Journal articles on the topic 'Belgium – Ethnic relations'

This article explores the lived experiences of Muslim youth in Belgium regarding their gender identity. Based on a qualitative study with focus groups among Moroccan Belgian youths, we examine the usefulness of studying gender identity as a dynamic construct. Gender identity is not only shaped within and through different contexts, the state of Moroccan Belgian youths negotiating between two worlds also highly complicates this construction. Gender acts as a mobilising force to legitimate borders and to differentiate from another ethnic or religious group that does not share the same practices or perceptions. Finally, processes of stereotyping, which are mainly gender-based, evoke a diversity of reactions among these youths. The aim of this article is to contribute to an understanding of the construction of gender identity as a continuous process that acquires meaning in relation to minority/majority relations in society. Directions for future research are suggested.

The article is about the Belgian federal system transformation, as well as the factors that aggravate or, on the contrary, restrain the centrifugal trends in the country. The specific nature of Belgian federalism determines its evolution from federation to confederation, but the answer to the question about the prospects of this transformation remains open. On the one hand, the Belgian Kingdom history, its geographical location, as well as economic and cultural-linguistic features predetermined the existence and deepening of dividing lines between the two main ethnic communities in the country – the Walloons and the Flemings. Decentralization, as a response to the aggravation of interethnic contradictions, allows political elites to partially control the process and minimize, as far as possible, the costs of this conflict of interest for the economy and the population, but at the same time, it feeds centrifugal tendencies. Reforms do not remove the problem of separatism from the agenda, but, vice versa, give the regions and communities all the necessary resources, reducing the central authorities’ competences. Each reform creates the basis for the next redistribution of power. The logic of the decentralization process predefines the dual, asymmetric, dissociative and improvisational nature of the federal system of Belgium, and contributes to its extreme complication. The main drivers of centrifugal tendencies remain Flemish nationalists when the institutions and mechanisms designed to unite the country do not function effectively enough. On the other hand, the scenario of a complete collapse of the Belgian federation is not something predetermined and inevitable. There are still internal and external factors unifying Belgians (the Senate, the King, the absence of a provision for a national referendum in the constitution, a special place in the federation of the Brussels-Capital region, the country’s membership in the EU), but their influence on the entire system is gradually decreasing. Belgium’s active participation in the European integration contributing to creation of a highly developed modern economic system and high living standards, as well as stable GDP growth (with exception of crisis periods), play an important role in stabilizing the Belgian federation. So, the European Union prevents a rapid development of separation process, but does not change its main trends. The EU accompanies the Belgian federal system transformation, in order to reduce its costs for society and the European integration, but does not set the task of inversing its evolution. At the same time, the unstable political situation in the country has a certain negative impact on the European integration, exacerbating the complexity of the decision-making process within the EU. The coronavirus pandemic became a catalyst for controversial political processes in Belgium, brought renewal of the social and environmental contract and a new view of European solidarity. However, the pandemic highlighted the main shortcomings of the existing federal system. The dissociation of the federation and its drift to a confederation is a peaceful and slow process, but the country’s unifying factors are gradually eroding. It is not yet clear whether and when a full-fledged confederate system will be created and the separation will be stopped, or whether the confederation will become the next stage on the Belgium’s way to the final division. It is impossible to completely exclude a rollback scenario of the strong federation restoration while reducing competencies of regions and communities, but it is obvious that its probability is extremely small.

Increasing numbers of second-generation Muslims are highly qualified and locally embedded in today's European cities. This does not protect them, however, from experiencing discrimination in intergroup encounters in school, at work, or in the street. Taking an approach from local intergroup relations between ethnic minorities and the majority society, we draw on the TIES (The Integration of the European Second Generation) surveys to compare Turkish and Moroccan minorities and majority Belgians in Antwerp, Belgium. Our research aims (1) to establish minority and majority perspectives on (reverse) personal discrimination (2) in different life domains, and (3) to differentiate internally between gender, socioeconomic attainments, and local climates. Structural equation models show minority and majority group perspectives on discrimination as gendered and situated inter-group encounters in socioeconomic and civic domains of life.

While considerable research has shown that coethnic communities exercise pressure on their members to conform to certain normative patterns, there is little research that explains variability within coethnic groups regarding ethnic conformity pressure. Drawing on fieldwork and semistructured interviews with children and grandchildren of Turkish immigrants living in Ghent and five mining towns in Belgium, we explain differences in ethnic conformity pressure through a comparative examination of how macrostructural characteristics of cities shape community–level ethnic conformity pressure. We demonstrate that a city's migration history and social geography are related to the degree of social closure and normative consensus within an ethnic community, and that its ethnic heterogeneity and interethnic relations impact how much people depend on their coethnic community for social support. These in turn shape the internal sanctioning capacity of the community and its power to enforce normative patterns, especially of gender roles. The study shows that locality matters in the integration, assimilation, and acculturation of migrants, even disadvantaged ones who share the same national background.

