any confrontation – even political – with Israel. There are deep internal contradictions and warring priorities within the American approach to the Muslim world. While democratization and “freedom” is the Bush administration’s self-proclaimed global ideological goal, the reality is that American demands for security and the war against terror take priority over the democratization agenda every time. Democratization becomes a punishment visited upon American enemies rather than a gift bestowed upon friends. Friendly tyrants take priority over those less cooperative moderate and democratic Muslims who do not acquiesce to the American agenda in the Muslim world. Within the United States itself, the immense domestic power of hardline pro-Likud lobbies and the Israel-firsters set the agenda on virtually all discourse concerning the Muslim world and Israel. This group has generally succeeded in excluding from the public dialogue most Muslim (or even non-Muslim) voices that are at all critical of Israel’s policies. This de facto litmus test raises dramatically the threshold for those who might represent an acceptable moderate Muslim interlocutor. The reality is that there is hardly a single prominent figure in the Muslim world who has not at some point voiced anger at Israeli policies against the Palestinians and who has not expressed ambivalence toward armed resistance against the Israeli occupation of Palestinian lands. Thus, few Muslim leaders enjoying public legitimacy in the Muslim world can meet this criterion these days in order to gain entry to the United States to participate in policy discussions. In short, moderate Muslimis subject to an unrealistic litmus test regarding views on Israel that functionally excludes the great majority of serious voices representative of genuine Muslim thinkers in the Middle East who are potential interlocutors. There is no reason to believe that this political framework will change in the United States anytime soon. In my view, a moderate Muslim is one who is open to the idea of evolutionary change through history in the understanding and practice of Islam, one who shuns literalism and selectivism in the understanding of sacred texts. Amoderate would reject the idea that any one group or individual has a monopoly on defining Islam and would seek to emphasize common ground with other faiths, rather than accentuate the differences. Amoderate would try to seek within Islam the roots of those political and social values that are broadly consonant with most of the general values of the rest of the contemporary world. A moderate Muslim would not reject the validity of other faiths. Against the realities of the contemporary Middle East, a moderate Muslim would broadly eschew violence as a means of settling political issues, but still might not condemn all aspects of political violence against state authorities who occupy Muslim lands by force – such as Russia in Chechnya, the Israeli state in the Palestine, or even American occupation forces in Iraq. Yet even here, in principle, a moderate must reject attacks against civilians, women, and children in any struggle for national liberation. Moderates would be open to cooperation with the West and the United States, but not at the expense of their own independence and sovereignty.

This book is a collection of essays written by a variety of experts on Turkey and social movements and provides a critical analysis of the role of the Gülen Movement (GM)—or Hizmet (“service”), as it is referred to by its adherents—in the coup attempt which was undertaken by one or more factions of the Turkish armed forces in July 2016. Edited and contributed to by M. Hakan Yavuz and Bayram Balci, this work began at a conference in October of 2016, where these experts gathered to discuss the coup itself as well as its implications and ramifications. The chapters in the book all build off of each other to some degree, with earlier chapters covering the history of the GM and the ways in which it has acquired influence both in Turkey and abroad; the coup and structural factors both within Turkish society; and the GM alliance with the Justice and Development Party (AKP) led by Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, the current president of Turkey. Later chapters expand in scope, covering the foreign policy implications of the coup both for Turkey and the United States, where Fethullah Gülen, the eponymous leader of the movement, resides today. Several chapters engage the state of the scholarship on the GM itself, effectively unpacking the ways in which the organization has actively co-opted academia by offering paid trips to Turkey, publishing non-peer-reviewed material, and funding conferences which avoid critical analysis of the GM. In the introduction Balci and Yavuz discuss the history of the Turkish state, giving particular focus to the place of religion under Kemal Atatürk; the pair discusses how the Turkish concept of secularism hews much more closely to the Jacobin tradition than the Anglo-American understanding. This is quite important as the alliance between the AKP and the GM (following Turkish elections in 2002 wherein the AKP swept to power) rested on a shared desire to overthrow the Kemalist conception of secularism, which seeks to dominate religion and prevent its expression in the public sphere. The book’s first chapter, written by Yavuz, charts the GM’s development over time, enumerating three key stages in its history. The first was that of a loosely bound religious network, encouraged by their leader to do good works; the second marked the expansion of the GM both within and outside of Turkey as an education-providing and media powerhouse; the third saw the GM create a parallel state structure in Turkey, which was mobilized to further increase the movement’s power throughout the 2000s and this current decade, most famously during the coup itself, though a variety of other incidents are discussed here and throughout the book. The next chapter details the coup itself, giving background which is necessary to understand the rest of the work and underlining four key junctures which put Turkey on the path to the July 15th event. The chapter’s author, Mujeeb R. Khan, notes that the structure of Turkish institutions (particularly its version of secularism), the continued domination of the Turkish deep state following the introduction of multi-party elections several decades ago, the neo-liberal opening Turkey experienced in the 1980s, and the rise of the AKP in the early 2000s all played integral roles in the rise of the GM and, eventually, the coup. Yavuz collaborated with Rasim Koç to write the third chapter, which examines the relationship between the GM and Erdoğan’s AKP (beginning with the unspoken alliance between the two which started after AKP’s 2002 electoral victory and whose disintegration led to the coup) as well as foreign policy consequences it had for Turkey. Chapters 4 and 5, written by Michael A. Reynolds and Kiliç Kanat, examine the coup, including the factors and events which led to both its occurrence and its failure. Kanat’s examination of why the coup failed is particularly interesting; he compares and contrasts the failure with previous successful coups which occurred in Turkey during the mid- to late-twentieth century. The next chapter, written by Caroline Tee, returns specifically to the topic of the AKP-GM relationship, digging deeply into the events which caused what on the surface seemed like a natural alliance to fracture and, during 2016, turn upon itself. Sabine Dreher’s chapter follows Tee’s, and is one of the most theoretical in the book, as it places the GM in the contexts of neoliberal and globalist theory, and notes internal contradictions within the movement itself. She considers how the global goals of the organization—the eradication of ignorance through educational work, the alleviation of poverty through private enterprise run by movement members, and the hosting of intercultural and interfaith dialogue— stand at odds with the nationalist project of the GM in Turkey, where movement members attempted to seize control of the state they had been infiltrating for some time as opposed to working outside of it. Balci wrote the eighth chapter, which deals with the GM movement’s presence in former Soviet satellites, namely Georgia, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan. Following the coup attempt in 2016, the Turkish government pressured all of these states to shut down any GM movement activities within their countries, which was difficult as the GM provided excellent education to the children of elites in these nations. He then charts the differing reactions of the states mentioned above. The ninth chapter, by David Tittensor, turns to the structure of the GM and how secrecy and hierarchy play crucial roles in it, a reality which is often denied by the majority of scholarship—though he and other contributors to the work might dispute the use of the term “scholarship”, or at least qualify it. He does end his chapter with a criticism of the theory that GM members were key leaders of the coup, a conclusion which is at odds with that of most other contributors to the volume. The tenth chapter, by Yavuz Çobanoĝlu, provides insight into the role of women in the GM, criticizing some of Gülen’s writings and detailing the experiences of female students living in GM dormitories in Turkey, an experience that many of the women surveyed found to be repressive. Kristina Dohrn’s contribution outlines the activities and role of the GM movement in Tanzania, which, similar to Balci’s chapter, deals with repercussions of the coup and examines potential paths forward for the GM outside of Turkey. The work’s final chapter, written by Joshua Hendrick, is about how the GM presented itself as a “good” Islam in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, during a period in which the West writ large was searching for a “modern” version of the religion which it could champion in opposition to extremism. He effectively critiques the idea that religion itself can be good or bad, and rightly puts the onus on the actors themselves. The book ends with a postscript which examines the four major theories about how the coup may have come to pass, and comes to the conclusion that GM members were central and sole actors in the coup, which was in all likelihood approved by Gülen himself. This work does an excellent job of unpacking the GM and its various religious and political facets, even for the relatively uninitiated reader, and pushes back strongly against what it identifies as the prevailing anti-Erdoĝan Western narratives about the coup, which try to shift blame away from the GM and onto the shoulders of other actors, including the AKP leader. Particularly interesting is the book’s criticism of GM-sponsored scholarship, which is cited as one of the primary ways in which the GM has ingratiated itself worldwide, as it frames the group as “good” Islam. The work refrains from being speculative but does examine possible futures for the GM, mostly outside of Turkey, as the country’s government has gone to extreme lengths to uproot the movement in its homeland—lengths that the authors do rightly criticize as going too far, if somewhat tepidly at times. The US-Turkey relationship as it relates to the GM issue, specifically hisresidence in the US, is also examined in some depth and leads a student of either Islam in the US or the country’s politics to wonder if the GM has successfully insinuated itself into any institutions here, as it has done in Turkey. The author of this review once believed that Erdoĝan may have permitted or even been behind the coup attempt as a vehicle to consolidate power, but the evidence and arguments presented by the authors of this work have swayed his point of view; the GM was almost certainly responsible for the coup attempt, and it seems likely that Gülen himself gave his blessing to the members of his movement who carried it out. Grant MarthinsenMA, Center for Contemporary Arab StudiesGeorgetown University

The year 2016 is a very important year for Slovenia. It is the year in which we commemorate our decision made 25 years ago to take an independent and democratic path, a path of decisions and changes. Since then, a lot has occurred. We have gained a number of experiences, we are more skilled and more knowledgeable. On the occasion of important anniversaries, such as this one, we usually take time to appreciate the milestones which marked the path we have walked. But what is even more inspiring is that these anniversaries and historical memories can be used as a source of ideas for the future. The editorial board of Contemporary Military Challenges set a goal to honour the twenty-five years of Slovenia's independence with this year's last number titled Republic of Slovenia - first 25 years of independence in the international security environment. In this issue we would like to include papers which reflect the knowledge of Slovenian history and experience in the field of security, defence and military, and are at the same time enriched with current topics and suggestions for Slovenia's future path in the international security environment. The third issue which will see the light of day in October will be titled International security community at a crossroads. We expect papers on the novelties introduced by the NATO Summit in Warsaw and the new European Defence Strategy, papers regarding different current security risks and in particular papers on possible responses to such risks. The most important element of response to security risks is prevention in the form of anticipation, planning, formation and coordination of strategies and, finally, their successful realization. The second issue in our eighteenth volume will be titled Women, peace and security on the 15th anniversary of the UN Security Council Resolution 1325. In the past, two collections of scientific papers on women in the armed forces were published in Slovenia. The first was published by the Ministry of Defence in 1995, while the second is the result of cooperation of the Ministry of Defence and the Faculty of Social Sciences. However, this will be the first issue of Contemporary Military Challenges devoted specifically to this subject. The title of this year's first issue is Armed forces today. With these selected titles and topics we will dedicate this year's issues to the past, the present, the future, to women, and to peace and security. The first paper in the issue devoted to the armed forces today is titled Theoretical aspects of the relationship between strategy and defence planning in the security- defence and military fields. Pavel Vuk says that "/…/ a state's investment in the development of strategic thought, planning knowledge and skills should not be the subject of calculations regarding the resources invested, but the subject of long-term investment into the development of the thinking processes, ideas about future military objectives, warfare concepts and future possibilities of the armed forces". He believes that strategy and defence planning are rightfully placed among the most important and at the same time most challenging activities of every state. Mehmedin Tahirović and Olivera Injac present the Development of the defence system of Montenegro. In their opinion, each state has its own strategic reasons for and particularities in the search of the best model for the protection of its security. They continue with the thought that reforms and the construction of all elements of Montenegro's national security during the accession process to Euro-Atlantic structures, especially the defence system, are much cheaper and that the level of their effectiveness is much higher. Roving defence attachés: advantages and disadvantages is the title of the paper in which Gregor Zupan highlights the working principles of defence attachés who, due to the reduction of finances and the influence of modern technologies, have mostly been assuming posts of resident or roving defence attachés in recent years. In his paper, the author reflects the positive and negative aspects of both functions, especially from the aspect of the diplomatic career path development. Vinko Vegič writes about the Emergence and conceptualization of hybrid warfare. He raises the issue of defining the concept of hybrid warfare in general and on the example of Ukraine and the so-called Islamic State, and defines its basic characteristics. Later in the paper, the author addresses the possibilities and issues of confronting hybrid warfare, and stresses the necessity to reflect on what the new strategic reality, currently manifested in the phenomenon of hybrid warfare in the Eastern and Southern outskirts of NATO (Ukraine, Syria and Iraq), is bringing to Slovenia's security environment. Echelonment of fires and indirect fire systems in the Slovenian Armed Forces is the title of the topic addressed by Viktor Potočnik. According to the author, the purpose of this paper is simple: to form a standpoint of the Slovenian Armed Forces regarding the role and the task of systems providing indirect fires for fire support at the tactical level, all the way from platoon to brigade level. He explains the concept of the echelonment of fires and its significance for the success of fire and manoeuvre in the battlefield. Was he successful and how did he do it? You can read more about it in his paper. Civil-military cooperation in general, especially in NATO and the European Union, and the particularities of such cooperation among the armed forces were the focus of Maja Garb in her paper titled Development of the term and the concept of civil- military cooperation and coordination in peace operations. One of her conclusions is that the overview of the contents and use of the civil-military cooperation term, better known as CIMIC, shows that in the context of modern peacekeeping operations both the contents and its use are ambiguous. Moreover, there are contradictions regarding cooperation in the field, which is especially evident in the relationship between humanitarian organizations and military forces. Andreas Hauptmann Kaiser prepared a paper titled The German armed forces mountain troops in which he presents the purpose, organization and functioning of the German mountain warfare units in detail, with special emphasis on the 23rd Mountain Infantry Brigade and the Edelweiss 2015 exercise. As always, readers of the Contemporary Military Challenges are kindly invited to read the papers and submit their own.

Abstract This article looks at the role of women in the Indonesian military in the second half of the twentieth century, specifically from Indonesia’s independence on 17 August 1945 until the 1960s. Following state efforts to create uniformity among citizens by including women in all sectors of national life, including the military – long perceived to be a masculine institution – Indonesian women only became active in the military after men. Women’s early military participation was critical in advancing their role in the public sphere and in eroding men’s military dominance. The purpose of this analysis is to investigate the role of the state in providing space for women in the armed forces. It uncovers how early policies in Indonesia excluded women from military forces and activities; the first women’s corps was established only fifteen years after Indonesia declared independence. Even then, they were confined to the female-only corps to allow the Indonesian military to maintain its masculine image.

Abstract Study question What is the prevalence of female infertility among UK military personnel and does it differ from the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) and civilian populations? Summary answer Prevalence of self-reported infertility was higher in servicewomen (31.7%) and female MPS officers (36.3%) than in civilian women (24.4%). What is known already Arduous employment is associated with numerous potential occupational hazards and behaviours that may be relevant to fertility. These include physical and psychological stress, smoking, alcohol drinking and other lifestyle factors. A preliminarily report in 2016 indicated that UK servicewomen over 30 years of age were more likely to present with fertility problems compared with reported civilian infertility data for age-matched women. Few previous studies have compared infertility prevalence of servicewomen with civilians, and none have compared infertility prevalence with other occupations. Study design, size, duration A cross-sectional study was undertaken in 2019 to determine prevalence of infertility. All eligible UK servicewomen (14,650) and MPS officers (8,262) aged 18–60 years were invited to participate with sisters of participants recruited as controls using a snowball technique. Data including pregnancy history, time to each pregnancy and self-reported infertility risk-factors were collected using an online questionnaire. We estimated a sample of 4898 servicewomen would give a precision of 1% around infertility prevalence estimates. Participants/materials, setting, methods The questionnaire was developed, piloted and adapted for electronic distribution. The occupational groups were invited by email to complete the questionnaire on three occasions. Prevalence of infertility was defined as the proportion of women at risk of pregnancy who had not become pregnant within 12 months. Only women with pregnancy outcomes, or fully tested for fertility (12 months or more of exposure), were included in the denominator. Main results and the role of chance Participants included 4806 (33%) women serving in the UK Armed Forces, 1237 (15%) female MPS officers and 435 (estimated 8%) non-military, non-MPS sisters (biological, half, step or adopted) of both groups. 98.4% of responses were complete. Prevalence of self-reported 12-month infertility was 31.7% (95% CI 29.9–33.5) in servicewomen, 36.3% (95% CI 33.1–39.7) in MPS officers and 24.4% (95% CI 19.6–29.8) in civilian women. Age, history of polycystic ovary syndrome, endometriosis, fibroids, tubal and pelvic surgery, hysterectomy and a short General Health Questionnaire (GHQ 12) score of &gt; 4 (suggesting a minor psychiatric disorder) were associated with infertility and adjusted for in logistic regression models to estimate odds ratios. The adjusted odds ratio (aOR) of infertility in servicewomen was 1.0 (95% CI 0.8–1.2) compared with MPS officers and 1.5 (95% CI 1.1–2.0) in both servicewomen and MPS officers compared with sisters. Limitations, reasons for caution The major limitation is the low response rate, particularly in the two control groups, potentially resulting in response bias. Prevalence of infertility could have been further over-estimated if fertile women are more likely to have left the military or MPS. There is scope for residual confounding. Wider implications of the findings: Further analyses will explore the key risk factors to identify what aspects of these occupations contribute to infertility and which may be modifiable. Future cohort studies would be helpful to extend the understanding of the influence of occupation on infertility. Trial registration number Not applicable

Since the return to democratic rule in Argentina in 1983, competing claims about how the period of political and state violence of the 1970s and 1980s might be collectively remembered by the nation have caused deep political and societal divisions. This paper explores the personal memories of Argentine women from two ideologically-opposed groups—those on the political Left affected by military repression during the 1976-1983 military dictatorship and those on the political Right affected by the armed guerrilla violence predominantly in the years leading up to the 1976 military coup. In contemporary Argentina, the memories of enduring personal trauma which both groups of women carry are commonly perceived as unable to co-exist in a shared mnemonic space – as if remembering one history of violence is seen as an attempt to forget or violate the other history of violence and trauma.

Abstract After decades of refusal, neglect, and tacit admittance, the service of Indigenous people in the national armed forces of settler colonial states such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United States is finally gaining acknowledgment. Indigenous people are now integrated in the regular forces and represented in national war commemoration. This article maintains that while inclusion and recognition of Indigenous military service is a positive transformation in the direction of post-colonial reconciliation, it still operates within the logics of settler colonialism intended to eradicate Indigenous stories of connection to land and assimilate Indigenous people in settler society. Using the case study of Indigenous militarization in Australia, this article argues that, under conditions of settler colonialism, the inclusion and recognition of Indigenous people in national militaries advances the settler colonial project intended to dispossess Indigenous people from their land and assimilate them in the new settler society. It highlights that historically, military organization has supported settler colonialism, and positions the present inclusion and recognition of Indigenous people in the military as a continuation of this history.

ABSTRACT Introduction Assessment of the medical fitness to serve in the armed forces has two objectives: to prevent the military operations from being jeopardized by a medical issue, and to protect soldiers from the sequelae of diseases that could become complicated in the operational field, especially in overseas operations where soldiers are exposed to a remote setting and a long evacuation time. Little is known about fitness decisions for soldiers with systemic or autoimmune diseases. Therefore, we conducted a single-center retrospective study of internal medicine fitness decisions. Materials and Methods All the fitness decisions discussed from September 2019 to December 2020 in our department of internal medicine were reviewed. Gender, age, army or service, rank, garrison and health topic were collected from the medical files. Our Military Hospital local ethics committee, in accordance with the French law, approved this study. Results There were 41 cases, involving 31 men and 10 women (mean age: 31 years), presenting with autoimmune or systemic diseases, metabolic disorders, thrombophilia, congenital or acquired malformations or organ failure, miscellaneous nephropathies, or hemogram abnormalities. Four patients were taking immunosuppressive agents, 3 biologics, and 4 anticoagulants. Among the 15 civilians requiring medical fitness assessment to enlistment, 6 were declared fit. They presented with a history of juvenile idiopathic arthritis with intermediate uveitis without relapse for 7 years, Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser syndrome type II with ectopic kidney, solitary kidney with normal renal function and with hypertension, isolated proteinuria, proteinuria with microscopic hematuria, and muscular fibrolipoma with a history of surgical treatment of a vascular malformation. Among the 26 patients already enlisted in the armed forces, 9 were referred for assessment of medical fitness to serve overseas. Two soldiers were assessed as fit without restrictions; one presented with a history of a single episode of deep vein thrombosis after surgery, and the other had a history of monoclonal gammopathy of renal significance without relapse and without treatment for 8 years. Four soldiers were assessed as fit only for overseas territories with sanitary structures similar to mainland France. They presented with immunoglobulin A (IgA) nephropathy and treatment with angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor, mevalonate kinase deficiency and treatment with anakinra, chronic idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura, and history of unilateral partial renal infarction. The 17 other soldiers were referred for dispensation, long-sickness leave granting, or for specification toward administrative coding of their disease. Conclusions We have described the first exhaustive study of specialized fitness decisions referred to an internal medicine department. One-third of the referred patients were declared fit to serve in the armed forces. Further studies are needed to confirm these results, as our study was monocentric. Fitness decisions must take into account the disease, the treatment, and the operational field characteristics. Soldiers with systemic diseases controlled by immunosuppressive agents can serve in tropical areas if they can reach adequate sanitary structures in a short time. The knowledge of systemic diseases as well as the skillfulness of the internists, which are regularly projected to the operational fields, allows them to provide pragmatic fitness expertise to myriad complex situations.

Female athletes are at increased risk of menstrual disturbances. The prevalence of menstrual disturbances in British Servicewomen and the associated risk factors is unknown. All women under 45 years in the UK Armed Forces were invited to complete a survey about demographics, menstrual function, eating and exercise behaviors, and psychological well-being. 3,022 women participated; 18% had oligomenorrhoea or amenorrhoea in the last 12 months, 25% had a history of amenorrhoea, and 14% had delayed menarche. Women who sleep ≥ 8 h were at a lower risk of a history of amenorrhoea than women who sleep ≤ 5 h [odds ratio (95% confidence intervals) = 0.65 (0.48, 0.89), p = 0.006]. Women who completed &gt; 10 days of field exercise in the last 12 months were at higher risk of a history of amenorrhoea than women completing no field exercise [1.45 (1.13, 1.85), p = 0.004]. Women at high risk of an eating disorder (FAST score &gt;94) were at higher risk of oligomenorrhoea or amenorrhoea [1.97 (1.26, 3.04), p = 0.002] and history of amenorrhoea [2.14 (1.63, 2.79), p &lt; 0.001]. Women with symptoms of anxiety or depression were at higher risk of a history of amenorrhoea [1.46 (1.20, 1.77) and 1.48 (1.22, 1.79), p &lt; 0.001]. British Servicewomen had a similar prevalence of menstrual disturbances to some endurance athletes. Eating disorders, sleep behaviors, and management of mental health, provide targets for protecting health of the reproductive axis.

The history of prostitution, defined as the commercial exchange of sexual services, provides a fertile ground for the study of the intersections between gender, race and class. Obviously, the sale of sexual labour has implications for constructions of gender, although the specific implications may change with time. Commercial sex offers particularly sharp insights into the ways in which gender considerations intersect with class and race because of the physical intimacy and potential for procreation involved in the sex act. Prostitution literally forces societies to come face to face with their assumptions about and attitudes to class and race hierarchies and relationships. The Australian case is especially useful for studying these relationships because of the imbalance in the ratio of men to women which has characterized colonial society generally and certain types of communities in particular, and the ways in which this imbalance affected some classes and ethnic groups more than others. Colonial Australia also provides a complex tapestry of ethnic/racial issues because it included divisions not just between “white” settlers and indigenous Aborigines, but also between both of these groups and various groups of immigrant, “coloured” workers. In the twentieth century, when demographic patterns became more balanced in gender terms and more homogenous in racial terms, the international sex industry continued to be important because it played a part in Australia's quest for recognition as an independent member of the community of “civilized”, white, nations. Finally, the process of reassessing Australia's place in the world was intimately connected to a reassessment of Australia's domestic policies, both in relation to prostitution generally and to the sexual exploitation of Aboriginal women.

Khojaly, located in the Nagorno-Karabakh region of Azerbaijan, was attacked by the Armenian armed forces on the night of February 25, 1992, as a result of the Yerevan administration's desire to dominate Nagorno-Karabakh and subsequently implement an imperialist policy such as the establishment of "Great Armenia". During this attack, which was supported by the 366th Motorized Regiment of the former Soviet Army in Khankendi, according to official figures, a total of 613 people were killed, including 106 women, 63 children, and 70 elderly people; 487 people, 76 of them children, were seriously injured and 1,275 people were taken prisoner. 150 people have not been heard from again. According to unofficial figures, the number of massacres is 1,300 and the number of casualties is over 1,000. While Armenia's massacre in Khojaly has taken its place in history as a murder committed against humanity, this atrocity has had repercussions in the national and foreign press. The study aims to contribute to the literature by presenting the reason for the Armenians' attack on Khojaly, the massacre they committed during the attack, and the tragic events that the people of Khojaly went through due to this massacre, and to reveal the reflections of the Khojaly Massacre on the Turkish and Western press. In this study, the mentioned process has been examined in the light of relevant studies, and domestic and foreign periodicals.

Human civilizations on the earth have a curious history. In the initial phases it is common that different human groups in the different parts of the world initiated their struggles to establish their stable, safe and secure habitats. In this their struggle went on with the natural phenomenon and overpowering them. But the very next phase on the timeline displays the horrible part of colonialism in which the powerful nations under their pride, and in order to prove their sovereignty tried to crush and overpower those who were weak, gullible or unorganized. The colonial powers firstly entered the foreign land with either mercantile purpose, then took charge of the political authorities and lastly took the reins of the entire administration of those nations in their hands. In general understandings and opinions the Western especially the European Nations ransacked the globe and established their colonies in all corners of the world. The rest of the world was on the receiving end. Be it Africa, America, Australia or Asia, the European hegemony ruled supreme in the domain of political establishments during the 18th, 19th and the major part of 20th centuries on the map of the world. In compare to the European atrocities towards the colonized subjects, the other cultures seemed honest and self sufficient who never tried to gulp down the territories of other nation or cultures through their armed forces or through their political sagacity. Adverse to this kind of generalizations, Japan exercised her atrocious military powers on her neighboring, peace loving nation Korea. This comes as a shock to the writer, when he studies the oppressive measures undertaken by the Japanese Administration to suppress the non-violent, disciplined movement of the 20 million Koreans to free their ‘Mother Korea’ from the shackles of oppressive foreign rulers. And he undertakes an exercise to write down a full length book depicting this struggle of Koreans in a vernacular Indian Language, Gujarati. This author is Zaverchand Meghani and his book is Asia Nu Kalank. (The Infamy of Asia)