Until the early 1970s many scholars believed that the process of economic modernization would result in the decline of ethnic political activity throughout the world. This melting pot modernization perspective failed on both theoretical and empirical grounds. After its collapse, scholars promoted a new conflictual modernization approach, which argued that modernization brought previously isolated ethnic groups into conflict. Although this approach accounted for the origins of ethnic conflict, it relied too heavily on elite motivations and could not account for the behavior of ethnic political movements. In the last five years, scholars have tried to develop a psychological approach to ethnic conflict. These scholars see conflict as stemming from stereotyped perceptions of differences among ethnic groups. This approach fails to analyze the tangible group disparities that reinforce these identifications and that may serve as the actual catalysts for ethnic political conflict. The conflictual modernization approach is reinvigorated by applying it to the cases of ethnic conflict in Canada and Belgium. In both of these countries the twin processes of economic modernization and political centralization intensified ethnic conflict while stripping ethnic movements of the romantic cultural ideologies and institutional frameworks that could provide these movements with some long-term stability. Thus, by integrating the modernization approach with a resource mobilization perspective we can develop theories that can account for ethnic conflict throughout the world.

Recent research and theorizing suggest that desires for group–based dominance underpin biases towards both human outgroups and (non–human) animals. A systematic study of the common ideological roots of human–human and human–animal biases is, however, lacking. Three studies (in Belgium, UK, and USA) tested the Social Dominance Human–Animal Relations Model (SD–HARM) proposing that Social Dominance Orientation (SDO) is a key factor responsible for the significant positive association between ethnic outgroup attitudes and speciesist attitudes towards animals, even after accounting for other ideological variables (that possibly confound previous findings). Confirming our hypotheses, the results consistently demonstrated that SDO, more than right–wing authoritarianism (RWA), is a key factor connecting ethnic prejudice and speciesist attitudes. Furthermore, Studies 2 and 3 showed that both SDO and RWA are significantly related to perceived threat posed by vegetarianism (i.e. ideologies and diets minimizing harm to animals), but with SDO playing a focal role in explaining the positive association between threat perceptions and ethnic prejudice. Study 3 replicated this pattern, additionally including political conservatism in the model, itself a significant correlate of speciesism. Finally, a meta–analytic integration across studies provided robust support for SD–HARM and offers important insights into the psychological parallels between human intergroup and human–animal relations. Copyright © 2016 European Association of Personality Psychology

The Lviv daily “Dilo”, as well as the Ukrainian press in Galicia, Bukovina, Volyn and Transcarpathia in the interwar period, could not keep a way from the numerous and systematic facts of Ukrainophobia and immediately responded to the form available to it, mainly as digest and translations of foreign publications about Ukrainians and Ukrainian ethnic land. Thirties of the Twentieth century entered the Ukrainian history under the sign of Polish “pacification” in Eastern Galicia (there were also the petitions of Ukrainian and British representations to the League of Nations), artificially created famine and genocide in Soviet Ukraine, the Bolshevik terror (not only against the national Ukrainian intellectuals, but also against the Ukrainian leadership of the Communist Party of the Bolsheviks), the German propaganda concerning the prospects of independent Ukraine and other significant phenomena, which formed together the basis of the "Ukrainian problem". All this in general was reflected by the European press (Great Britain, Germany, France, Switzerland, Belgium, Austria, Italy) and the US press, Canada, Japan. At the same time, from the standpoint of advocacy and sympathy, there was hardly any publication in the press of Czechoslovakia, Poland, Romania (except for Ukrainian-language editions), in the Soviet periodicals, however the governments of these countries were interested in further weakening and leveling of Ukrainian ethnic, mental, religious, historical and other factors that could cement Ukrainians nationally. Keywords: magazine “Dilo” (Lviv), interethnic relations, Bukovyna, Galychyna, interwar period

It would be a mistake to assume that ethnopolitics is only a matter of confrontation between different ethnic groups. On the contrary, there is a range of examples where it is pursued in a spirit of compromise and co‑operation. One of them is the case of the Jewish Autonomous Region of Birobidzhan, in Post‑Soviet Russia. Often ethnic groups realize that co‑operation and cultural coexistence are more profitable than conflict. Beginning in 1928 the Soviet Union set aside a territory the size of Belgium for Jewish settlement, located some five thousands miles east of Moscow along the Soviet‑Chinese border. Believing that Soviet Jewish people, like other national minorities, deserved a territorial homeland, the regime decided to settle an enclave that would become the Jewish Autonomous Region in 1934. In fact, the establishment of the JAR was the first instance of an officially acknowledged Jewish national territory since ancient times. But the history of the Region was tragic and the experiment failed dismally. Nevertheless, Birobidzhan’s renewed existence of today is not only a curious legacy of Soviet national policy, but after the break‑up of the Soviet Union and the definite religious rebirth, represents an interesting case‑study in respect to interethnic relations.

Both in the pre-war and the post-war period right-wing extremism was not very strong in Britain. Historians, political scientist and politicians have suggested a whole range of elements to explain this failure. In the light of this limited success the victory of the British National Party in an election of the Millwall district in the London Bourough of Tower Hamlets was indeed a surprise. lt raised the question whether this was the beginning of something similar to what happened earlier in France, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands. The very specific characteristics of the London East End and ofthe Millwall district in particular make the BNP victory however quite exceptional, and do not enable a generalization of the phenomenon. This is supported by the electoral results for the London Borough and District Council of May 5 1994. Yet one can still argue that the specific danger of the BNP is not its electoral potential, but the impact of its local activities on the relations between the ethnic groups in the neighbourhoods where it is present.

The Jewish Autonomous Region (JAR) of Birobidzhan in Siberia is still alive. The once famous “Siberian Zion”, at the confluence of the Bira and Bidzhan rivers, a stone’s throw away from China and a day from the Pacific Ocean, 9,000 km and six days by train from Moscow, is still a geographical reality. The political class of the Soviet Union decided to create a territory the size of Belgium for a settlement for Jews, choosing a region on the border between China and the Soviet Union. It believed that Soviet Jews needed, like other national minorities, a homeland with a territory. The Soviet regime thus opted to establish an enclave that would become the JAR in 1934. We should note that the creation of the JAR was the first historically fulfilled case of building an officially recognised Jewish national territory since antiquity and well before Israel. Nevertheless, many historians declared this experiment a failure and the history of the Region only tragic. It is interesting to note, however, that the survival of the JAR in post-Soviet Russia has been not only a historical curiosity, a legacy of Soviet national policy, but today – after the collapse of the Soviet Union – it represents a very interesting case study. It is also a topic useful for the analysis and understanding of inter-ethnic relations, cooperation, and coexistence and it is a unique case of geographic resettlement that produced a special case of “local patriotism”, as an example also for different ethnic groups living in the JAR, based on Jewish and Yiddish roots.

Education systems are crucial social and cultural apparatuses. They are designed to homogenize at least to a large extent the discourses and praxis of the citizens of a nation by channelling them as much as possible through a unified educational system. However, in ethnically and culturally diversified societies, these homogenizing social institutions can become counterproductive as they are primarily designed by and for the dominant ethnic group. This issue is particularly important in nation-building processes, something that is still explicitly ongoing in Flanders (Belgium), as these institutions put forward a unified nation with one culture and language. In this article we study how these macro-level processes can be related to the interaction processes in and between families and schools. The central research question this article tries to answer is: is the idea of a culturally and linguistically unified representation of the Flemish nation relevant when studying teacher-pupil-parent relations? We aim to build upon the existing literature by relating meso-level processes of institutional racialization and culturalization to micro-level interactions in educational settings and to macro-level processes of nation-building in Flanders. To answer these questions, we rely upon data from two qualitative research projects: (1) one study that focuses on the family socialization processes in ethnic majority and minority families and collected 42 interviews with parents; and (2) a second study that focuses on the educational trajectories of students, with specific attention on the school environment, and collected 114 interviews with students and 57 interviews with school actors. The findings show clear similarities between the macro-level processes and the interactions between families and schools in such a way that the article discusses if ongoing and explicit nation-building processes are capable of appreciating the existing diversity in a nation.

In this study, we investigate gender differences in adolescents’ anticipated feelings of guilt and shame for engaging in shoplifting and retaliatory violence. More specifically, we examine the extent to which interpersonal relations with parents and teachers, perceived peer delinquency and traditional gender role beliefs have different effects on levels of shame-guilt among males and females, and to what extent these variables mediate gender differences in shame-guilt. We use data collected in a sample of 852 adolescents in Genk, a multi-ethnic city in the north-east of Belgium. Our findings confirm those of earlier research indicating that females experience a considerably higher threat of shame-guilt for engaging in delinquency than males. Factors explaining males’ and females’ anticipated shame-guilt feelings are similar in the case of shoplifting, but different in the case of violence. Differential exposure to peer delinquency and parental follow-up partially mediate the effect of gender on shame-guilt for engaging in shoplifting. Among males, endorsement of traditional masculinity predicts lower levels of shame-guilt for engaging in shoplifting and violence. Among females, endorsement of traditional femininity predicts lower levels of shame-guilt for engaging in shoplifting, but has no effect on shame-guilt for engaging in violence. We discuss the implications of our findings for understanding the contribution of shame-guilt to the social control of delinquency across gender.

Purpose Possessing a strong ethnic identity and ethnic network are described in some epidemiological literature as moderating factors in the relation between perceived discrimination and varying types of substance use in people with a migration background (PMB). The purpose of this paper is to qualitatively explore problem use, discrimination, ethnic identity and social networks in a small purposive sample of users with a Turkish and Eastern European migration background in Ghent, Belgium. Design/methodology/approach The authors present data retrieved within the framework of a qualitative community-based participatory research study that primarily aims to understand the nature of substance use in PMB. In the secondary analysis, the authors focus on a sub-study examining substance use by people with a Turkish (n=55) and Eastern European (n=62) migration background and explore how individuals perceive discrimination, ethnic identity and (ethnic) social networks in 117 qualitative interviews. Findings Almost all the respondents in this study reported perceived (inter-)ethnic discrimination. The authors establish that problem users in this study have a complex but albeit weak sense of ethnic identity nor do they have a strong ethnic network. This, in combination with perceived discrimination, is a risk factor for continued problem substance use and may hamper recovery related to problem use. Originality/value This article intends to lay the groundwork for future research that should focus more on longitudinally studying the intertwined relation between problem use, discrimination, ethnic identity and especially social instead of solely ethnic networks, their complex nature as well as their relation to recovery processes among persons with a migration background.