1909–22: Turkey exterminated over 1.5 million of its ethnically Armenian, and hundreds of thousands of its ethnically Greek and Assyrian, citizens. Most died in 1915. This period of decimation in now widely called the Armenian Genocide (Balakian 179-80).1910: Siamanto first published his poem, The Dance: “The corpses were piled as trees, / and from the springs, from the streams and the road, / the blood was a stubborn murmur.” When springs run red, when the dead are stacked tree-high, when “everything that could happen has already happened,” then time is nothing: “there is no future [and] the language of civilised humanity is not our language” (Nichanian 142).2007: In my novel The Edge of the World a ceramic bowl, luminous blue, recurs as motif. Imagine you are tiny: the bowl is broken but you don’t remember breaking it. You’re awash with tears. You sit on the floor, gather shards but, no matter how you try, you can’t fix it. Imagine, now, that the bowl is the sky, huge and upturned above your head. You have always known, through every wash of your blood, that life is shockingly precarious. Silence—between heartbeats, between the words your parents speak—tells you: something inside you is terribly wrong; home is not home but there is no other home; you “can never be fully grounded in a community which does not share or empathise with the experience of persecution” (Wajnryb 130). This is the stubborn murmur of your body.Because time is nothing, this essay is fragmented, non-linear. Its main characters: my mother, grandmother (Hovsanna), grandfather (Benyamin), some of my mother’s older siblings (Krikor, Maree, Hovsep, Arusiak), and Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (Ottoman military officer, Young Turk leader, first president of Turkey). 1915–2013: Turkey invests much energy in genocide denial, minimisation and deflection of responsibility. 24 April 2012: Barack Obama refers to the Medz Yeghern (Great Calamity). The use of this term is decried as appeasement, privileging political alliance with Turkey over human rights. 2003: Between Genocide and Catastrophe, letters between Armenian-American theorist David Kazanjian and Armenian-French theorist Marc Nichanian, contest the naming of the “event” (126). Nichanian says those who call it the Genocide are:repeating every day, everywhere, in all places, the original denial of the Catastrophe. But this is part of the catastrophic structure of the survivor. By using the word “Genocide”, we survivors are only repeating […] the denial of the loss. We probably cannot help it. We are doing what the executioner wanted us to do […] we claim all over the world that we have been “genocided;” we relentlessly need to prove our own death. We are still in the claws of the executioner. We still belong to the logic of the executioner. (127)1992: In Revolution and Genocide, historian Robert Melson identifies the Armenian Genocide as “total” because it was public policy intended to exterminate a large fraction of Armenian society, “including the families of its members, and the destruction of its social and cultural identity in most or all aspects” (26).1986: Boyajian and Grigorian assert that the Genocide “is still operative” because, without full acknowledgement, “the ghosts won’t go away” (qtd. in Hovannisian 183). They rise up from earth, silence, water, dreams: Armenian literature, Armenian homes haunted by them. 2013: My heart pounds: Medz Yeghern, Aksor (Exile), Anashmaneli (Indefinable), Darakrutiun (Deportation), Chart (Massacre), Brnagaght (Forced migration), Aghed (Catastrophe), Genocide. I am awash. Time is nothing.1909–15: Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was both a serving Ottoman officer and a leader of the revolutionary Young Turks. He led Ottoman troops in the repulsion of the Allied invasion before dawn on 25 April at Gallipoli and other sites. Many troops died in a series of battles that eventually saw the Ottomans triumph. Out of this was born one of Australia’s founding myths: Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZACs), courageous in the face of certain defeat. They are commemorated yearly on 25 April, ANZAC Day. To question this myth is to risk being labelled traitor.1919–23: Ataturk began a nationalist revolution against the occupying Allies, the nascent neighbouring Republic of Armenia, and others. The Allies withdrew two years later. Ataturk was installed as unofficial leader, becoming President in 1923. 1920–1922: The last waves of the Genocide. 2007: Robert Manne published A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide, calling for a recontextualisation of the cultural view of the Gallipoli landings in light of the concurrence of the Armenian Genocide, which had taken place just over the rise, had been witnessed by many military personnel and widely reported by international media at the time. Armenian networks across Australia were abuzz. There were media discussions. I listened, stared out of my office window at the horizon, imagined Armenian communities in Sydney and Melbourne. Did they feel like me—like they were holding their breath?Then it all went quiet. Manne wrote: “It is a wonderful thing when, at the end of warfare, hatred dies. But I struggle to understand why Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide continue to exist for Australians in parallel moral universes.” 1992: I bought an old house to make a home for me and my two small children. The rooms were large, the ceilings high, and behind it was a jacaranda with a sturdy tree house built high up in its fork. One of my mother’s Armenian friends kindly offered to help with repairs. He and my mother would spend Saturdays with us, working, looking after the kids. Mum would stay the night; her friend would go home. But one night he took a sleeping bag up the ladder to the tree house, saying it reminded him of growing up in Lebanon. The following morning he was subdued; I suspect there were not as many mosquitoes in Lebanon as we had in our garden. But at dinner the previous night he had been in high spirits. The conversation had turned, as always, to politics. He and my mother had argued about Turkey and Russia, Britain’s role in the development of the Middle East conflict, the USA’s roughshod foreign policy and its effect on the world—and, of course, the Armenian Genocide, and the killingof Turkish governmental representatives by Armenians, in Australia and across the world, during the 1980s. He had intimated he knew the attackers and had materially supported them. But surely it was the beer talking. Later, when I asked my mother, she looked at me with round eyes and shrugged, uncharacteristically silent. 2002: Greek-American diva Diamanda Galas performed Dexifiones: Will and Testament at the Perth Concert Hall, her operatic work for “the forgotten victims of the Armenian and Anatolian Greek Genocide” (Galas).Her voice is so powerful it alters me.1925: My grandmother, Hovsanna, and my grandfather, Benyamin, had twice been separated in the Genocide (1915 and 1922) and twice reunited. But in early 1925, she had buried him, once a prosperous businessman, in a swamp. Armenians were not permitted burial in cemeteries. Once they had lived together in a big house with their dozen children; now there were only three with her. Maree, half-mad and 18 years old, and quiet Hovsep, aged seven,walked. Then five-year-old aunt, Arusiak—small, hungry, tired—had been carried by Hovsanna for months. They were walking from Cilicia to Jerusalem and its Armenian Quarter. Someone had said they had seen Krikor, her eldest son, there. Hovsanna was pregnant for the last time. Together the four reached Aleppo in Syria, found a Christian orphanage for girls, and Hovsanna, her pregnancy near its end, could carry Arusiak no further. She left her, promising to return. Hovsanna’s pains began in Beirut’s busy streets. She found privacy in the only place she could, under a house, crawled in. Whenever my mother spoke of her birth she described it like this: I was born under a stranger’s house like a dog.1975: My friend and I travelled to Albany by bus. After six hours we were looking down York Street, between Mount Clarence and Mount Melville, and beyond to Princess Royal Harbour, sapphire blue, and against which the town’s prosperous life—its shopfronts, hotels, cars, tourists, historic buildings—played out. It took away my breath: the deep harbour, whaling history, fishing boats. Rain and sun and scudding cloud; cliffs and swells; rocky points and the white curves of bays. It was from Albany that young Western Australian men, volunteers for World War I, embarked on ships for the Middle East, Gallipoli, sailing out of Princess Royal Harbour.1985: The Australian Government announced that Turkey had agreed to have the site of the 1915 Gallipoli landings renamed Anzac Cove. Commentators and politicians acknowledged it as historic praised Turkey for her generosity, expressed satisfaction that, 70 years on, former foes were able to embrace the shared human experience of war. We were justifiably proud of ourselves.2005: Turkey made her own requests. The entrance to Albany’s Princess Royal Harbour was renamed Ataturk Channel. A large bronze statue of Ataturk was erected on the headland overlooking the Harbour entrance. 24 April 1915: In the town of Hasan Beyli, in Cilicia, southwest Turkey, my great grandfather, a successful and respected businessman in his 50s, was asleep in his bed beside his wife. He had been born in that house, as had his father, grandfather, and all his children. His brother, my great uncle, had bought the house next door as a young man, brought his bride home to it, lived there ever since; between the two households there had been one child after another. All the cousins grew up together. My great grandfather and great uncle had gone to work that morning, despite their wives’ concerns, but had returned home early. The women had been relieved to see them. They made coffee, talked. Everyone had heard the rumours. Enemy ships were massing off the coast. 1978: The second time in Albany was my honeymoon. We had driven into the Goldfields then headed south. Such distance, such beautiful strangeness: red earth, red rocks; scant forests of low trees, thin arms outstretched; the dry, pale, flat land of Norseman. Shimmering heat. Then the big, wild coast.On our second morning—a cool, overcast day—we took our handline to a jetty. The ocean was mercury; a line of cormorants settled and bobbed. Suddenly fish bit; we reeled them in. I leaned over the jetty’s side, looked down into the deep. The water was clear and undisturbed save the twirling of a pike that looked like it had reversed gravity and was shooting straight up to me. Its scales flashed silver as itbroke the surface.1982: How could I concentrate on splicing a film with this story in my head? Besides the desk, the only other furniture in the editing suite was a whiteboard. I took a marker and divided the board into three columns for the three generations: my grandparents, Hovsanna and Benyamin; my mother; someone like me. There was a lot in the first column, some in the second, nothing in the third. I stared at the blankness of my then-young life.A teacher came in to check my editing. I tried to explain what I had been doing. “I think,” he said, stony-faced, “that should be your third film, not your first.”When he had gone I stared at the reels of film, the white board blankness, the wall. It took 25 years to find the form, the words to say it: a novel not a film, prose not pictures.2007: Ten minutes before the launch of The Edge of the World, the venue was empty. I made myself busy, told myself: what do you expect? Your research has shown, over and over, this is a story about which few know or very much care, an inconvenient, unfashionable story; it is perfectly in keeping that no-one will come. When I stepped onto the rostrum to speak, there were so many people that they crowded the doorway, spilled onto the pavement. “I want to thank my mother,” I said, “who, pretending to do her homework, listened instead to the story her mother told other Armenian survivor-women, kept that story for 50 years, and then passed it on to me.” 2013: There is a section of The Edge of the World I needed to find because it had really happened and, when it happened, I knew, there in my living room, that Boyajian and Grigorian (183) were right about the Armenian Genocide being “still operative.” But I knew even more than that: I knew that the Diaspora triggered by genocide is both rescue and weapon, the new life in this host nation both sanctuary and betrayal. I picked up a copy, paced, flicked, followed my nose, found it:On 25 April, the day after Genocide memorial-day, I am watching television. The Prime Minister stands at the ANZAC memorial in western Turkey and delivers a poetic and moving speech. My eyes fill with tears, and I moan a little and cover them. In his speech he talks about the heroism of the Turkish soldiers in their defence of their homeland, about the extent of their losses – sixty thousand men. I glance at my son. He raises his eyebrows at me. I lose count of how many times Kemal Ataturk is mentioned as the Father of Modern Turkey. I think of my grandmother and grandfather, and all my baby aunts and uncles […] I curl over like a mollusc; the ache in my chest draws me in. I feel small and very tired; I feel like I need to wash.Is it true that if we repeat something often enough and loud enough it becomes the truth? The Prime Minister quotes Kemal Ataturk: the ANZACS who died and are buried on that western coast are deemed ‘sons of Turkey’. My son turns my grandfather’s, my mother’s, my eyes to me and says, It is amazing they can be so friendly after we attacked them.I draw up my knees to my chest, lay my head and arms down. My limbs feel weak and useless. My throat hurts. I look at my Australian son with his Armenian face (325-6).24 April 1915 cont: There had been trouble all my great grandfather’s life: pogrom here, massacre there. But this land was accustomed to colonisers: the Mongols, the Persians, latterly the Ottomans. They invade, conquer, rise, fall; Armenians stay. This had been Armenian homeland for thousands of years.No-one masses ships off a coast unless planning an invasion. So be it. These Europeans could not be worse than the Ottomans. That night, were my great grandfather and great uncle awoken by the pounding at each door, or by the horses and gendarmes’ boots? They were seized, each family herded at gunpoint into its garden, and made to watch. Hanging is slow. There could be no mistakes. The gendarmes used the stoutest branches, stayed until they were sure the men weredead. This happened to hundreds of prominent Armenian men all over Turkey that night.Before dawn, the Allies made landfall.Each year those lost in the Genocide are remembered on 24 April, the day before ANZAC Day.1969: I asked my mother if she had any brothers and sisters. She froze, her hands in the sink. I stared at her, then slipped from the room.1915: The Ottoman government decreed: all Armenians were to surrender their documents and report to authorities. Able-bodied men were taken away, my grandfather among them. Women and children, the elderly and disabled, were told to prepare to walk to a safe camp where they would stay for the duration of the war. They would be accompanied by armed soldiers for their protection. They were permitted to take with them what they could carry (Bryce 1916).It began immediately, pretty young women and children first. There are so many ways to kill. Months later, a few dazed, starved survivors stumbled into the Syrian desert, were driven into lakes, or herded into churches and set alight.Most husbands and fathers were never seen again. 2003: I arrived early at my son’s school, parked in the shade, opened The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk, and began to read. Soon I was annotating furiously. Ruth Wajnryb writes of “growing up among innocent peers in an innocent landscape” and also that the notion of “freedom of speech” in Australia “seems often, to derive from that innocent landscape where reside people who have no personal scars or who have little relevant historical knowledge” (141).1984: I travelled to Vancouver, Canada, and knocked on Arusiak’s door. Afraid she would not agree to meet me, I hadn’t told her I was coming. She was welcoming and gracious. This was my first experience of extended family and I felt loved in a new and important way, a way I had read about, had observed in my friends, had longed for. One afternoon she said, “You know our mother left me in an orphanage…When I saw her again, it was too late. I didn’t know who they were, what a family was. I felt nothing.” “Yes, I know,” I replied, my heart full and hurting. The next morning, over breakfast, she quietly asked me to leave. 1926: When my mother was a baby, her 18 year-old sister, Maree, tried to drown her in the sea. My mother clearly recalled Maree’s face had been disfigured by a sword. Hovsanna, would ask my mother to forgive Maree’s constant abuse and bad behaviour, saying, “She is only half a person.”1930: Someone gave Hovsanna the money to travel to Aleppo and reclaim Arusiak, by then 10 years old. My mother was intrigued by the appearance of this sister but Arusiak was watchful and withdrawn. When she finally did speak to my then five-year-old mother, she hissed: “Why did she leave me behind and keep you?”Soon after Arusiak appeared, Maree, “only half a person,” disappeared. My mother was happy about that.1935: At 15, Arusiak found a live-in job and left. My mother was 10 years old; her brother Hovsep, who cared for her before and after school every day while their mother worked, and always had, was seventeen. She adored him. He had just finished high school and was going to study medicine. One day he fell ill. He died within a week.1980: My mother told me she never saw her mother laugh or, once Hovsep died, in anything other than black. Two or three times before Hovsep died, she saw her smile a little, and twice she heard her singing when she thought she was alone: “A very sad song,” my mother would say, “that made me cry.”1942: At seventeen, my mother had been working as a live-in nanny for three years. Every week on her only half-day off she had caught the bus home. But now Hovsanna was in hospital, so my mother had been visiting her there. One day her employer told her she must go to the hospital immediately. She ran. Hovsanna was lying alone and very still. Something wasn’t right. My mother searched the hospital corridors but found no-one. She picked up a phone. When someone answered she told them to send help. Then she ran all the way home, grabbed Arusiak’s photograph and ran all the way back. She laid it on her mother’s chest, said, “It’s all right, Mama, Arusiak’s here.”1976: My mother said she didn’t like my boyfriend; I was not to go out with him. She said she never disobeyed her own mother because she really loved her mother. I went out with my boyfriend. When I came home, my belongings were on the front porch. The door was bolted. I was seventeen.2003: I read Wajnryb who identifies violent eruptions of anger and frozen silences as some of the behaviours consistent in families with a genocidal history (126). 1970: My father had been dead over a year. My brothers and I were, all under 12, made too much noise. My mother picked up the phone: she can’t stand us, she screamed; she will call an orphanage to take us away. We begged.I fled to my room. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t keep still. I paced, pressed my face into a corner; shook and cried, knowing (because she had always told us so) that she didn’t make idle threats, knowing that this was what I had sometimes glimpsed on her face when she looked at us.2012: The Internet reveals images of Ataturk’s bronze statue overlooking Princess Royal Harbour. Of course, it’s outsized, imposing. The inscription on its plinth reads: "Peace at Home/ Peace in the World." He wears a suit, looks like a scholar, is moving towards us, a scroll in his hand. The look in his eyes is all intensity. Something distant has arrested him – a receding or re-emerging vision. Perhaps a murmur that builds, subsides, builds again. (Medz Yeghern, Aksor, Aghed, Genocide). And what is written on that scroll?2013: My partner suggested we go to Albany, escape Perth’s brutal summer. I tried to explain why it’s impossible. There is no memorial in Albany, or anywhere else in Western Australia, to the 1.5 million victims of the Armenian Genocide. ReferencesAkcam, Taner. “The Politics of Genocide.” Online Video Clip. YouTube. YouTube, 11 Dec. 2011. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watchv=OxAJaaw81eU&noredirect=1genocide›.Balakian, Peter. The Burning Tigress: The Armenian Genocide. London: William Heinemann, 2004.BBC. “Kemal Ataturk (1881–1938).” BBC History. 2013. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/ataturk_kemal.shtml›.Boyajian, Levon, and Haigaz Grigorian. “Psychological Sequelae of the Armenian Genocide.”The Armenian Genocide in Perspective. Ed. Richard Hovannisian. New Brunswick: Transaction, 1987. 177–85.Bryce, Viscount. The Treatment of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1916.Galas, Diamanda. Program Notes. Dexifiones: Will and Testament. Perth Concert Hall, Perth, Australia. 2001.———.“Dexifiones: Will and Testament FULL Live Lisboa 2001 Part 1.” Online Video Clip. YouTube, 5 Nov. 2011. Web. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvVnYbxWArM›.Kazanjian, David, and Marc Nichanian. “Between Genocide and Catastrophe.” Loss. Eds. David Eng and David Kazanjian. Los Angeles: U of California P, 2003. 125–47.Manne, Robert. “A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide.” The Monthly Feb. 2007. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.themonthly.com.au/turkish-tale-gallipoli-and-armenian-genocide-robert-manne-459›.Matiossian, Vartan. “When Dictionaries Are Left Unopened: How ‘Medz Yeghern’ Turned into a Terminology of Denial.” The Armenian Weekly 27 Nov. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/11/27/when-dictionaries-are-left-unopened-how-medz-yeghern-turned-into-terminology-of-denial/›.Melson, Robert. Revolution and Genocide. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996.Nicholson, Brendan. “ASIO Detected Bomb Plot by Armenian Terrorists.” The Australian 2 Jan. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/in-depth/cabinet-papers/asio-detected-bomb-plot-by-armenian-terrorists/story-fnbkqb54-1226234411154›.“President Obama Issues Statement on Armenian Remembrance Day.” The Armenian Weekly 24 Apr. 2012. 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/04/24/president-obama-issues-statement-on-armenian-remembrance-day/›.Polain, Marcella. The Edge of the World. Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007.Siamanto. “The Dance.” Trans. Peter Balakian and Nervart Yaghlian. Adonias Dalgas Memorial Page 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.terezakis.com/dalgas.html›.Stockings, Craig. “Let’s Have a Truce in the Battle of the Anzac Myth.” The Australian 25 Apr. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/opinion/lets-have-a-truce-in-the-battle-of-the-anzac-myth/story-e6frgd0x-1226337486382›.Wajnryb, Ruth. The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk. Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2001.

BASTARDYAll children born before matrimony, or so long after the death of the husband as to render it impossible that the child could be begotten by him, are bastards.– Cro. Jac. 451William Toone: The Magistrates Manual, 1817 (66)On 4 September 1832, the body of a newborn baby boy was found washed up on the shore at the port town of Fremantle, Western Australia. As the result of an inquest into the child’s suspicious death, a 20-year-old, unmarried woman named Mary Summerland was accused of concealing his birth. In October 2014, 25-year-old Irish backpacker Caroline Quinn faced court in Perth, Western Australia, over claims that she concealed the birth of her stillborn child after giving birth in the remote north west town of Halls Creek during May of the same year. Both women denied the existence of their children, both appear to have given birth to their “illegitimate” babies alone, and both women claimed that they did not know that they had ever been pregnant at all. In addition, both women hid the body of their dead child for several days while the people they lived with or were close to, did not appear to notice that the mother of the child had had a baby. In neither case did any person associated with either woman seek to look for the missing child after it had been born.Despite occurring 182 years apart, the striking similarities between these cases could lead to the assumption that it is almost as if there were a written script of behaviour that would explain the actions of both young women. Close examination of the laws surrounding child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth reveals evidence of similar behaviours being enacted by women as far back as the 1600s (and earlier), and all are shaped in response to the legal frameworks that prosecuted women who gave birth outside of marriage.This article traces the history of child murder law from its formation in England in the 1600s and explores how early moral assumptions concerning unmarried mothers echoed through the lived experiences of women who killed their illegitimate babies in colonial Western Australia, and continue to resonate in the treatment of, and legal response to, women accused of similar crimes in the present day. The Unlicensed ChildThe unlicensed child is a term coined by Swain and Howe to more accurately define the social matrix faced by single women and their children in Australia. The term seeks to emphasise the repressive and controlling religious, legal and social pressures that acted on Australian women who had children outside marriage until the mid-1970s (xxi, 1, 92, 94). For the purposes of this article, I extend Swain and Howe’s term the unlicensed child to coin the term the unlicensed mother. Following on from Swain and Howe’s definition, if the children of unmarried mothers did not have a license to be born, it is essential to acknowledge that their mothers did not have a license to give birth. Women who had children without social and legal sanction gave birth within a society that did not allocate them “permission” to be mothers, something that the corporeality of pregnancy made it impossible for them not to be. Their own bodies—and the bodies of the babies growing inside them—betrayed them. Unlicensed mothers were punished socially, religiously, legally and financially, and their children were considered sinful and inferior to children who had married parents simply because they had been born (Scheper-Hughes 410). This unspoken lack of authorisation to experience the unavoidably innate physicality of pregnancy, birth and motherhood, in turn implies that, until recently unmarried mothers did not have license to be mothers. Two MothersAll that remains of the “case” of Mary Summerland is a file archived at the State Records Office of Western Australia under the title CONS 3472, Item 10: Rex V Mary Summerland. Yet revealed within those sparse documents is a story echoed by the events surrounding Caroline Quinn nearly two hundred years later. In September 1832, Mary Summerland was an unmarried domestic servant living and working in Fremantle when the body of a baby was found lying on a beach very close to the settlement. Western Australia had only been colonized by the British in 1829. The discovery of the body of an infant in such a tiny village (colonial Fremantle had a population of only 436 women and girls out of 1341 non-Aboriginal emigrants) (Gardiner) set in motion an inquest that resulted in Mary Summerland being investigated over the suspicious death of the child.The records suggest that Mary may have given birth, apparently alone, over a week prior to the corpse of the baby being discovered, yet no one in Fremantle, including her employer and her family, appeared to have noticed that Mary might have been pregnant, or that she had given birth to a child. When Mary Summerland was eventually accused of giving birth to the baby, she strongly denied that she had ever been pregnant, and denied being the mother of the child. It is not known how her infant ended up being disposed of in the ocean. It is also not known if Mary was eventually charged with concealment or child murder, but in either scenario, the case against her was dismissed as “no true bill” when she faced her trial. The details publically available on the case of Caroline Quinn are also sparse. Even the sex of her child has not been revealed in any of the media coverage of the event. Yet examination of the limited details available on her charge of “concealment of birth” reveal similarities between her behaviours and those of Mary Summerland.In May 2014 Caroline Quinn had been “travelling with friends in the Kimberly region of Western Australia” (Lee), and, just as Mary did, Caroline claims she “did not realise that she was pregnant” when she went into labour (Independent.ie). She appears, like Mary Summerland, to have given birth alone, and also like Mary, when her child died due to unexplained circumstances she hid the corpse for several days. Also echoing Mary’s story, no person in the sparsely populated Hall’s Creek community (the town has a populace of 1,211) or any friends in Caroline’s circle of acquaintances appears to have noticed her pregnancy, nor did they realise that she had given birth to a baby until the body of the child was discovered hidden in a hotel room several days after her or his birth. The media records are unclear as to whether Caroline revealed her condition to her friends or whether they “discovered” the body without her assistance. The case was not brought to the attention of authorities until Caroline’s friends took her to receive medical attention at the local hospital and staff there notified the police.Media coverage of the death of Caroline Quinn’s baby suggests her child was stillborn or died soon after birth. As of 13 August 2014 Caroline was granted leave by the Chief Magistrate to return home to Ireland while she awaited her trial, as “without trivialising the matter, nothing more serious was alleged than the concealing of the birth” (Collins, "Irish Woman"). Caroline Quinn was not required to return to Australia to appear at her trial and when the case was presented at the Perth Magistrates Court on Thursday 2 October, all charges against her were dropped as the prosecutor felt “it was not in the public interest” to proceed with legal action (Collins, "Case").Statutory MarginalisationTo understand the similarities between the behaviours of, and legal and medical response to, Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn, it is important to situate the deaths of their children within the wider context of child murder, concealment of birth and “bastardy” law. Tracing the development of these methods of law-making clarifies the parallels between much of the child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth narrative that has occurred in Western Australia since non-Aboriginal settlement.Despite the isolated nature of Western Australia, the nearly 400 years since the law was formed in England, and the extremely remote rural locations where both these women lived and worked, their stories are remarkably alike. It is almost as if there were a written script and each member of the cast knew what role to play: both Mary and Caroline knew to hide their pregnancies, to deny the overwhelmingly traumatic experience of giving birth alone, and to conceal the corpses of their babies. The fathers of their children appear to have cut off any connection to the women or their child. The family, friends, or employers of the parents of the dead babies knew to pretend that they did not know that the mother was pregnant or who the father was. The police and medical officers knew to charge these women and to collect evidence that could be used to simultaneously meet the needs of the both prosecution and the defence when the cases were brought to trial.In reference to Mary Summerland’s case, in colonial Western Australia when a woman gave birth to an infant who died under suspicious circumstances, she could be prosecuted with two charges: “child murder” and/or “concealment of birth”. It is suggestive that Mary may have been charged with both. The laws regarding these two offences were focused almost exclusively on the deaths of unlicensed children and were so deeply interconnected they are difficult to untangle. For Probyn, shame pierces the centre of who we think we are, “what makes it remarkable is that it reveals with precision our values, hopes and aspirations, beyond the generalities of good manners and cultured norms” (x). Dipping into the streams of legal and medical discourse that flow back to the seventeenth century highlights the pervasiveness of discourses marginalising single women and their children. This situates Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn within a ‘burden on society’ narrative of guilt, blame and shame that has been in circulation for over 500 years, and continues to resonate in the present (Coull).An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard ChildrenIn England prior to the 17th century, penalties for extramarital sex, the birth and/or maintenance of unlicensed children or for committing child murder were expressed through church courts (Damme 2-6; Rapaport 548; Butler 61; Hoffer and Hull 3-4). Discussion of how the punishment of child murder left the religious sphere and came to be regulated by secular laws that were focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother points to two main arguments: firstly, the patriarchal response to unlicensed (particularly female) sexuality; and secondly, a moral panic regarding a perceived rise in unlicensed pregnancies in women of the lower classes, and the resulting financial burden placed on local parishes to support unwanted, unlicensed children (Rapaport 532, 48-52; McMahon XVII, 126-29; Osborne 49; Meyer 3-8 of 14). In many respects, as Meyer suggests, “the legal system subtly encouraged neonaticide through its nearly universally negative treatment of bastard children” (240).The first of these “personal control laws” (Hoffer and Hull 13) was the Old Poor Law created by Henry VIII in 1533, and put in place to regulate all members of English society who needed to rely on the financial assistance of the parish to survive. Prior to 1533, “by custom the children of the rich depended on their relations, while the ‘fatherless poor’ relied on the charity of the monastic institutions and the municipalities” (Teichman 60-61). Its implementation marks the historical point where the state began to take responsibility for maintenance of the poor away from the church by holding communities responsible for “the problem of destitution” (Teichman 60-61; Meyer 243).The establishment of the poor law system of relief created a hierarchy of poverty in which some poor people, such as those suffering from sickness or those who were old, were seen as worthy of receiving support, while others, who were destitute as a result of “debauchery” or other self-inflicted means were seen as undeserving and sent to a house of correction or common gaol. Underprivileged, unlicensed mothers and their children were seen to be part of the category of recipients unfit for help (Jackson 31). Burdens on SocietyIt was in response to the narrative of poor unlicensed women and their children being undeserving fiscal burdens on law abiding, financially stretched community members that in 1576 a law targeted specifically at holding genetic parents responsible for the financial maintenance of unlicensed children entered the secular courts for the first time. Called the Elizabethan Poor Law it was enacted in response to the concerns of local parishes who felt that, due to the expenses exacted by the poor laws, they were being burdened with the care of a greatly increased number of unlicensed children (Jackson 30; Meyer 5-6; Teichman 61). While the 1576 legislation prosecuted both parents of unlicensed children, McMahon interprets the law as being created in response to a blend of moral and economic forces, undergirded by a deep, collective fear of illegitimacy (McMahon 128). By the 1570s “unwed mothers were routinely whipped and sent to prison” (Meyer 242) and “guardians of the poor” could force unlicensed mothers to wear a “badge” (Teichman 63). Yet surprisingly, while parishes felt that numbers of unlicensed children were increasing, no concomitant rise was actually recorded (McMahon 128).The most damning evidence of the failure of this law, was the surging incidence of infanticide following its implementation (Rapaport 548-49; Hoffer and Hull 11-13). After 1576 the number of women prosecuted for infanticide increased by 225 percent. Convictions resulting in unlicensed mothers being executed also rose (Meyer 246; Hoffer and Hull 8, 18).Infanticide IncreasesBy 1624 the level of infanticide in local communities was deemed to be so great An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard Children was created. The Act made child murder a “sex-specific crime”, focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother, who if found guilty of the offence was punished by death. Probyn suggests that “shame is intimately social” (77) and indeed, the wording of An Act to Prevent highlights the remarkably similar behaviours enacted by single women desperate to avoid the shame and criminal implication linked to the social position of unlicensed mother: Whereas many lewd Women that have been delivered of Bastard Children, to avoyd their shame and to escape punishment [my italics], doe secretlie bury, or conceale the Death of their Children, and after if the child be found dead the said Women doe alleadge that the said Children were borne dead;…For the preventing therefore of this great Mischiefe…if any Woman…be delivered of any issue of the Body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Lawes of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavour privatlie either by drowning or secret burying thereof, or any other way, either by herselfe of the procuring of others, soe to conceale the Death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it be borne alive or not, but be concealed, in every such Case the Mother so offending shall suffer Death… (Davies 214; O'Donovan 259; Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rose 1-2; Rapaport 548). An Act to Prevent also “contained an extraordinary provision which was a reversion of the ordinary common law presumption of dead birth” (Davies 214), removing the burden of proof from the prosecution and placing it on the defence (Francus 133; McMahon 128; Meyer 2 of 14). The implication being that if the dead body of a newborn, unlicensed baby was found hidden, it was automatically assumed that the child had been murdered by their mother (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rapaport 549-50; Francus 133). This made the Act unusual in that “the offence involved was the concealment of death rather than the death itself” (O'Donovan 259). The only way an unlicensed mother charged with child murder was able to avoid capital punishment was to produce at least one witness to give evidence that the child was “borne dead” (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Meyer 238; McMahon 126-27).Remarkable SimilaritiesClearly, the objective of An Act to Prevent was not simply to preserve infant life. It is suggestive that it was enacted in response to women wishing to avoid the legal, social, corporal and religious punishment highlighted by the implementation of the poor law legislation enacted throughout earlier centuries. It is also suggestive that these pressures were so powerful that threat of death if found guilty of killing their neonate baby was not enough to deter women from concealing their unlicensed pregnancies and committing child murder. Strikingly analogous to the behaviours of Mary Summerland in 19th century colonial Western Australia, and Caroline Quinn in 2014, the self-preservation implicit in the “strategies of secrecy” (Gowing 87) surrounding unlicensed birth and child murder often left the mother of a dead baby as the only witness to her baby’s death (McMahon xvii 49-50).An Act to Prevent set in motion the legislation that was eventually used to prosecute Mary Summerland in colonial Western Australia (Jackson 7, Davies, 213) and remnants of it still linger in the present where they have been incorporated into the ‘concealment of birth law’ that prosecuted Caroline Quinn (Legal Online TLA [10.1.182]).Changing the ‘Script’Shame runs like a viral code through the centuries to resonate within the legal response to women who committed infanticide in colonial Western Australia. It continues on through the behaviours of, and legal responses to, the story of Caroline Quinn and her child. As Probyn observes, “shame reminds us about the promises we keep to ourselves” in turn revealing our desire for belonging and elements of our deepest fears (p. x). While Caroline may live in a society that no longer outwardly condemns women who give birth outside of marriage, it is fascinating that the suite of behaviours manifested in response to her pregnancy and the birth of her child—by herself, her friends, and the wider community—can be linked to the narratives surrounding the formation of “child murder” and “concealment” law nearly 400 years earlier. Caroline’s narrative also encompasses similar behaviours enacted by Mary Summerland in 1832, in particular that Caroline knew to say that her child was “born dead” and that she had merely concealed her or his body—nothing more. This behaviour appears to have secured the release of both women as although both Mary and Caroline faced criminal investigation, neither was convicted of any crime. Yet, neither of these women or their small communities were alone in their responses. My research has uncovered 55 cases linked to child murder in Western Australia and the people involved in all of these incidences share unusually similar behaviours (Gardiner). Perhaps, it is only through the wider community becoming aware of the resonance of child murder law echoing through the centuries, that certain women who are pregnant with unwanted children will be able to write a different script for themselves, and their “unlicensed” children. ReferencesButler, Sara, M. "A Case of Indifference? Child Murder in Later Medieval England." Journal of Women's History 19.4 (2007): 59-82. Collins, Padraig. "Case against Irish Woman for Concealing Birth Dropped." The Irish Times 2 Oct. 2014. ---. "Irish Woman Held for Hiding Birth in Australia Allowed Return Home." The Irish Times 13 Aug. 2014. Coull, Kim. “The Womb Artist – A Novel: Translating Late Discovery Adoptee Pre-Verbal Trauma into Narrative”. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Damme, Catherine. "Infanticide: The Worth of an Infant under Law." Medical History 22.1 (1978): 1-24. Davies, D.S. "Child-Killing in English Law." The Modern Law Review 1.3 (1937): 203-23. Dickinson, J.R., and J.A. Sharpe. "Infanticide in Early Modern England: The Court of Great Sessions at Chester, 1650-1800." Infanticide: Historical Perspectives on Child Murder and Concealment, 1550-2000. Ed. Mark Jackson. Hants: Ashgate, 2002. 35-51.Francus, Marilyn. "Monstrous Mothers, Monstrous Societies: Infanticide and the Rule of Law in Restoration and Eighteenth-Century England." Eighteenth-Century Life 21.2 (1997): 133-56. Gardiner, Amanda. "Sex, Death and Desperation: Infanticide, Neonaticide and Concealment of Birth in Colonial Western Australia." Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Gowing, Laura. "Secret Births and Infanticide in Seventeenth-Century England." Past & Present 156 (1997): 87-115. Hoffer, Peter C., and N.E.H. Hull. Murdering Mothers: Infanticide in England and New England 1558-1803. New York: New York University Press, 1984. Independent.ie. "Irish Woman Facing Up to Two Years in Jail for Concealing Death of Her Baby in Australia." 8 Aug. 2014. Law Reform Commission of Western Australia. "Chapter 3: Manslaughter and Other Homicide Offences." Review of the Law of Homicide: Final Report. Perth: Law Reform Commission of Western Australia, 2007. 85-117.Lee, Sally. "Irish Backpacker Charged over the Death of a Baby She Gave Birth to While Travelling in the Australia [sic] Outback." Daily Mail 8 Aug. 2014. Legal Online. "The Laws of Australia." Thomson Reuters 2010. McMahon, Vanessa. Murder in Shakespeare's England. London: Hambledon and London, 2004. Meyer, Jon'a. "Unintended Consequences for the Youngest Victims: The Role of Law in Encouraging Neonaticide from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries." Criminal Justice Studies 18.3 (2005): 237-54. O'Donovan, K. "The Medicalisation of Infanticide." Criminal Law Review (May 1984): 259-64. Osborne, Judith A. "The Crime of Infanticide: Throwing Out the Baby with the Bathwater." Canadian Journal of Family Law 6 (1987): 47-59. Rapaport, Elizabeth. "Mad Women and Desperate Girls: Infanticide and Child Murder in Law and Myth." Fordham Urban Law Journal 33.2 (2006): 527-69.Rose, Lionel. The Massacre of the Innocents: Infanticide in Britain, 1800-1939. London: Routledge & Kegan, 1986. Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. Death without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1992. Swain, Shurlee, and Renate Howe. Single Mothers and Their Children: Disposal, Punishment and Survival in Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Teichman, Jenny. Illegitimacy: An Examination of Bastardy. Oxford: Cornell University Press, 1982. Toone, William. The Magistrate's Manual: Or a Summary of the Duties and Powers of a Justice of the Peace. 2nd ed. London: Joseph Butterworth and Son, 1817.

This year’s first issue of the Contemporary Military Challenges is dedicated to military terminology. In over twenty years of the journal, we have not yet published a thematic issue specifically addressing this field, although throughout the years of its development, questions, dilemmas, and debates about the individual terms, concepts, and translations, and their true meaning have always been present. This does not mean, however, that nobody in the defence sector has dealt with this area. Quite the contrary; from the articles, our readers will be able to learn about the history, organization, development, opportunities and challenges faced by terminologists, proofreaders, translators, editors and, last but not least, all other stakeholders, not only from the field of defence, but also from the broader Slovenian environment. The authors of the articles in this issue often refer to the historical context in which the Slovene language has evolved, putting an emphasis on the military profession. In this respect, it is important to note that Slovene military language has a rich history. On this occasion it is also worth mentioning the Slovenian nobleman and military Major, Andrej Komel Sočebran, the founder of Slovene military language. Among other things, he also endeavoured to translate various German military terms into Slovene. He published two books, Osnova vojstva (Basis of the Military) in 1884, and Organizacija vojstva (Organization of the Military) in 1890. The Slovene term “vojstvo” as the equivalent of “the military”, however, is no longer used in today's technical security-, defence- and military-related language. In 1996, the Ministry of Defence began to publish the journal entitled “Vojstvo”, but only until the year 2000. On page 3 of the introduction to the first issue of the publication, Dr Tomo Korošec, a professor and expert in military terminology, explained the reasons for choosing the word “vojstvo” as its title. He argued that with the word “vojstvo”, Komel had found an excellent translation of the German term for the military as an overarching term covering soldiers, war and everything related to the military and defence. In Slovene, all these words, including their adjectival derivatives, are derived from the same root voj- combined with different suffixes, such as -ak (soldier), -na (war), -ska (army), and -aštvo (military). Unfortunately, neither the term “vojstvo” nor the publication with that title have been preserved. The number and variety of military terminology challenges have been significantly influenced by the integration of the Republic of Slovenia into the international security environment, as well as by the desire and the need to synchronize military technical terminology to ensure better organization and the effectiveness of joint efforts. In the article Contemporary trends in Slovene military terminology by Tina Pečovnik, we learn about the procedures, criteria and laws in establishing standards and interaction with other terminologists and institutions in Slovenia. The author provides a typological classification of some of the most recent Slovene military terms and emphasizes the need for a more systematic collection and study of terminology. In this regard, she points out some of the demanding Slovene terminological choices for different concepts. Tamara Derman Zadravec focused on the Standardization of Slovene military terminology. In her article, she explains in detail what the term standardization means, how standardization takes place and why it is needed in the Slovenian environment. She explains the reasons why it plays such an important role both within the Alliance and in the cooperation between NATO member states. Finally, she presents the guidelines for the future development of Slovene military terminology. In the article Terminology management in Slovenian military environment and examples of good practice, Ana Hazler explains in detail how translators and terminologists in the Slovenian defence system and the Slovenian Armed Forces worked and continue to work. She specifically presents proposals for future efforts based on the findings obtained through a comparative analysis of the practices of other NATO member states in the area of military terminology development. Un-/justified terminological intervention in the use of Slovene equivalents for the term aircraft is the title of an article by Vanesa Škornik. She presents various aspects and dimensions of the challenges faced by linguists, proofreaders, translators and other subject-matter experts in the fields of security, defence and the military, as well as by others, such as air personnel or sailors. Which term is the right one to choose considering the usage, and how to justify it? More about this in the article. In his article Standardization and terminology in NATO - the role of Centres of Excellence Rafael Kolbl writes about standardization in NATO, which is important for Slovenia's cooperation with other Allies. The NATO Mountain Warfare Centre of Excellence in the Republic of Slovenia also faces various challenges in the field of military terminology. The author presents variations in the understanding of the concept of mountains, whose altitude (hills, knolls, etc.) varies according to different countries and regions in geographical terms, which consequently calls for a different approach to warfare. A case study of how to translate and, consequently, adequately define certain concepts, was prepared by Nina Raduha and Iris Žnidarič in the article Terminology as the cornerstone of the defence and military profession – the case of NATO's Strategic Communications Concept. Often, translation alone does not provide an adequate term in a certain subject-matter field, which means that an appropriate term still has to be found. When such a term already exists and means something else similar in some other subject-matter area, the challenge becomes all the more interesting. In the article Impact of artificial intelligence development on national security, Mojca Pešec explains the terminology and definition of artificial intelligence, what this concept encompasses and where it appears in the field of security. There are many definitions and forms in many fields. Some of them are of particular interest to the security and defence systems and armed forces, which will in the future require additional attention dedicated to artificial intelligence terminology and systems in the field of defence and security. What does the term strategy mean and what are the differences in its use within different scientific and research fields? What does the term military strategy mean and how does it differ from political strategy? Is it a theory or practice of strategy? The importance of strategies in history, their importance today, and what will happen with this term in the future, was explored by Pavel Vuk in his article Challenges to military strategy in the 21st century. The number of female authors in this issue is far larger than the number of male authors. The year 2020 marks the 20th anniversary of the adoption of the United Nations Security Council Resolution 1325, which is dedicated to women, peace and security. The ratio between female and male authors in this issue is purely coincidental and has nothing to do with this anniversary; however, is it possible that the field of terminology is perhaps still more appealing to women, especially profession-wise?