PurposeThis study aims to explore and discuss the ethical challenges that the authors encountered in the SWIPSER project, a study about the well-being of West-African women who work in the red-light district in Brussels.Design/methodology/approachThe study was commissioned by the municipality of Schaerbeek and executed by a Nigerian–Belgian research team. Data were collected using a multi-method qualitative approach, predominantly through ethnographic fieldwork that consisted of detailed observations, informal interviews (with 38 participants), complemented by document analysis and stakeholder interviews.FindingsThe study presents the main ethical dilemmas in four themes: (1) representing diversity, i.e. how do we get access to all members of a migrant community that is inherently hierarchical?; (2) in the margin, i.e. how can we conduct research with undocumented migrants and what do we do when faced with violence and injustice?; (3) attraction and repulsion, i.e. what ethical consequences are involved when working in a multi-ethnic research team?; and (4) unveiling secrets, i.e. which ethical challenges are we faced with when presenting the results of research on vulnerable migrant communities?Originality/valueThis study goes beyond procedural research ethics and highlights the specific relational ethics (related to the relation between research(er) and participant) and the socio-political ethics (related to the relation between the research(er) and the socio-political context) involved in qualitative research with female migrants who work in prostitution.

Much literature on the cultural industries celebrates ethnicity as a source of creativity. Despite its positive connotation, this discourse reduces ethnic minority creatives to manifestations of a collective ethnic identity automatically leading to creativity, creating a paradox of creativity without a creative subject. Approaching creatives with an ethnic minority background as agents, this article investigates how they self-reflectively and purposely discursively construct ethnicity as a source of creativity in their identity work. Empirically, we analyze interviews with well-established creatives with an ethnic minority background active in Belgium. Most respondents construct their ethnic background as ‘hybrid’, ‘exotic’, or ‘liminal’ to craft an identity as creatives and claim creativity for their work. Only few refuse to discursively deploy ethnicity as a source of creativity, crafting more individualized identities as creatives. Our study contributes to the literature on power and ethnicity in the creative industries by documenting ethnic minority creatives’ discursive micro-struggle over what is creative work and who qualifies as a creative. Specifically, we show their counterpolitics of representation of ethnicity in the creative industries through the re-signification of the relation between the ‘west’ and the ‘other’ in less disadvantageous terms. Despite such re-signification, the continued relevance of the discourse of ethnicity as a key marker of difference suggests that ethnicity remains a principle of unequal organization of the creative industries.

According to liberal nationalists, sharing a national identity offers a solution to the growing concern that increasing diversity within Western societies might erode solidarity. Based on the national identity framework, a positive relation between peoples’ support for redistribution and their national identification is expected. Partially confirmed among majority group members, the aim of this study is to broaden the perspective and investigate the redistributive attitudes of people with a migration background. Since the social identification of people with a migration background is more complex and tends to be based on belonging to both the nation of residence and a specific ethnic group, we additionally consider the role of ethnic identification. We perform multivariate analyses on data from the Belgian Ethnic Minorities Election Study 2014 (BEMES), a survey conducted among Belgians of Turkish and Moroccan descent. The results confirm our hypothesis about the positive role of national identification. Ethnic identification, on the contrary, is negatively related to support for redistribution and particularly the combination of a low attachment to the country of residence and strong attachment to the country of origin is associated with lower levels of support for redistribution.

Drawing on qualitative research with Catholic women who are active in the Church in Belgium, this article sets out to analyse how these women negotiate and manage premarital sexuality. I map their practices, experiences, and strategies, and explore how they make sense of religious and secular norms regarding premarital sexuality. By using two notions as theoretical frameworks, namely religious agency and growth ethics, I argue that combining both can lead to a fertile approach to yielding new insights into the field of religion and sexuality. In so doing, I demonstrate that although not all my interlocutors refrain from sexual relations before marriage, they develop personal sexual ethics, which are distinctly informed by Catholic understandings.

The gradual rapprochement between peoples, cultures, beliefs involve numerous conflicts with indigenous peoples on ethnic or religious grounds. These conflicts tend to turn into articulation of radical positions and extremist activities. The aim of this study was to analyze the current state of terrorist acts and identify the determinants of terrorism on racial and religious grounds in Western Europe. The statistical method, comparison, graphic analysis, analysis of the Global Index of Terrorism; The European Union reports on the situation and trends of terrorism, as well as the research on terrorism-related issues for 2011-2021, were used as empirical research methods. It is determined that the UK, France, Germany, Greece, Belgium, Spain, Italy, and Sweden are subject to the highest risk of terrorist acts. It was proved that the determinants of terrorism are localized in relation to key issues related to the state of the economic sphere, social development, as well as the spiritual and cultural sphere. Emphasis is placed on the need to overcome the problems associated with terrorist activities by formulating a policy of national means of resolving ethnic and racial issues and active international cooperation. Further research will identify key determinants of terrorism in Eastern Europe.

Measurements of ethnocentric attitudes are routinely included in survey research but are often criticized because they lack external validity. In a European context there is almost no research in which the focus is on the relationship between ethnocentric attitudes and actual behavior. Most of the existing research has been conducted in North America, where the pattern of interethnic relations is different from the pattern in Europe. Therefore, in this study we investigated whether or not a survey measure for ethnocentric attitudes accurately reflects avoidance behavior toward ethnic minorities in a European context. Among a study sample of Belgian students we found that ethnocentric attitudes had a strong predictive effect on independently observed avoidance behavior. This provides support for the ethnocentrism scale as a measure that has external validity.