IntroductionBallarat’s Theatre Royal was the first permanent theatre built in inland Australia. Upon opening in 1858, it was acclaimed as having “the handsomest theatrical exterior in the colony” (Star, “Editorial” 7 Dec. 1889) and later acknowledged as “the grandest playhouse in all Australia” (Spielvogel, Papers Vol. 1 160). Born of Gold Rush optimism, the Royal was loved by many, yet the over-arching story of its ill-fated existence has failed to surface, in any coherent fashion, in official history. This article takes some first steps toward retrieving lost knowledge from fragmented archival records, and piecing together the story of why this purpose-built theatre ceased operation within a twenty-year period. A short history of the venue will be provided, to develop context. It will be argued that while a combination of factors, most of which were symptomatic of unfortunate timing, destroyed the longevity of the Royal, the principal problem was one of stigmatisation. This was an era in which the societal pressure to visibly conform to conservative values was intense and competition in the pursuit of profits was fierce.The cultural silence that befell the story of the Royal, after its demise, is explicable in relation to history being written by the victors and a loss of spokespeople since that time. As theatre arts historiographer McConachie (131) highlights, “Theatres, like places for worship and spectator sports, hold memories of the past in addition to providing a practical and cognitive framework for performance events in the present.” When that place, “a bounded area denoted by human agency and memory” (131), is lost in time, so too may be the socio-cultural lessons from the period, if not actively recalled and reconsidered. The purpose of this article is to present the beginning of an investigation into the disjointed narrative of Ballarat’s Theatre Royal. Its ultimate failure demonstrates how dominant community based entertainment became in Ballarat from the 1860s onwards, effectively crushing prospects for mid-range professional theatre. There is value in considering the evolution of the theatre’s lifespan and its possible legacy effects. The connection between historical consciousness and the performing arts culture of by-gone days offers potential to reveal specks of cross-relevance for regional Australian theatrical offerings today.In the BeginningThe proliferation of entertainment venues in Ballarat East during the 1850s was a consequence of the initial discovery of surface alluvial gold and the ongoing success of deep-lead mining activities in the immediate area. This attracted extraordinary numbers of people from all over the world who hoped to strike it rich. Given the tough nature of life on the early gold diggings, most disposable income was spent on evening entertainment. As a result, numerous venues sprang into operation to cater for demand. All were either canvas tents or makeshift wooden structures: vibrant in socio-cultural activity, however humble the presentation values. It is widely agreed (Withers, Bate and Brereton) that noteworthy improvements occurred from 1856 onwards in the artistry of the performers, audience tastes, the quality of theatrical structures and living standards in general. Residents began to make their exit from flood and fire prone Ballarat East, moving to Ballarat West. The Royal was the first substantial entertainment venture to be established in this new, affluent, government surveyed township area. Although the initial idea was to draw in some of the patronage which had flourished in Ballarat East, Brereton (14) believed “There can be no doubt that it was [primarily] intended to attract those with good taste and culture”. This article will contend that how society defined ‘good taste’ turned out to be problematic for the Royal.The tumultuous mid-1850s have attracted extensive academic and popular attention, primarily because they were colourful and politically significant times. The period thereafter has attracted little scholarly interest, unless tied to the history of surviving organisations. Four significant structures designed to incorporate theatrical entertainment were erected and opened in Ballarat from 1858 onwards: The Royal was swiftly followed by the Mechanics Institute 1859, Alfred Hall 1867 and Academy of Music 1874-75. As philosopher Albert Borgmann (41) highlighted, the erection of “magnificent settings in which the public could gather and enjoy itself” was the dominant urban aspiration for cultural consumption in the nineteenth century. Men of influence in Victorian cities believed strongly in progress and grand investments as a conscious demonstration of power, combined with Puritan vales, teetotalism and aggressive self-assertiveness (Briggs 287-88). At the ceremonial laying of the foundation stone for the Royal on 20 January 1858, eminent tragedian, Gustavos Brooke, announced “… may there be raised a superstructure perfect in all its parts, and honourable to the builder.” He proclaimed the memorial bottle to be “a lasting memento of the greatness of Ballarat in erecting such a theatre” and philosophised that “the stage not only refines the manners, but it is the best teacher of morals, for it is the truest and most intelligible picture of life. It stamps the image of virtue on the mind …” (Star, “Laying” 21 Jan. 1858). These initial aspirations seem somewhat ambitious when viewed with the benefit of hindsight. Ballarat’s Theatre Royal opened in December 1858, ironically with Jerrold’s comedy ‘Time Works Wonders’. The large auditorium holding around 1500 people “was crowded to overflowing and was considered altogether brilliant in its newness and beauty” by all in attendance (Star, “Local and General” 30 Dec. 1858). Generous descriptions abound of how splendid it was, in architectural terms, but also in relation to scenery, decorations and all appointments. Underneath the theatre were two shops, four bars, elegant dining rooms, a kitchen and 24 bedrooms. A large saloon was planned to be attached soon-after. The overall cost of the build was estimated at a substantial 10,000 pounds.The First Act: 1858-1864In the early years, the Royal was deemed a success. The pleasure-seeking public of Ballarat came en masse and the glory days seemed like they might continue unabated. By the early 1860s, Ballarat was known as a great theatrical centre for performing arts, its population was famous both nationally and internationally for an appreciation of good acting, and the Royal was considered the home of the best dramatic art in Ballarat (Withers 260). Like other theatres of the 1850s diggings, it had its own resident company of actors, musicians, scenic artists and backstage crew. Numerous acclaimed performers came to visit and these were prosperous and happy times for the Royal’s lively theatrical community. As early as 1859, however, there was evident rivalry between the Royal and the Mechanics Institute, as suggested on numerous occasions in the Ballarat Star. As a multi-purpose venue for education and the betterment of the working classes, the latter venue had the distinct advantage of holding the moral high ground. Over time this competition increased as audiences decreased. As people shifted to family-focussed entertainments, these absorbed their time and attention. The transformation of a transient population into a township of families ultimately suffocated prospects for professional entertainment in Ballarat. Consumer interest turned to the growth of strong amateur societies with the establishment of the Welsh Eisteddfod 1863; Harmonic Society 1864; Bell Ringers’ Club 1866 and Glee and Madrigal Union 1867 (Brereton 38). By 1863, the Royal was reported to have “scanty patronage” and Proprietor Symonds was in financial trouble (Star, “News and Notes” 15 Sep. 1864). It was announced that the theatre would open for the last time on Saturday, 29 October 1864 (Australasian). On that same date, the Royal was purchased by Rowlands & Lewis, the cordial makers. They promptly on-sold it to the Ballarat Temperance League, who soon discovered that there was a contract in place with Bouchier, the previous owner, who still held the hotel next door, stating that “all proprietors … were bound to keep it open as a theatre” (Withers 260-61). Having invested immense energy into the quest to purchase it, the Temperance League backed out of the deal. Prominent Hotelier Walter Craig bought it for less than 3,000 pounds. It is possible that this stymied effort to quell the distribution of liquor in the heart of the city evoked the ire of the Protestant community, who were on a dedicated mission “to attack widespread drunkenness, profligacy, licentiousness and agnosticism,” and forming an interdenominational Bible and Tract Society in 1866 (Bate 176). This caused a segment of the population to consider the Royal a ‘lost cause’ and steer clear of it, advising ‘respectable’ families to do the same, and so the stigma grew. Social solidarity of this type had significant impact in an era in which people openly demonstrated their morality by way of unified public actions.The Second Act: 1865-1868The Royal closed for renovations until May 1865. Of the various alterations made to the interior and its fittings, the most telling was the effort to separate the ladies from the ‘town women’, presumably to reassure ‘respectable’ female patrons. To this end, a ladies’ retiring room was added, in a position convenient to the dress circle. The architectural rejuvenation of the Royal was cited as an illustration of great progress in Sturt Street (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 27 May 1865). Soon after, the Royal hosted the Italian Opera Company.However, by 1866 there was speculation that the Royal may be converted into a dry goods store. References to what sort of impression the failing of theatre would convey to the “old folks at home” in relation to “progress in civilisation'' and "social habits" indicated the distress of loyal theatre-goers. Impassioned pleas were written to the press to help preserve the “Temple of Thespus” for the legitimate use for which it was intended (Ballarat Star, “Messenger” and “Letters to the Editor” 30 Aug. 1866). By late 1867, a third venue materialised. The Alfred Hall was built for the reception of Ballarat’s first Royal visitor, the Duke of Edinburgh. On the night prior to the grand day at the Alfred, following a private dinner at Craig’s Hotel, Prince Alfred was led by an escorted torchlight procession to a gala performance at Craig’s very own Theatre Royal. The Prince’s arrival caused a sensation that completely disrupted the show (Spielvogel, Papers Vol. 1 165). While visiting Ballarat, the Prince laid the stone for the new Temperance Hall (Bate 159). This would not have been required had the League secured the Royal for their use three years earlier.Thereafter, the Royal was unable to reach the heights of what Brereton (15) calls the “Golden Age of Ballarat Theatre” from 1855 to 1865. Notably, the Mechanics Institute also experienced financial constraints during the 1860s and these challenges were magnified during the 1870s (Hazelwood 89). The late sixties saw the Royal reduced to the ‘ordinary’ in terms of the calibre of productions (Brereton 15). Having done his best to improve the physical attributes and prestige of the venue, Craig may have realised he was up against a growing stigma and considerable competition. He sold the Royal to R.S. Mitchell for 5,500 pounds in 1868.Another New Owner: 1869-1873For the Saturday performance of Richard III in 1869, under the new Proprietor, it was reported that “From pit to gallery every seat was full” and for many it was standing room only (Ballarat Star, “Theatre Royal” 1 Feb. 1869). Later that year, Othello attracted people with “a critical appreciation of histrionic matters” (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 19 July 1869). The situation appeared briefly promising. Unfortunately, larger economic factors were soon at play. During 1869, Ballarat went ‘mad’ with mine share gambling. In 1870 the economic bubble burst, and hundreds of people in Ballarat were financially ruined. Over the next ten years the population fell from 60,000 to less than 40,000 (Spielvogel, Papers Vol. 3 39). The last surviving theatre in Ballarat East, the much-loved Charles Napier, put on its final show in September 1869 (Brereton 15). By 1870 the Royal was referred to as a “second-class theatre” and was said to be such bad repute that “it would be most difficult to draw respectable classes” (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 17 Jan. 1870). It seems the remaining theatre patrons from the East swung over to support the Royal, which wasn’t necessarily in the best interests of its reputation. During this same period, family-oriented crowds of “the pleasure-seeking public of Ballarat” were attending events at the newly fashionable Alfred Hall (Ballarat Courier, “Theatre Royal” June 1870). There were occasional high points still to come for the Royal. In 1872, opera drew a crowded house “even to the last night of the season” which according to the press, “gave proof, if proof were wanting, that the people of Ballarat not only appreciate, but are willing to patronise to the full any high-class entertainment” (Ballarat Courier, “Theatre Royal” 26 Aug. 1872). The difficulty, however, lay in the deterioration of the Royal’s reputation. It had developed negative connotations among local temperance and morality movements, along with their extensive family, friendship and business networks. Regarding collective consumption, sociologist John Urry wrote “for those engaged in the collective tourist gaze … congregation is paramount” (140). Applying this socio-cultural principle to the behaviour of Victorian theatre-going audiences of the 1870s, it was compelling for audiences to move with the masses and support popular events at the fresh Alfred Hall rather than the fading Royal. Large crowds jostling for elbow room was perceived as the hallmark of a successful event back then, as is most often the case now.The Third Act: 1874-1878An additional complication faced by the Royal was the long-term effect of the application of straw across the ceiling. Acoustics were initially poor, and straw was intended to rectify the problem. This caused the venue to develop a reputation for being stuffy and led to the further indignity of the Royal suffering an infestation of fleas (Jenkins 22); a misfortune which caused some to label it “The Royal Bug House” (Reid 117). Considering how much food was thrown at the stage in this era, it is not surprising that rotten debris attracted insects. In 1873, the Royal closed for another round of renovations. The interior was redesigned, and the front demolished and rebuilt. This was primarily to create retail store frontage to supplement income (Reid 117). It was reported that the best theatrical frontage in Australasia was lost, and in its place was “a modestly handsome elevation” for which all play-goers of Ballarat should be thankful, as the miracle required of the rebuild was that of “exorcising the foul smells from the old theatre and making it bright and pretty and sweet” (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 26 Jan. 1874). The effort at rejuvenation seemed effective for a period. A “large and respectable audience” turned out to see the Fakir of Oolu, master of the weird, mystical, and strange. The magician’s show “was received with cheers from all parts of the house, and is certainly a very attractive novelty” (Ballarat Courier, “Theatre Royal” 29 Mar. 1875). That same day, the Combination Star Company gave a concert at the Mechanics Institute. Indicating the competitive tussle, the press stated: “The attendance, however, doubtless owing to attractions elsewhere, was only moderately large” (Courier, “Concert at the Mechanics’” 29 Mar. 1875). In the early 1870s, there had been calls from sectors of society for a new venue to be built in Ballarat, consistent with its status. The developer and proprietor, Sir William Clarke, intended to offer a “higher class” of entertainment for up to 1700 people, superior to the “broad farces” at the Royal (Freund n.p.) In 1875, the Academy of Music opened, at a cost of twelve thousand pounds, just one block away from the Royal.As the decade of decreasing population wore on, it is intriguing to consider an unprecedented “riotous” incident in 1877. Levity's Original Royal Marionettes opened at the Royal with ‘Beauty and the Beast’ to calamitous response. The Company Managers, Wittington & Lovell made clear that the performance had scarcely commenced when the “storm” arose and they believed “the assault to be premeditated” (Wittington and Lovell in Argus, “The Riot” 6 Apr. 1877). Paid thuggery, with the intent of spooking regular patrons, was the implication. They pointed out that “It is evident that the ringleaders of the riot came into the theatre ready armed with every variety of missiles calculated to get a good hit at the figures and scenery, and thereby create a disturbance.” The mob assaulted the stage with “head-breaking” lemonade bottles, causing costly damage, then chased the frightened puppeteers down Sturt Street (Mount Alexander Mail, “Items of News” 4 Apr. 1877). The following night’s performance, by contrast, was perfectly calm (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 7 Apr. 1877). Just three months later, Webb’s Royal Marionette pantomimes appeared at the Mechanics’ Institute. The press wrote “this is not to be confounded, with the exhibition which created something like a riot at the Theatre Royal last Easter” (Ballarat Star, “News and Notes” 5 July 1877).The final performance at the Royal was the American Rockerfellers’ Minstrel Company. The last newspaper references to the Royal were placed in the context of other “treats in store” at The Academy of Music, and forthcoming offerings at the Mechanics Institute (Star, “Advertising” 3 July 1878). The Royal had experienced three re-openings and a series of short-term managements, often ending in loss or even bankruptcy. When it wound up, investors were left to cover the losses, while the owner was forced to find more profitable uses for the building (Freund n.p.). At face value, it seemed that four performing arts venues was one too many for Ballarat audiences to support. By August 1878 the Royal’s two shop fronts were up for lease. Thereafter, the building was given over entirely to retail drapery sales (Withers 260). ReflectionsThe Royal was erected, at enormous expense, in a moment of unbridled optimism, after several popular theatres in Ballarat East had burned to the ground. Ultimately the timing for such a lavish investment was poor. It suffered an inflexible old-fashioned structure, high overheads, ongoing staffing costs, changing demographics, economic crisis, increased competition, decreased population, the growth of local community-based theatre, temperance agitation and the impact of negative rumour and hear-say.The struggles endured by the various owners and managers of, and investors in, the Royal reflected broader changes within the larger community. The tension between the fixed nature of the place and the fluid needs of the public was problematic. Shifting demographics meant the Royal was negatively affected by conservative values, altered tastes and competing entertainment options. Built in the 1850s, it was sound, but structurally rigid, dated and polluted with the bacterial irritations of the times. “Resident professional companies could not compete with those touring from Melbourne” by whom it was considered “… hard to use and did not satisfy the needs of touring companies who required facilities equivalent to those in the metropolitan theatres” (Freund n.p.). Meanwhile, the prevalence of fund-raising concerts, created by charitable groups and member based community organisations, detracted from people’s interest in supporting professional performances. After-all, amateur concerts enabled families to “embrace the values of British middle class morality” (Doggett 295) at a safe distance from grog shops and saloons. Children aged 5-14 constituted only ten percent of the Ballarat population in 1857, but by 1871 settler families had created a population in which school aged children comprised twenty-five of the whole (Bate 146). This had significant ramifications for the type of theatrical entertainments required. By the late sixties, as many as 2000 children would perform at a time, and therefore entrance fees were able to be kept at affordable levels for extended family members. Just one year after the demise of the Royal, a new secular improvement society became active, holding amateur events and expanding over time to become what we now know as the Royal South Street Society. This showed that the appetite for home-grown entertainment was indeed sizeable. It was a function that the Royal was unable to service, despite several ardent attempts. Conclusion The greatest misfortune of the Royal was that it became stigmatised, from the mid 1860s onwards. In an era when people were either attempting to be pure of manners or were considered socially undesirable, it was hard for a cultural venue to survive which occupied the commercial middle ground, as the Royal did. It is also conceivable that the Royal was ‘framed’, by one or two of its competitor venues, or their allies, just one year before its closure. The Theatre Royal’s negative stigma as a venue for rough and intemperate human remnants of early Ballarat East had proven insurmountable. The Royal’s awkward position between high-class entrepreneurial culture and wholesome family-based community values, both of which were considered tasteful, left it out-of-step with the times and vulnerable to the judgement of those with either vested interests or social commitments elsewhere. This had long-term resonance for the subsequent development of entertainment options within Ballarat, placing the pendulum of favour either on elite theatre or accessible community based entertainments. The cultural middle-ground was sparse. The eventual loss of the building, the physical place of so much dramatic energy and emotion, as fondly recalled by Withers (260), inevitably contributed to the Royal fading from intergenerational memory. The telling of the ‘real story’ behind the rise and fall of the Ballarat Theatre Royal requires further exploration. If contemporary cultural industries are genuinely concerned “with the re-presentation of the supposed history and culture of a place”, as Urry believed (154), then untold stories such as that of Ballarat’s Theatre Royal require scholarly attention. This article represents the first attempt to examine its troubled history in a holistic fashion and locate it within a context ripe for cultural analysis.ReferencesBate, Weston. Lucky City: The First Generation at Ballarat 1851–1901. Carlton South: Melbourne UP, 1978.Brereton, Roslyn. Entertainment and Recreation on the Victorian Goldfields in the 1850s. BA (Honours) Thesis. Melbourne: University of Melbourne, 1967.Borgmann, Albert. Crossing the Postmodern Divide. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. Briggs, Asa. Victorian Cities: Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham, Middlesbrough, Melbourne. London: Penguin, 1968.Doggett, Anne. “And for Harmony Most Ardently We Long”: Musical Life in Ballarat, 1851-187. PhD Thesis. Ballarat: Ballarat University, 2006.Freund, Peter. Her Maj: A History of Her Majesty's Theatre. Ballarat: Currency Press, 2007.Hazelwood, Jennifer. A Public Want and a Public Duty: The Role of the Mechanics Institute in the Cultural, Social and Educational Development of Ballarat from 1851 to 1880. PhD Thesis. Ballarat: University of Ballarat 2007.Jenkins, Lloyd. Another Five Ballarat Cameos. Ballarat: Lloyd Jenkins, 1989.McConachie, Bruce. Engaging Audiences: A Cognitive Approach to Spectating in the Theatre. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2008.Reide, John, and John Chisholm. Ballarat Golden City: A Pictorial History. Bacchus Marsh: Joval Publications, 1989.Spielvogel, Nathan. Spielvogel Papers, Volume 1. 4th ed. Bakery Hill: Ballarat Historical Society, 2016.Spielvogel, Nathan. Spielvogel Papers, Volume 3. 4th ed. Bakery Hill: Ballarat Historical Society, 2016.Urry, John. Consuming Places. London: Routledge, 1995.Withers, William. History of Ballarat (1870) and some Ballarat Reminiscences (1895/96). Ballarat: Ballarat Heritage Services, 1999.NewspapersThe Age.The Argus (Melbourne).The Australasian.The Ballarat Courier.The Ballarat Star.Coolgardie Miner.The Malcolm Chronicle and Leonora Advertiser.Mount Alexander Mail.The Star (Ballarat).