This article explores the ways in which female Belgian Muslim volunteers experience responsibility. It argues that responsibility consists of multiple dynamics for the volunteers, for example, the duties that are embedded in the Islamic tradition and the duties that arise from being a good citizen in a liberal/secular context. While these are often emphasized as being contentious binaries—especially for Muslims living in the West—this paper suggests that volunteering allows the Muslim women to bring these worlds together. The ways in which volunteering enables this is by introducing a relational reading of ethics and ethical self-formation. Relationality is highly significant for the female Muslim volunteer. It signifies being in touch with both (non-liberal) Islamic ethics and liberal public norms, even when pursuing a pious lifestyle. Hence, the article explores the ways in which responsibility is actualized in this framework. Finally, the last section interrogates how this idea of responsibility and relationality re-articulates binaries of the good-Muslim and the bad-Muslim.

This article explores ‘dialectical design dialogues’ as an approach to engage with ethics in everyday urban planning contexts. It starts from Paulo Freire’s pedagogical view (1970/2017), in which dialogues imply the establishment of a horizontal relation between professionals and amateurs, in order to understand, question and imagine things in everyday reality, in this case, urban transformations, applied to participatory planning and enriched through David Harvey’s (2000, 2009) dialectical approach. A dialectical approach to design dialogues acknowledges and renegotiates contrasts and convergences of ethical concerns specific to the reality of concrete daily life, rather than artificially presenting daily life as made of consensus or homogeneity. The article analyses an atlas as a tool to facilitate dialectical design dialogues in a case study of a low-density residential neighbourhood in the city of Genk, Belgium. It sees the production of the atlas as a collective endeavour during which planners, authorities and citizens reflect on possible futures starting from a confrontation of competing uses and perspectives of neighbourhood spaces. The article contributes to the state-of-the-art in participatory urban planning in two ways: (1) by reframing the theoretical discussion on ethics by arguing that not only the verbal discourses around designerly atlas techniques but also the techniques themselves can support urban planners in dealing more consciously with ethics (accountability, morality and authorship) throughout urban planning processes, (2) by offering a concrete practice-based example of producing an atlas that supports the participatory articulation and negotiation of dialectical inquiry of ethics through dialogues in a ‘real-time’ urban planning process.

IntroductionSeptic shock is the subgroup of patients with sepsis, which presents as vasopressor dependence, an elevated blood lactate concentration and is associated with a mortality of at least 30%. Expression of the triggering receptor expressed on myeloid cells 1 (TREM-1) pathway, measured using a serum biomarker of pathway activation (soluble TREM-1, sTREM-1) has been associated with outcome in septic shock. Preclinical and early phase patient data suggest that therapeutic modulation of this pathway may improve survival.Methods and analysisEfficacy, Safety and Tolerability of Nangibotide in Patients with Septic Shock is a phase IIb randomised controlled trial that will take place in up to 50 centres in seven countries and recruit 450 patients with septic shock to receive either placebo or one of two doses of nangibotide, a novel regulator of the TREM-1 pathway. The primary outcome will be the impact of nangibotide therapy on the change in Sequential Organ Failure Assessment score from a baseline determined before initiation of study drug therapy. This will be assessed first in the patients with an elevated sTREM-1 level and then in the study population as a whole. In addition to safety, secondary outcomes of the study will include efficacy of nangibotide in relation to sTREM-1 levels in terms of organ function, mortality and long-term morbidity. This study will also facilitate the development of a novel platform for the measurement of sTREM-1 at the point of care.Ethics and disseminationThe study has been approved by the responsible ethics committees/institutional review boards in all study countries: Belgium: Universitair Ziekenhuis Antwerpen, France: CPP Ile de France II, Denmark: Region Hovedstaden, Spain: ethics committee from Valld’Hebron Hospital, Barcelona, Finland: Tukija, Ireland: St. James’ Hospital (SJH) / Tallaght University Hospital (TUH) Joint Research Ethics Committee, USA: Lifespan, ProvidenceTrial registration numbersEudraCT Number: 2018-004827-36 and NCT04055909.

Abstract Life satisfaction, dimensions of internalized cultural values and self-efficacy related to emigration intentions for a long-term stay abroad of university students in five European countries. Aim: To explore the associations between emigration intentions of university students form five European countries in relation to several intrapersonal and emigration self-efficacy. The second aim is to explore the mediating role of self-efficacy in relation to internalized cultural values and emigration intentions. Sample and procedure: The sample consisted of 1223 students (females N=812, 66.4%, males N=411, 33.6%. M=21.95, SD=3.62) from five European countries. The data collection was completed via an online questionnaire (University of Antwerp, Belgium, Sofia University, Bulgaria, University of Miskolc, Hungary, Lithuanian University of Health Sciences, Lithuania, Pavol Jozef Šafárik University in Košice, Slovak Republic). The local ethics committee in every country approved the study Statistical analysis: Statistical analysis was performed in SPSS 21. Differences in intrapersonal were analysed by ANOVA with a Scheffe Post hoc test. Binary logistic regression with the method enter controlling for country and age was used as a method of analysis. Mediational analyses were explored by using Hayes PROCESS tool. Findings: The regression model explained between 29-38 percent of the variance. Those students with higher self–efficacy also with higher horizontal individualism were more likely to have emigration intentions compared to those with lower self-efficacy and HI, and those with lower satisfaction and vertical collectivism were more likely to have long-term emigration intentions compared to those with higher satisfaction and VC. Self-efficacy was found to mediate the relationship between horizontal dimensions of internalized cultural values and emigration intentions.