All history of this area and the general talk and all of that is that 1973 was a turning point and the Aquarius Festival is credited with having turned this region around in so many ways, but I think that is a myth ... and I have to honour the truth; and the truth is that old Dicke Donelly came and did a Welcome to Country the night before the festival. (Joseph in Joseph and Hanley)In 1973 the Australian Union of Students (AUS) held the Aquarius Arts and Lifestyle Festival in a small, rural New South Wales town called Nimbin. The festival was seen as the peak expression of Australian counterculture and is attributed to creating the “Rainbow Region”, an area with a concentration of alternative life stylers in Northern NSW (Derrett 28). While the Aquarius Festival is recognised as a founding historical and countercultural event, the unique and important relationships established with Indigenous people at this time are generally less well known. This article investigates claims that the 1973 Aquarius Festival was “the first event in Australian history that sought permission for the use of the land from the Traditional Owners” (Joseph and Hanley). The diverse international, national and local conditions that coalesced at the Aquarius Festival suggest a fertile environment was created for reconciliatory bonds to develop. Often dismissed as a “tree hugging, soap dodging movement,” the counterculture was radically politicised having sprung from the 1960s social revolutions when the world witnessed mass demonstrations that confronted war, racism, sexism and capitalism. Primarily a youth movement, it was characterised by flamboyant dress, music, drugs and mass gatherings with universities forming the epicentre and white, middle class youth leading the charge. As their ideals of changing the world were frustrated by lack of systematic change, many decided to disengage and a migration to rural settings occurred (Jacob; Munro-Clarke; Newton). In the search for alternatives, the counterculture assimilated many spiritual practices, such as Eastern traditions and mysticism, which were previously obscure to the Western world. This practice of spiritual syncretism can be represented as a direct resistance to the hegemony of the dominant Western culture (Stell). As the new counterculture developed, its progression from urban to rural settings was driven by philosophies imbued with a desire to reconnect with and protect the natural world while simultaneously rejecting the dominant conservative order. A recurring feature of this countercultural ‘back to the land’ migration was not only an empathetic awareness of the injustices of colonial past, but also a genuine desire to learn from the Indigenous people of the land. Indigenous people were generally perceived as genuine opposers of Westernisation, inherently spiritual, ecological, tribal and communal, thus encompassing the primary values to which the counterculture was aspiring (Smith). Cultures converged. One, a youth culture rebelling from its parent culture; the other, ancient cultures reeling from the historical conquest by the youths’ own ancestors. Such cultural intersections are rich with complex scenarios and politics. As a result, often naïve, but well-intended relations were established with Native Americans, various South American Indigenous peoples, New Zealand Maori and, as this article demonstrates, the Original People of Australia (Smith; Newton; Barr-Melej; Zolov). The 1960s protest era fostered the formation of groups aiming to address a variety of issues, and at times many supported each other. Jennifer Clarke says it was the Civil Rights movement that provided the first models of dissent by formulating a “method, ideology and language of protest” as African Americans stood up and shouted prior to other movements (2). The issue of racial empowerment was not lost on Australia’s Indigenous population. Clarke writes that during the 1960s, encouraged by events overseas and buoyed by national organisation, Aborigines “slowly embarked on a political awakening, demanded freedom from the trappings of colonialism and responded to the effects of oppression at worst and neglect at best” (4). Activism of the 1960s had the “profoundly productive effect of providing Aborigines with the confidence to assert their racial identity” (159). Many Indigenous youth were compelled by the zeitgeist to address their people’s issues, fulfilling Charlie Perkins’s intentions of inspiring in Indigenous peoples a will to resist (Perkins). Enjoying new freedoms of movement out of missions, due to the 1967 Constitutional change and the practical implementation of the assimilation policy, up to 32,000 Indigenous youth moved to Redfern, Sydney between 1967 and 1972 (Foley, “An Evening With”). Gary Foley reports that a dynamic new Black Power Movement emerged but the important difference between this new younger group and the older Indigenous leaders of the day was the diverse range of contemporary influences. Taking its mantra from the Black Panther movement in America, though having more in common with the equivalent Native American Red Power movement, the Black Power Movement acknowledged many other international struggles for independence as equally inspiring (Foley, “An Evening”). People joined together for grassroots resistance, formed anti-hierarchical collectives and established solidarities between varied groups who previously would have had little to do with each other. The 1973 Aquarius Festival was directly aligned with “back to the land” philosophies. The intention was to provide a place and a reason for gathering to “facilitate exchanges on survival techniques” and to experience “living in harmony with the natural environment.” without being destructive to the land (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Early documents in the archives, however, reveal no apparent interest in Australia’s Indigenous people, referring more to “silken Arabian tents, mediaeval banners, circus, jugglers and clowns, peace pipes, maypole and magic circles” (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Obliterated from the social landscape and minimally referred to in the Australian education system, Indigenous people were “off the radar” to the majority mindset, and the Australian counterculture similarly was slow to appreciate Indigenous culture. Like mainstream Australia, the local counterculture movement largely perceived the “race” issue as something occurring in other countries, igniting the phrase “in your own backyard” which became a catchcry of Indigenous activists (Foley, “Whiteness and Blackness”) With no mention of any Indigenous interest, it seems likely that the decision to engage grew from the emerging climate of Indigenous activism in Australia. Frustrated by student protestors who seemed oblivious to local racial issues, focusing instead on popular international injustices, Indigenous activists accused them of hypocrisy. Aquarius Festival directors, found themselves open to similar accusations when public announcements elicited a range of responses. Once committed to the location of Nimbin, directors Graeme Dunstan and Johnny Allen began a tour of Australian universities to promote the upcoming event. While at the annual conference of AUS in January 1973 at Monash University, Dunstan met Indigenous activist Gary Foley: Gary witnessed the presentation of Johnny Allen and myself at the Aquarius Foundation session and our jubilation that we had agreement from the village residents to not only allow, but also to collaborate in the production of the Festival. After our presentation which won unanimous support, it was Gary who confronted me with the question “have you asked permission from local Aboriginal folk?” This threw me into confusion because we had seen no Aboriginals in Nimbin. (Dunstan, e-mail) Such a challenge came at a time when the historical climate was etched with political activism, not only within the student movement, but more importantly with Indigenous activists’ recent demonstrations, such as the installation in 1972 of the Tent Embassy in Canberra. As representatives of the counterculture movement, which was characterised by its inclinations towards consciousness-raising, AUS organisers were ethically obliged to respond appropriately to the questions about Indigenous permission and involvement in the Aquarius Festival at Nimbin. In addition to this political pressure, organisers in Nimbin began hearing stories of the area being cursed or taboo for women. This most likely originated from the tradition of Nimbin Rocks, a rocky outcrop one kilometre from Nimbin, as a place where only certain men could go. Jennifer Hoff explains that many major rock formations were immensely sacred places and were treated with great caution and respect. Only a few Elders and custodians could visit these places and many such locations were also forbidden for women. Ceremonies were conducted at places like Nimbin Rocks to ensure the wellbeing of all tribespeople. Stories of the Nimbin curse began to spread and most likely captivated a counterculture interested in mysticism. As organisers had hoped that news of the festival would spread on the “lips of the counterculture,” they were alarmed to hear how “fast the bad news of this curse was travelling” (Dunstan, e-mail). A diplomatic issue escalated with further challenges from the Black Power community when organisers discovered that word had spread to Sydney’s Indigenous community in Redfern. Organisers faced a hostile reaction to their alleged cultural insensitivity and were plagued by negative publicity with accusations the AUS were “violating sacred ground” (Janice Newton 62). Faced with such bad press, Dunstan was determined to repair what was becoming a public relations disaster. It seemed once prompted to the path, a sense of moral responsibility prevailed amongst the organisers and they took the unprecedented step of reaching out to Australia’s Indigenous people. Dunstan claimed that an expedition was made to the local Woodenbong mission to consult with Elder, Uncle Lyle Roberts. To connect with local people required crossing the great social divide present in that era of Australia’s history. Amy Nethery described how from the nineteenth century to the 1960s, a “system of reserves, missions and other institutions isolated, confined and controlled Aboriginal people” (9). She explains that the people were incarcerated as a solution to perceived social problems. For Foley, “the widespread genocidal activity of early “settlement” gave way to a policy of containment” (Foley, “Australia and the Holocaust”). Conditions on missions were notoriously bad with alcoholism, extreme poverty, violence, serious health issues and depression common. Of particular concern to mission administrators was the perceived need to keep Indigenous people separate from the non-indigenous population. Dunstan described the mission he visited as having “bad vibes.” He found it difficult to communicate with the elderly man, and was not sure if he understood Dunstan’s quest, as his “responses came as disjointed raves about Jesus and saving grace” (Dunstan, e-mail). Uncle Lyle, he claimed, did not respond affirmatively or negatively to the suggestion that Nimbin was cursed, and so Dunstan left assuming it was not true. Other organisers began to believe the curse and worried that female festival goers might get sick or worse, die. This interpretation reflected, as Vanessa Bible argues, a general Eurocentric misunderstanding of the relationship of Indigenous peoples with the land. Paul Joseph admits they were naïve whites coming into a place with very little understanding, “we didn’t know if we needed a witch doctor or what we needed but we knew we needed something from the Aborigines to lift the spell!”(Joseph and Hanley). Joseph, one of the first “hippies” who moved to the area, had joined forces with AUS organisers. He said, “it just felt right” to get Indigenous involvement and recounted how organisers made another trip to Woodenbong Mission to find Dickee (Richard) Donnelly, a Song Man, who was very happy to be invited. Whether the curse was valid or not it proved to be productive in further instigating respectful action. Perhaps feeling out of their depth, the organisers initiated another strategy to engage with Australian Indigenous people. A call out was sent through the AUS network to diversify the cultural input and it was recommended they engage the services of South African artist, Bauxhau Stone. Timing aligned well as in 1972 Australia had voted in a new Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. Whitlam brought about significant political changes, many in response to socialist protests that left a buoyancy in the air for the counterculturalist movement. He made prodigious political changes in support of Indigenous people, including creating the Aboriginal Arts Board as part of the Australian Council of the Arts (ACA). As the ACA were already funding activities for the Aquarius Festival, organisers were successful in gaining two additional grants specifically for Indigenous participation (Farnham). As a result We were able to hire […] representatives, a couple of Kalahari bushmen. ‘Cause we were so dumb, we didn’t think we could speak to the black people, you know what I mean, we thought we would be rejected, or whatever, so for us to really reach out, we needed somebody black to go and talk to them, or so we thought, and it was remarkable. This one Bau, a remarkable fellow really, great artist, great character, he went all over Australia. He went to Pitjantjatjara, Yirrkala and we arranged buses and tents when they got here. We had a very large contingent of Aboriginal people come to the Aquarius Festival, thanks to Whitlam. (Joseph in Joseph and Henley) It was under the aegis of these government grants that Bauxhau Stone conducted his work. Stone embodied a nexus of contemporary issues. Acutely aware of the international movement for racial equality and its relevance to Australia, where conditions were “really appalling”, Stone set out to transform Australian race relations by engaging with the alternative arts movement (Stone). While his white Australian contemporaries may have been unaccustomed to dealing with the Indigenous racial issue, Stone was actively engaged and thus well suited to act as a cultural envoy for the Aquarius Festival. He visited several local missions, inviting people to attend and notifying them of ceremonies being conducted by respected Elders. Nimbin was then the site of the Aquarius Lifestyle and Celebration Festival, a two week gathering of alternative cultures, technologies and youth. It innovatively demonstrated its diversity of influences, attracted people from all over the world and was the first time that the general public really witnessed Australia’s counterculture (Derrett 224). As markers of cultural life, counterculture festivals of the 1960s and 1970s were as iconic as the era itself and many around the world drew on the unique Indigenous heritage of their settings in some form or another (Partridge; Perone; Broadley and Jones; Zolov). The social phenomenon of coming together to experience, celebrate and foster a sense of unity was triggered by protests, music and a simple, yet deep desire to reconnect with each other. Festivals provided an environment where the negative social pressures of race, gender, class and mores (such as clothes) were suspended and held the potential “for personal and social transformation” (St John 167). With the expressed intent to “take matters into our own hands” and try to develop alternative, innovative ways of doing things with collective participation, the Aquarius Festival thus became an optimal space for reinvigorating ancient and Indigenous ways (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). With philosophies that venerated collectivism, tribalism, connecting with the earth, and the use of ritual, the Indigenous presence at the Aquarius Festival gave attendees the opportunity to experience these values. To connect authentically with Nimbin’s landscape, forming bonds with the Traditional Owners was essential. Participants were very fortunate to have the presence of the last known initiated men of the area, Uncle Lyle Roberts and Uncle Dickee Donnely. These Elders represented the last vestiges of an ancient culture and conducted innovative ceremonies, song, teachings and created a sacred fire for the new youth they encountered in their land. They welcomed the young people and were very happy for their presence, believing it represented a revolutionary shift (Wedd; King; John Roberts; Cecil Roberts). Images 1 and 2: Ceremony and talks conducted at the Aquarius Festival (people unknown). Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Paul White. The festival thus provided an important platform for the regeneration of cultural and spiritual practices. John Roberts, nephew of Uncle Lyle, recalled being surprised by the reaction of festival participants to his uncle: “He was happy and then he started to sing. And my God … I couldn’t get near him! There was this big ring of hippies around him. They were about twenty deep!” Sharing to an enthusiastic, captive audience had a positive effect and gave the non-indigenous a direct Indigenous encounter (Cecil Roberts; King; Oshlak). Estimates of the number of Indigenous people in attendance vary, with the main organisers suggesting 800 to 1000 and participants suggesting 200 to 400 (Stone; Wedd; Oshlak: Joseph; King; Cecil Roberts). As the Festival lasted over a two week period, many came and left within that time and estimates are at best reliant on memory, engagement and perspectives. With an estimated total attendance at the Festival between 5000 and 10,000, either number of Indigenous attendees is symbolic and a significant symbolic statistic for Indigenous and non-indigenous to be together on mutual ground in Australia in 1973. Images 3-5: Performers from Yirrkala Dance Group, brought to the festival by Stone with funding from the Federal Government. Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Dr Ian Cameron. For Indigenous people, the event provided an important occasion to reconnect with their own people, to share their culture with enthusiastic recipients, as well as the chance to experience diverse aspects of the counterculture. Though the northern NSW region has a history of diverse cultural migration of Italian and Indian families, the majority of non-indigenous and Indigenous people had limited interaction with cosmopolitan influences (Kijas 20). Thus Nimbin was a conservative region and many Christianised Indigenous people were also conservative in their outlook. The Aquarius Festival changed that as the Indigenous people experienced the wide-ranging cultural elements of the alternative movement. The festival epitomised countercultural tendencies towards flamboyant fashion and hairstyles, architectural design, fantastical art, circus performance, Asian clothes and religious products, vegetarian food and nudity. Exposure to this bohemian culture would have surely led to “mind expansion and consciousness raising,” explicit aims adhered to by the movement (Roszak). Performers and participants from Africa, America and India also gave attending Indigenous Australians the opportunity to interact with non-European cultures. Many people interviewed for this paper indicated that Indigenous people’s reception of this festival experience was joyous. For Australia’s early counterculture, interest in Indigenous Australia was limited and for organisers of the AUS Aquarius Festival, it was not originally on the agenda. The counterculture in the USA and New Zealand had already started to engage with their Indigenous people some years earlier. However due to the Aquarius Festival’s origins in the student movement and its solidarities with the international Indigenous activist movement, they were forced to shift their priorities. The coincidental selection of a significant spiritual location at Nimbin to hold the festival brought up additional challenges and countercultural intrigue with mystical powers and a desire to connect authentically to the land, further prompted action. Essentially, it was the voices of empowered Indigenous activists, like Gary Foley, which in fact triggered the reaching out to Indigenous involvement. While the counterculture organisers were ultimately receptive and did act with unprecedented respect, credit must be given to Indigenous activists. The activist’s role is to trigger action and challenge thinking and in this case, it was ultimately productive. Therefore the Indigenous people were not merely passive recipients of beneficiary goodwill, but active instigators of appropriate cultural exchange. After the 1973 festival many attendees decided to stay in Nimbin to purchase land collectively and a community was born. Relationships established with local Indigenous people developed further. Upon visiting Nimbin now, one will see a vibrant visual display of Indigenous and psychedelic themed art, a central park with an open fire tended by local custodians and other Indigenous community members, an Aboriginal Centre whose rent is paid for by local shopkeepers, and various expressions of a fusion of counterculture and Indigenous art, music and dance. While it appears that reconciliation became the aspiration for mainstream society in the 1990s, Nimbin’s early counterculture history had Indigenous reconciliation at its very foundation. The efforts made by organisers of the 1973 Aquarius Festival stand as one of very few examples in Australian history where non-indigenous Australians have respectfully sought to learn from Indigenous people and to assimilate their cultural practices. It also stands as an example for the world, of reconciliation, based on hippie ideals of peace and love. They encouraged the hippies moving up here, even when they came out for Aquarius, old Uncle Lyle and Richard Donnelly, they came out and they blessed the mob out here, it was like the hairy people had come back, with the Nimbin, cause the Nimbynji is the little hairy people, so the hairy people came back (Jerome). References Barr-Melej, Patrick. “Siloísmo and the Self in Allende’s Chile: Youth, 'Total Revolution,' and the Roots of the Humanist Movement.” Hispanic American Historical Review 86.4 (Nov. 2006): 747-784. Bible, Vanessa. Aquarius Rising: Terania Creek and the Australian Forest Protest Movement. BA (Honours) Thesis. University of New England, Armidale, 2010. Broadley, Colin, and Judith Jones, eds. Nambassa: A New Direction. Auckland: Reed, 1979. Bryant, Gordon M. Parliament of Australia. Minister for Aboriginal Affairs. 1 May 1973. Australian Union of Students. Records of the AUS, 1934-1991. National Library of Australia MS ACC GB 1992.0505. Cameron, Ian. “Aquarius Festival Photographs.” 1973. Clarke, Jennifer. Aborigines and Activism: Race, Aborigines and the Coming of the Sixties to Australia. Crawley: University of Western Australia Press, 2008. Derrett, Ross. Regional Festivals: Nourishing Community Resilience: The Nature and Role of Cultural Festivals in Northern Rivers NSW Communities. PhD Thesis. Southern Cross University, Lismore, 2008. Dunstan, Graeme. “A Survival Festival May 1973.” 1 Aug. 1972. Pamphlet. MS 6945/1. Nimbin Aquarius Festival Archives. National Library of Australia, Canberra. ---. E-mail to author, 11 July 2012. ---. “The Aquarius Festival.” Aquarius Rainbow Region. n.d. Farnham, Ken. Acting Executive Officer, Aboriginal Council for the Arts. 19 June 1973. Letter. MS ACC GB 1992.0505. Australian Union of Students. Records of the AUS, 1934-1991. National Library of Australia, Canberra. Foley, Gary. “Australia and the Holocaust: A Koori Perspective (1997).” The Koori History Website. n.d. 20 May 2013 ‹http://www.kooriweb.org/foley/essays/essay_8.html›. ---. “Whiteness and Blackness in the Koori Struggle for Self-Determination (1999).” The Koori History Website. n.d. 20 May 2013 ‹http://www.kooriweb.org/foley/essays/essay_9.html›. ---. “Black Power in Redfern 1968-1972 (2001).” The Koori History Website. n.d. 20 May 2013 ‹http://www.kooriweb.org/foley/essays/essay_1.html›. ---. “An Evening with Legendary Aboriginal Activist Gary Foley.” Conference Session. Marxism 2012 “Revolution in the Air”, Melbourne, Mar. 2012. Hoff, Jennifer. Bundjalung Jugun: Bundjalung Country. Lismore: Richmond River Historical Society, 2006. Jacob, Jeffrey. New Pioneers: The Back-to-the-Land Movement and the Search for a Sustainable Future. Pennsylvania: Penn State Press, 1997. Jerome, Burri. Interview. 31 July 2012. Joseph, Paul. Interview. 7 Aug. 2012. Joseph, Paul, and Brendan ‘Mookx’ Hanley. Interview by Rob Willis. 14 Aug. 2010. Audiofile, Session 2 of 3. nla.oh-vn4978025. Rob Willis Folklore Collection. National Library of Australia, Canberra. Kijas, Johanna, Caravans and Communes: Stories of Settling in the Tweed 1970s & 1980s. Murwillumbah: Tweed Shire Council, 2011. King, Vivienne (Aunty Viv). Interview. 1 Aug. 2012. Munro-Clarke, Margaret. Communes of Rural Australia: The Movement Since 1970. Sydney: Hale and Iremonger, 1986. Nethery, Amy. “Aboriginal Reserves: ‘A Modern-Day Concentration Camp’: Using History to Make Sense of Australian Immigration Detention Centres.” Does History Matter? Making and Debating Citizenship, Immigration and Refugee Policy in Australia and New Zealand. Eds. Klaus Neumann and Gwenda Tavan. Canberra: Australian National University Press, 2009. 4. Newton, Janice. “Aborigines, Tribes and the Counterculture.” Social Analysis 23 (1988): 53-71. Newton, John. The Double Rainbow: James K Baxter, Ngati Hau and the Jerusalem Commune. Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2009. Offord, Baden. “Mapping the Rainbow Region: Fields of Belonging and Sites of Confluence.” Transformations 2 (March 2002): 1-5. Oshlak, Al. Interview. 27 Mar. 2013. Partridge, Christopher. “The Spiritual and the Revolutionary: Alternative Spirituality, British Free Festivals, and the Emergence of Rave Culture.” Culture and Religion: An Interdisciplinary Journal 7 (2006): 3-5. Perkins, Charlie. “Charlie Perkins on 1965 Freedom Ride.” Youtube, 13 Oct. 2009. Perone, James E. Woodstock: An Encyclopedia of the Music and Art Fair. Greenwood: Greenwood Publishing Group, 2005. Roberts, John. Interview. 1 Aug. 2012. Roberts, Cecil. Interview. 6 Aug. 2012. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. New York: University of California Press,1969. St John, Graham. “Going Feral: Authentica on the Edge of Australian culture.” The Australian Journal of Anthropology 8 (1997): 167-189. Smith, Sherry. Hippies, Indians and the Fight for Red Power. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Stell, Alex. Dancing in the Hyper-Crucible: The Rite de Passage of the Post-Rave Movement. BA (Honours) Thesis. University of Westminster, London, 2005. Stone, Trevor Bauxhau. Interview. 1 Oct. 2012. Wedd, Leila. Interview. 27 Sep. 2012. White, Paul. “Aquarius Revisited.” 1973. Zolov, Eric. Refried Elvis: The Rise of the Mexican Counterculture. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999.

Introduction Tiffany and Co. is an American luxury jewellery and specialty retailer with its headquarters in New York City. Each piece of jewellery, symbolically packaged in a blue box and tied with a white bow, encapsulates the brand’s unique diamond pieces, symbolic origin story, branded historical contributions and representations in culture. Cultural brands are those that live and thrive in the minds of consumers (Holt). Their brand promise inspires loyalty and trust. These brands offer experiences, products, and personalities and spark emotional connotations within consumers (Arvidsson). This case study uses Tiffany & Co. as a successful example to reveal the importance of understanding consumers, the influential nature of media culture, and the efficacy of strategic branding, advertising, and marketing over time (Holt). It also reveals how Tiffany & Co. earned and maintained its place as an iconic cultural brand within consumer culture, through its strong association with New York and products from abroad. Through its trademarked logo and authentic luxury jewellery, encompassed in the globally recognised “Tiffany Blue” boxes, Tiffany & Co.’s cultural significance stems from its embodiment of the expected makings of a brand (Chernatony et al.). However, what propels this brand into what Douglas Holt terms “iconic territory” is that in its one hundred and seventy-nine years of existence, Tiffany’s has lived exclusively in the minds of its consumers.Tiffany & Co.’s intuitive prowess in reaching its target audience is what allows it to dominate the luxury jewellery market (Halasz et al.). This is not only a result of product value, but the alluring nature of the “Tiffany's from New York” brand imagery and experience (Holt et al.), circulated and celebrated in consumer culture through influential depictions in music, film and literature over time (Knight). Tiffany’s faithfully participates in the magnetic identity myth embodied by the brand and city, and has become globally sought after by consumers near and far, and recognised for its romantic connotations of love, luxury, and New York (Holt). An American Dream: New York Affiliation & Diamond OriginsIt was Truman Capote’s characterisation of Holly Golightly in his book (1958) and film adaption, Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) that introduced the world to New York as the infatuating “setting,” upon which the Tiffany’s diamond rested. It was a place, that enabled the iconic Holly Golightly to personify the feeling of being abroad in New York and to demonstrate the seductive nature of a Tiffany’s store experience, further shaping the identity myth encompassed by the brand and the city for their global audience (Holt). Essentially, New York was the influential cultural instigator that propelled Tiffany & Co. from a consumer product, to a cultural icon. It did this by circulating its iconography via celebrity affiliations and representations in music, film, and literature (Knight), and by guiding strong brand associations in the minds of consumers (Arvidsson). However, before Tiffany’s became culturally iconic, it established its place in American heritage through historical contributions (Tiffany & Co.) and pledged an association to New York by personifying the American Dream (Mae). To help achieve his dream in a rapidly evolving economy (Elliott), Charles Lewis Tiffany purportedly brought the first substantial gemstones into America from overseas, and established the first American jewellery store to sell them to the public (Halasz et al.). The Tiffany & Co. origin story personifies the alluring nature of products from abroad, and their influence on individuals seeking an image of affluence for themselves. The ties between New York, Tiffany’s, and its consumers were further strengthened through the established, invaluable and emblematic nature of the diamond, historically launched and controlled by South African Diamond Cartel of De Beers (Twitchell). De Beers manipulated the demand for diamonds and instigated it as a status symbol. It then became a commoditised measurement of an individual’s worth and potential to love (Twitchell), a philosophy, also infused in the Tiffany & Co. brand ideology (Holt). Building on this, Tiffany’s further ritualised the justification of the material symbolisation of love through the idealistic connotations surrounding its assorted diamond ring experiences (Lee). This was projected through a strategic product placement and targeted advertising scheme, evident in dominant culture throughout the brand’s existence (Twitchell). Idealistically discussed by Purinton, this is also what exemplified, for consumers, the enticing cultural symbolism of the crystal rock from New York (Halasz et al.). Brand Essence: Experience & Iconography Prior to pop culture portraying the charming Tiffany’s brand imagery in mainstream media (Balmer et al.), Charles Tiffany directed the company’s ascent into luxury jewellery (Phillips et al.), fashioned the enticing Tiffany’s “store experience”, and initiated the experiential process of purchasing a diamond product. This immediately intertwined the imagery of Tiffany’s with New York, instigating the exclusivity of the experience for consumers (Holt). Tiffany’s provided customers with the opportunity to participate in an intricately branded journey, resulting in the diamond embodiment which declared their love most accurately; a token, packaged and presented within an iconic “Tiffany Blue” box (Klara). Aligning with Keller’s branding blueprint (7), this interactive process enabled Tiffany & Co. to build brand loyalty by consistently connecting with each of its consumers, regardless of their location in the world. The iconography of the coveted “blue box” was crafted when Charles Tiffany trademarked the shade Pantone No. 1837 (Osborne), which he coined for the year of Tiffany’s founding (Klara). Along with the brand promise of containing quality luxury jewellery, the box and that particular shade of blue instantly became a symbol of exclusivity, sophistication, and elegance, as it could only be acquired by purchasing jewellery from a Tiffany’s store (Rawlings). The exclusive packaging began to shape Tiffany’s global brand image, becoming a signifier of style and superiority (Phillips et al.), and eventually just as iconic as the jewellery itself. The blue box is still the strongest signifier of the brand today (Osborne). Ultimately, individuals want to participate in the myth of love, perfection and wealth (Arvidsson), encompassed exclusively by every Tiffany’s “blue box”. Furthermore, Tiffany’s has remained artistically significant within the luxury jewellery landscape since introducing its one-of-a-kind Tiffany Setting in 1886. It was the first jewellery store to fully maximise the potential of the natural beauty possessed of diamonds, while connotatively reflecting the natural beauty of every wearer (Phillips et al.). According to Jeffrey Bennett, the current Vice President of Tiffany & Co. New York, by precisely perching the “Tiffany Diamond” upon six intricately crafted silver prongs, the ring shines to its maximum capacity in a lit environment, while being closely secured to the wearer’s finger (Lee). Hence, the “Tiffany Setting” has become a universally sought after icon of extravagance and intricacy (Knight), and, as Bennett further describes, even today, the setting represents uncompromising quality and is a standard image of true love (Lee). Alluring Brand Imagery & Influential Representations in CultureEmpirical consumer research, involving two focus groups of married and unmarried, ethnically diverse Australian women and conducted in 2015, revealed that even today, individuals accredit their desire for Tiffany’s to the inspirational imagery portrayed in music, movies and television. Through participating in the Tiffany's from New York store experience, consumers are able to indulge in their fantasies of what it would feel like to be abroad and the endless potential a city such as New York could hold for them. Tiffany’s successfully disseminated its brand ideology into consumer culture (Purinton) and extended the brand’s significance for consumers beyond the 1960s through constant representation of the expensive business of love, lust and marriage within media culture. This is demonstrated in such films as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Legally Blonde (2001), Sweet Home Alabama (2002), The Great Gatsby (2013), and in the influential television shows, Gossip Girl (2007—2012), and Glee (2009—2015).The most important of these was the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), and the iconic embodiment of Capote’s (1958) Holly Golightly by actress Audrey Hepburn (Wasson). Hepburn’s (1961) portrayal of the emotionally evocative connotations of experiencing Tiffany’s in New York, as personified by her romantic dialogue throughout the film (Mae), produced the image that nothing bad could ever happen at a Tiffany’s store. Thus began the Tiffany’s from New York cultural phenomenon, which has been consistently reiterated in popular media culture ever since.Breakfast at Tiffany’s also represented a greater struggle faced by women in the 1960s (Dutt); that of gender roles, women’s place in society, and their desire for stability and freedom simultaneously (Sheehan). Due to Hepburn’s accurate characterisation of this struggle, the film enabled Tiffany & Co. to become more than just jewellery and a symbol of support (Torelli). Tiffany’s also allowed filming to take place inside its New York flagship store to which Capote’s narrative so idealistically alludes, further demonstrating its support for the 1960s women’s movement at an opportune moment in history (Torelli). Hence, Tiffany’s from New York became a symbol for the independent materialistic modern woman (Wasson), an ideal, which has become a repeated motif, re-imagined and embodied by popular icons (Knight) such as, Madonna in Material Girl (1985), and the characterisations of Carrie Bradshaw by Sarah Jessica Parker, Charlotte York by Kristin Davis (Sex and the City), and Donna Paulsen by Sarah Rafferty (Suits). The iconic television series Sex and the City, set in New York, boldly represented Tiffany’s as a symbol of friendship when a fellow female protagonist parted with her lavish Tiffany’s engagement ring to help her friend financially (Sex and the City). This was similarly reimagined in the popular television series Suits, also set in New York, where a protagonist is gifted two Tiffany Boxes from her female friend, as a token of congratulations on her engagement. This allowed Tiffany & Co. to add friendship to its symbolic repertoire (Manning), whilst still personifying a symbol of love in the minds of its consumers who were tactically also the target audiences of these television shows (Wharton).The alluring Tiffany’s image was presented specifically to a male audience through the first iconic Bond Girl named Tiffany Case in the novel Diamonds Are Forever (Fleming). The film adaption made its cultural imprint in 1971 with Sean Connery portraying James Bond, and paired the exaggerated brand of “007” with the evocative imagery of Tiffany’s (Spilski et al.). This served as a reminder to existing audiences about the powerful and seductive connotations of the blue box with the white ribbon (Osborne), as depicted by the enticing Tiffany Case in 1956.Furthermore, the Tiffany’s image was similarly established as a lyrical status symbol of wealth and indulgence (Knight). Portrayed most memorably by Marilyn Monroe’s iconic performance of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes). Even though the song only mentions Tiffany’s lyrically twice (Vito et al.), through the celebrity affiliation, Monroe was introduced as a credible embodiment of Tiffany’s brand essence (Davis). Consequently, she permanently attached her image to that of the alluring Tiffany Diamonds for the target audience, male and female, past and present (Vito et al.). Exactly thirty-two years later, Monroe’s 1953 depiction was reinforced in consumer culture (Wharton) through an uncanny aesthetic and lyrical reimagining of the original performance by Madonna in her music video Material Girl (1985). This further preserved and familiarised the Tiffany’s image of glamour, luxury and beauty by implanting it in the minds of a new generation (Knight). Despite the shift in celebrity affiliation to a current cultural communicator (Arvidsson), the influential image of the Tiffany Diamond remains constant and Tiffany’s has maintained its place as a popular signifier of affluence and elegance in mainstream consumer culture (Jansson). The main difference, however, between Monroe’s and Madonna’s depictions is that Madonna aspired to be associated with the Tiffany’s brand image because of her appreciation for Marilyn Monroe and her brand image, which also intrinsically exuded beauty, money and glamour (Vito et al.). This suggests that even a musical icon like Madonna was influenced by Tiffany & Co.’s hold on consumer culture (Spilski et al.), and was able to inject the same ideals into her own loyal fan base (Fill). It is evident that Tiffany & Co. is thoroughly in tune with its target market and understands the relevant routes into the minds of its consumers. Kotler (113) identifies that the brand has demonstrated the ability to reach its separate audiences simultaneously, with an image that resonates with them on different levels (Manning). For example, Tiffany & Co. created the jewellery that featured in Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 cinematic adaption of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel, The Great Gatsby (1925). Through representing a signifier of love and lust induced by monetary possessions (Fitzgerald), Tiffany’s truthfully portrayed its own brand image and persuaded audiences to associate the brand with these ideals (Holt). By illustrating the romantic, alluring and powerful symbolism of giving or obtaining love, armed with a Tiffany’s Diamond (Mae), Tiffany’s validated its timeless, historical and cultural contemporary relevance (Greene).This was also most recently depicted through Tiffany & Co.’s Will You (2015) advertising campaign. The brand demonstrated its support for marriage equality, by featuring a real life same-sex couple to symbolise that love is not conditional and that Tiffany’s has something that signifies every relationship (Dicker). Thus, because of the brand’s rooted place in central media culture and the ability to appeal to the belief system of its target market while evolving with, and understanding its consumers on a