Universities have historically merited a special place in world history as the locus of science, upbringing, humanism, and freedom of expression. However, modernity is routinely putting their tenacity and toughness to test by challenges of social existence, where every individual, government and society alike are transforming faced with globalization, communicative technologies, climate change and the new type of the world economy. The Institute of International Relations is therefore seeking to reiterate the irreplaceable value, virtues and vistas of a classical university in the ever-changing world of today. Since its inception, the IIR has come a long way from a small department to the major educational and methodological centre of Ukraine for training experts in international relations and foreign policy. Nevertheless, the life in the precincts of the Institute is not confined to research in the silence of laboratories or libraries. Thus, under interuniversity agreements, the IIR cooperates with more than 60 higher educational establishments from Belgium, Canada, China, Egypt, France, Germany, Great Britain, Greece, Iran, Japan, Poland, the Republic of Korea, Spain, and the US. Within the framework of international cooperation attention is also attached to the matters of professional ethics: For four consecutive years, the IIR has taken part in the Strengthening Academic Integrity in Ukraine Project (SAIUP) under the aegis of the American Councils for International Education in collaboration with the Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine backed by the US Embassy in Ukraine. In recent years, the Institute has set up an extensive network of international project activities, as amply demonstrated by the establishment of Ukraine’s sole Centre for Arabic Studies and the Youth Information Centre of the Ukrainian Red Cross Society. Capitalizing on the generated momentum, in 2019, the IIR won an overarching victory in the competition for the establishment of the Jean Monnet Centre of Excellence under the EU’s Erasmus + Programme to become the only such project in Ukraine. The Institute of International Relations is also mindful of employability and future careers of its graduates. Such initiatives as the Career Day, traditionally bringing together the world’s leading employers, the IIR Business School and the Memorandum of Cooperation between the Institute and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Ukraine are there to serve this purpose. Our Institute is an opportunity to open up to the world by virtue of new knowledge, academic exchange programs and internship in the best universities. This is the place not only to meet loyal friends and wise teachers, but also to unite the IIR traditions and achievements with the global perspective and break new ground of thinking. Keywords: the Institute of International Relations, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Ukraine, joint degree, master classes of practitioners, case studies, language training, English-language master programmes.

Set principally in or around Seraing, an industrial region in decline just outside of Liège, in Belgium, the films of Jean-Luc and Pierre Dardenne marry geographical and historical-social realism with a series of ethical inquiries into such topics as immigration, unemployment, black market trading and petty crime. To date, critical commentary on the films has tended mainly to read the work of the Dardennes along two lines. The dominant approach uses the work of Emmanuel Levinas as a philosophical touchpoint in order to illuminate the ethical dimension of the Dardenne brothers' films. The second considers the political dimensions of their films. However a third, related body of writing has emerged in later years, one which understands in terms of their relation to what Jürgen Habermas (2006) , amongst others, has dubbed the postsecular age. This article locates the Dardennes' films at the intersection between the ethical, the political, and the postsecular, looking to the theologically-inflected philosophy of Gillian Rose to make the case that Seraing serves as the model of what Rose refers to as “the third city” – a postsecular site which challenges easy divisions between politics and ethics. As such Seraing is not, I shall argue, a mere staging post for the moral, political and spiritual problems posed by the films, but its cradle. Paying particular attention to the Dardennes' film Two Days, One Night (Deux Jours, Une Nuit, 2014) I demonstrate what an engagement that turns on existence with and within the city – an engagement that is both political and ethical – might look like.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to systematically appraise the effect of use of interpreters for mental health problems in old age. The primary objective of the review is to assess the impact of a language barrier for assessment and management in relation to mental health problems in the old age. The secondary objectives are to assess the effect of the use of interpreters on patient satisfaction and quality of care, identify good practice and make recommendations for research and practice in the old age mental health. Design/methodology/approach – The following data sources were searched for publications between 1966 and 2011: PubMed, PsycINFO, CINAHL and Cochrane Library. The authors found in previous reviews that a substantial number of papers from developing and non-English speaking countries are published in journals not indexed in mainstream databases, and devised a search strategy using Google which identified a number of papers, which could not be found when the search was limited to scientific data bases only (Farooq et al., 2009). The strategy was considered especially important for this review which focuses on communication across many different languages. Thus, the authors conducted a search of the World Wide Web using Google Scholar, employing the search term Medical Interpreters and Mental Health. The search included literature in all languages. The authors also searched the reference lists of included and excluded studies for additional relevant papers. Bibliographies of systematic review articles published in the last five years were also examined to identify pertinent studies. Findings – Only four publications related specifically to “old age” and 33 addressed “interpreting” and “psychiatry” generally. Four articles presented original research (Parnes and Westfall, 2003; Hasset and George, 2002; Sadavoy et al., 2004; Van de Mieroop et al., 2012). One article (Shah, 1997) reports an “anecdotal descriptive account” of interviewing elderly people from ethnic backgrounds in a psychogeriatric service in Melbourne and does not report any data. Therefore, only four papers met the inclusion and exclusion criteria and present original research in the field of “old age”, “psychiatry” and “interpreting”. None of these papers present UK-based research. One is a quantitative study from Australia (Hasset and George, 2002), the second is a qualitative study from Canada (Sadavoy et al., 2004), in the third paper Van de Mieroop et al. (2012) describe community interpreting in a Belgian old home and the final paper is an American case study (Parnes and Westfall, 2003). Practical implications – Interviewing older patients for constructs like cognitive function and decision-making capacity through interpreters can pose significant clinical and legal problems. There is urgent need for training mental health professionals for developing skills to overcome the language barrier and for interpreters to be trained for work in psychogeriatrics. Social implications – The literature on working through interpreters is limited to a few empirical studies. This has serious consequences for service users such as lack of trust in services, clinical errors and neglect of human rights. Further studies are needed to understand the extent of problem and how effective interpreting and translating services can be provided in the routine clinical practice. It is also essential to develop a standard of translation services in mental health that can be measured for their quality and also efficiency. At present such a quality standard is not available in the UK, unlike Sweden (see www.regeringen.se/sb/d/3288/a/19564). This omission is disturbing – especially when decisions on human rights are being considered as part of the Mental Health Act. Such a standard can best be achieved by collaboration between medical profession and linguists’ professional associations (Cambridge et al., 2012). Originality/value – Whilst translation/interpretation has been addressed more generally in mental health: specific considerations related to old age psychiatry are almost absent. This needs urgent rectification given that a large proportion of older people from BME communities will require translation and interpretation services.

Almost four decades after its discovery was initially announced, the Celtic necropolis in Karaburma, a suburb of Belgrade, is still one of the most important archaeological sites for the interpretation of the historical, economic, and cultural processes taking place in the central Balkans from the 4th to the end of the 1st centuries B.C. Most of all, it represents a wide-ranging source for explaining the chronology of the oldest Celtic presence in this area, also illustrating cultural exchanges in the network in which they were included. In this necropolis, belonging to the regional military elite, there are several graves in which, in addition to standard offerings relating to the regional material culture, items originating from a wider cultural area were found. Amongst these, grave number 22, the subject of our research, is especially important. In this grave were found objects mainly made of bronze and iron, with a smaller fragment of pottery. The iron items represent the attire of the deceased and his offensive weapons, while bronze items are characteristically imported vessels and a smaller bronze ring (figs. 1, 2). The imported vessels are represented by the well-known situla and cup. According to the basic typological scheme, we can classify the situla within the large group of ovoid situlae with the leaf-shaped or the so-called heart-shaped ornament under the attachment (figs. 1, 9; 2; 3, 7). According to the typological scheme here suggested, the situla found in Karaburma belongs to the first group, namely to its variant b (Ib), which is characterized by situlae with a leaf-shaped ornament on the attachment, separately cast and then pinned down or soldered to the body of the vessel (fig. 3, 7). Also belonging to this group are situlae from Skillountia, Goce Delcev (fig. 3, 8), V?rbica (fig. 3, 9) and from Chirnogi (fig. 3, 10). Situlae from Budva (fig. 3, 11) and Belgrade (fig. 3, 12) should also be included here, probably the one from Bitola as well. According to the analysis here presented, we have attributed the situla to the work of Macedonian workshops of the 4th century, to which other situlae, initially recorded in the contexts of Celtic provenance, have finally been included, and which ended up in the graves of Celtic dignitaries as exclusive imports of particular social conditions and ideological features. The other bronze vessel, considering its size, metric relations, technical and stylistic execution, we interpret as a cup, or at least as some kind of transitional form, since it is somewhat more shallow when compared to actual cups, and significantly taller compared to phiale (figs. 1, 10; 2). The context in which it was found indicates that it must have been used as a drinking cup in a set, together with the ovoid situla. Similar phiale were a very popular form in Thrace in the 4th century (fig. 7, 2-3), but the greatest resemblance can be seen in the phiale from Peretu, from the Thraco-Getian area to the north (fig. 7, 1). Characteristics of the form and style of the cup from Karaburma enabled its classification among the later variants or transitional forms of cups, seen in the context of the bronze production of Northern Greece, i.e. Macedonia. It is important for the period of the midto late 4th century, in other words, it completely matches with the chronological background and location of the ovoid situla with the leaf-shaped ornament under the attachment. In the analysis of weapons belonging to a Celtic warrior buried in grave 22, an iron sword with preserved fragments of a scabbard made of iron sheet (fig. 1, 1-2) stands out. Comparative analysis has characterized the sword as an exceptionally late form of the group Kosd D, attributed to the phase Lt B2. However, the slightly accentuated biconical shape of the scabbard?s end also points to certain elements of the group Kosd C. In the Carpathian basin the group Kosd C represents a rather rare form, which as a cultural innovation spread westwards, thus the Karaburma necropolis in Belgrade represents their southeastern, furthest point of expansion. To this same time frame also belongs the sword belt chain set (fig. 1, 5-6). Typological and spatial analysis has shown that chain belts with single figure-ofeight links, exactly the same as the ones found in grave 22, are relatively rare in that region. Asimilar sword belt set was found in the Benacci necropolis in Bologna, also containing a sword inside a scabbard decorated with a pair of dragons of the II type according to Jose-Maria De Navarro. Alongside it was also found a spear-butt with a spike which by its workmanship, closely resembles precisely the spear-butt with a long spike and the massive conical lower part from grave 22 (fig. 1, 4). Unlike the complete sword belt chain set and the sword, the spear-butt was isolated, but perhaps we can connect the bronze ring with it (fig. 1, 3). Given its size, it was probably the grip which was strengthening the spot at which the spear-butt was inserted into it. Aspecial feature of grave 22 are two highly fragmented remains of fibulae (fig. 1, 7-8). The spring of the larger fibula stands out, with two winders on each side, and with an external arch (fig. 1, 7), which dates from the late Lt B2 phase and the transitional horizon B2/C1. It has long been accepted as fact that the Celts inhabited the area between the rivers