level of metonymy (Manning), Tiffany & Co. has transitioned from a consumer product to a culturally relevant and globally sought-after iconic brand (Holt). ConclusionTiffany & Co.’s place-based association and representational reflection in music, film, and literature, assisted in the formation of loyal global communities that thrive on the identity building side effects associated with luxury brand affiliation (Banet-Weiser et al.). Tiffany’s enables its global target market to revel in the shared meanings surrounding the brand, by signifying a symbolic construct that resonates with consumers (Hall). Tiffany’s inspires consumers to eagerly exercise their brand trust and loyalty by independently ritualising the Tiffany’s from New York brand experience for themselves and the ones they love (Fill). Essentially, Tiffany & Co. successfully established its place in society and strengthened its ties to New York, through targeted promotions and iconographic brand dissemination (Nita).Furthermore, by ritualistically positioning the brand (Holt), surrounding and saturating it in existing cultural practices, supporting significant cultural actions and becoming a symbol of wealth, luxury, commitment, love and exclusivity (Phillips et al.), Tiffany’s has steadily built a positive brand association and desire in the minds of consumers near and far (Keller). As a direct result, Tiffany’s earned and kept its place as a culturally progressive brand in New York and around the world, sustaining its influence and ensuring its survival in today’s contemporary consumer society (Holt).Most importantly, however, although New York has become the anchor in every geographically exemplified Tiffany’s store experience in literature, New York has also become the allegorical anchor in the minds of consumers in actuality (Arvidsson). Hence, Tiffany & Co. has catered to the needs of its global target audience by providing it with convenient local stores abroad, where their love can be personified by purchasing a Tiffany Diamond, the ultimate symbol of authentic commitment, and where they can always experience an allusive piece of New York. ReferencesArvidsson, Adam. Brands: Meaning and Value in Media Culture. New York: Routledge, 2006.Balmer, John M.T., Stephen A. 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In the television series Sex and the City, there is a scene which illustrates a familiar contempt for suburban life as dull and boring. Implicit is the oppositional view that urban life by comparison, is the more exciting one. Charlotte (one of four women whose sexual and romantic relationships are the focus of the series), has spent time with her in-laws in an upper middle class suburban enclave, and is confessing to her three girl friends her fantasies and ultimate sexual encounter with her in-law's hunk of a gardener. She's racked with guilt over the incident, not least because she is married to the sexually non-performing Trey. At this point in the conversation, Samantha, whose voracious appetite for men is her hallmark, dismisses Charlotte's concerns with the retort: 'well honey really, what's the point of living in the suburbs if you can't fuck the gardener?' Ergo, a life of suburban mediocrity deserves some kind of compensation, preferably an exciting sexual antidote. Samantha's remark draws on a wealth of discourses which reinforce the opposition between the city and the suburbs, and the city and the country, where the city is the crucible for adventure, opportunity and sometimes danger. For these New York women, it is precisely excitement and the possibility of sex and romance that holds them to the metropolis. The association of sexual opportunity for women and the metropolis is something of a departure from earlier narratives of the city. Gender and sexual identity - through discourse, narrative, image and metaphor are inscribed in spatial landscapes, with a rich source to be found in articulations of the city. Inscriptions are contingent on social, economic and cultural forces which shift over time and place, often defining and redefining utopian and dystopian visions. The rise of the great nineteenth century European cities, for instance provoked both utopian and dystopian discourse. Industrialization, overcrowding and poverty were issues which provided representations of the city as menacing and deleterious (as represented in the writing of Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe), while the practice of the flaneur--a nineteenth century male who observed and chronicled the new cities of nineteenth century Europe--confirmed the metropolis as a storehouse of aesthetic and experiential delights. The contemporary zeitgeist is largely utopian, the postmodern city is desirable, uber-cool: sexy. Look at any advertising for inner city apartment living to confirm this. The city's erotic potential is characterized by one of the fundamental conditions of urban life: the close proximity in which we all live among strangers (see also Patton 1995). On a psychic, if not material level, this might provide opportunity for reinvention and renewal of self, for an individual freedom and expression denied to those living in smaller and closer communities. This is the attraction and romanticism of the city. The proximity of strangers gives urban life its erotic possibilities, the capacity for anonymity, that chance meetings with strangers, who we so often live and work among. Lawrence Knopp (1995) describes this aspect of city life as: a world of strangers, a particular life space with a logic and sexuality of its own. The city's sexuality is described as an eroticisation of many of the characteristic experiences of modern urban life: anonymity, voyeurism, exhibitionism, consumption, authority (and challenges to it), tactility, motion danger, power, navigation and restlessness. (151) I've been collecting metaphors of the city and these reveal the congruence between eros and the city. I have yet to find one that is masculine. For instance, journalist Harold Nicholson summing up three European cities used woman as metaphor: 'London is an old lady - Paris is a woman - But Berlin is a girl in a pullover, not much powder on her face' (Petro 1989, 21). Jean Baudrillard's description of Las Vegas as 'that great whore' is similarly feminized and sexualized, and metropolises like New York where aggressive advertisements are like 'wall to wall prostitution.' For Baudrillard, in New York, the plumes of smoke are reminiscent of 'girls wringing out their hair after bathing' (in Docker 1995, 106). Author and journalist John Birmingham described Sydney as 'a tart, loud and brash'. I should add to the list a straw poll of metaphors I conducted for Brisbane, my favourite being Brisbane as a 'middle aged woman in resort wear' (thanks to Maureen Burns for this contribution). But maybe, with the focus on urban development, she might be getting younger. For a (heterosexual) man the city can be alluring, dangerous and feminine. Eros, the city, femininity and danger all collide in the film noir genre, in films such as Roman Polanski's Chinatown, Lawrence Kasden's Body Heat, where beautiful femme fatales lead men astray, or further down the path of corruption. Woman as stranger is alluring and seductive for men, but for woman the chance encounter with a male stranger might signal caution and fear. For women, the dangers are clear: the threat of sexual danger, the chance encounter with a male whose intentions may not be benign. `Reclaim the Night' marches are testament to women's concerns about safety and access to public space, particularly at night. Although research shows that the overwhelming majority of assaults upon women occur in the home, by a person known to the woman, this sober fact does not prevent the cautionary strategies most women employ while out at night. Nor does it diminish the fear and limitations which are the reality of women's experience in public space, particularly at night. Historically, women's role in the public space of the city has been an ambivalent one. A number of analyses of women's role in the nineteenth century city identify the ways in which women in public space were managed and regulated by social and economic interests. Courted on the one hand as consumers for the new department stores and a burgeoning capitalist economy, women were also subject to strict codes of conduct, lest their virtue be in question. Judith Walkowitz in The City of Dreadful Delights examined the ways in which public discourse of danger in nineteenth century London, including the account of Jack the Ripper, as malevolent male stranger, function as a form of moral regulation for women in these newly created city spaces. Both Walkowitz and cultural historian Elizabeth Wilson argue that the metropolis of the nineteenth century, eroded the boundaries between private and public spheres and divisions of labour between men and women. A disquiet and concern over women entering these new public spaces manifested in a discourse of danger and morality, underpinned by the idea that women were at the mercy of their passions and required control and guidance. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Freud had something to say about this. He speculated that the condition of agoraphobia, the fear of open spaces, (which for Freud was an intrinsically female neurosis), was linked to a repressed inner desire to walk the streets, to be streetwalkers (Vidler 1993, 35). But times have changed: the contemporary postmodern city, is celebrated, promoted and regulated as one of diversity, inclusivity and liveablity. Access and amenity are the buzzwords of local and state government policy. In the postmodern city everyone ostensibly is made welcome and a plethora of infrastructure support different interests and lifestyles. Cafés culture has provided a social space for women in particular, previously denied wholesale access to that other Australian social space, the pub. Women's earning capacity means that many of their interests are represented culturally and socially and that they are more firmly inserted into the fabric of city life. Television series and sit-coms located in the city, where groups of friends sometimes live together; Friends, Seinfeld, Sex and the City reinforce the perception of city living as a place of opportunity and fun for younger women and men. Promotional literature is quick to exploit this image. A tourism brochure for the inner city Sydney (non!) suburb of Newtown, describes the attractions of the area: `some cities are cursed with suburbs, but Sydney's blessed with Newtown, a cosmopolitan neighbourhood.' As if Cabramatta, Fairfield or Parramatta, all outer suburban areas of Sydney, weren't cosmopolitan. A billboard in Brisbane's urban renewal area of Newstead, advertises apartment living as 'Urban living NOT suburban'. Drawing upon the rhetoric of opposition and expressing the familiar anti-suburban sentiment which for Australia, originated in the bohemian movement of the late nineteenth century (see also Kinnane 1998). This tradition probably reached its apotheosis with Barry Humphries in the 1960s whose comedic alter ego, Edna Everage signified everything that was despicable and mindless about suburbia. Edna's obsession with housing décor, cooking and recipes, social status and the minutiae of domesticity was portrayed with a venomous satire that depended upon a trivialization of traditional feminine competencies. Is there a connection between the anti- suburban tradition of cultural elites and the suburbs' close association with the domestic and feminine sphere of life? Patrick White in describing the mythical suburb of Sarsaparilla claimed it as 'a geographical hell ruled by female demons' (in Duruz 1994). American historian Lewis Mumford in his seminal work The City in History wrote that the suburbs are not 'merely a child centred environment: it is based on a childish view of the world which is sacrificed to the pleasure principle' (1961). Little wonder that today, younger women are fleeing the suburbs and flocking to the city, attracted by its possibility of adventure and eros. The other day I picked up my teenage daughter from her school to which she had returned after a five day camp in the bush. 'Aaaagh', she sighed with a sense of relief, as we approached our densely populated inner city suburb, 'buildings again… and not too many trees'. The following morning we were out in the lush and fecund Samford Valley, this time at her first soccer match for the season. As we drove further into the bush she yelled out, 'Oh no, not all these trees again!' Is this the response of a typical twenty- first century urban woman? References Docker, John. (1995) Postmodernism and Popular Culture: A cultural history. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Duruz, Jean. (1994) 'Romancing the Suburbs?' in Katherine Gibson and Sophie Watson (eds) Metropolis Now. Sydney, Pluto Press. Kinnane, Gary. (1998) 'Shopping at Last!:History, Fiction and the Anti-Suburban Tradition.' Australian Literary Studies: Writing the Everyday, Australian Literature and the Limits of Suburbia, 18. 4: 41-55. Knopp, Lawrence. (1995) 'Sexuality and Urban Space: a framework for analysis' in David Bell and Gill Valentine (eds) Mapping Desire. London, Routledge. Mumford, Lewis. (1961) The City in History, Its Origins, Its Transformations and Its Prospects. London, Penguin. Patton, Paul. (1995) 'Imaginary Cities' in Sophie Watson and Katherine Gibson (eds) Postmodern Cities and Spaces. Cambridge, Blackwell Publishers. Petro, Patrice (1989) Joyless Streets: Women and Melodramatic Representation in Weimer Germany. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Vidler, Anthony (1993) 'Bodies in Space/Subjects in the City: Psychopathologies of Modern Urbanism.' Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, 5.3: 31-51. Walkowitz, Judith. (1992) City of Dreadful Delight: Narratives of Sexual Danger in late Victorian London. Chicago, Chicago University Press. Watson, Sophie and Gibson, Katherine. (1995) Postmodern Cities and Spaces. Oxford, Basil Blackwell. Wilson, Elizabeth. (1991) The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, The Control of Disorder and Women. London: Virago. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Felton, Emma. "The City" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/eros.php>. Chicago Style Felton, Emma, "The City" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/eros.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Felton, Emma. (2002) The City. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/eros.php> ([your date of access]).