Sava and Danube from as early as the second half and towards the end of the 4th century, while the Scordisci, as such, formed only after the defeat at Delphi. However, the process of the Celtic expansion was already happening at the beginning of the 4th century, and it spread along the main communication routes, the rivers, with strategic points first to be settled. Only after several decades of consolidation, or only upon the return from the military expedition to the south of the Balkan peninsula, was the whole area inhabited by the Celts by the end of the 4th century. This historically suggested claim always necessarily led to the question of chronological positioning and the distance between phases Lt B2 and Lt C2. Most authors dealing with this matter have held that phase Lt B2 was supposed to have finished after the Celtic invasion of the southern Balkans, i.e. some time in the 3rd century. However, this assessment does not seem entirely correct, since most objects of La T?ne cultural provenance found in the Aegean region and Asia Minor stem from the initial Lt C horizon, which means that the expedition to Delphi cannot represent an absolute chronological border between the Lt B2 and C1. The absence of indicative elements of the material culture of the Lt B horizon in the Aegean area and Anatolia indicates that they already had to be completely out of fashion by the time of the expedition. In brief - after the dissolution of Lisimachus? kingdom and the murder of Seleucus I in 281 B.C., there was a military and political power vacuum in the region of Macedonia and Thrace. The opportunity was seized by Celts from the region of the lower Danube, who set out towards ?the South?. In 279 B.C. one of the three groups, led by Bolgios (i.e. Belgius), defeated the Macedonian royal army, and Ptolemy Ceraunus himself got killed. In the summer of the same year, Brennus reached central Greece, i.e. Delphi; having suffered a defeat, the larger portion of the army was stationed in the region of Thrace, after a logical retreat. There they received an offer from Nicomedus I of Bythinia who hired 20,000 of them as mercenaries, hence their penetration into Asia Minor in 278 and 277 B.C. On the other hand, the archaeological findings from the mentioned area, connected with these events, indicate that it can and must be classified within the Lt C1 phase. An additional argument in favour of an earlier dating is also offered by a pair of two-part anklets, with eight hollow semispherical bosses with no ornaments, found in the Spanos well in the vicinity of Poseidon?s sanctuary in Isthmia. Previously, Rupert Gebhard had held that these findings should be brought into connection with the incursion of 279 B.C., dating from his horizon 5, i.e. between c. 290 and 260 B.C. However, Isabelle Raubitschek demonstrated the opposite, pointing to several details: firstly, since the remnants of the Celtic army after their defeat withdrew through the Thermopylae, it is unlikely that on the way back anyone would pass through Isthmia; secondly, similar anklets were also found in the Heraion of Perachora, and finally and most importantly, that they were found in an enclosed context, together with the kylix-krater, meaning that they must date from the third quarter of the 4th century. To her conclusions we can now add two other possible perspectives: 1. - regarding the chronology, the most important fact is that the pair of two-part anklets is evidently much older than previously thought. From the historical perspective, the information on the enclosed context, i.e. that similar findings were also found in the complexes of Greek sanctuaries, is of great importance. 2. - dating clearly shows that these anklets cannot be connected with war or looting, i.e. cannot be seen as spoil from the expedition to Delphi to be sacrificed by the victors. In fact, that context points to a small, but recognizable segment from the range of diplomatic gifts which circulated between the Greek world and the Celtic aristocrats from the region of the middle course of Danube. On the other hand, among the graves of the La T?ne cultural provenance containing findings which originated from Greek, i.e. Macedonian workshops, and which predate the time of the military expedition to the south of the Balkan peninsula, apart from the finding of a bronze cup from the end of the 4th century found in Szabolc in Hungary, only Karaburma grave 22 stands out. Both findings were included by Miklos Szab? among those which preceded the expedition to Delphi, although it is possible that they reached the Celtic world after that event. He also mentioned that it was becoming increasingly evident that this was more than just a case of military spoil or loot, which he concluded on the basis of the presence of less valuable items. This claim led M. Szab? into a trap: if the items, mostly from the 4th century, presupposed contacts of the Celtic inhabitants with the Aegean world, it would be necessary to date their settlement, i.e. the phase Lt B2, in the 4th century, and thus in the period significantly earlier than the expedition to Delphi. Furthermore, a bronze lekythos was found in a slightly younger grave 18/64 on the Hurbanovo site, in the same cultural and historical context. This is a lekythos of the Talcot type, frequently found in Greece, Thrace and Macedonia, dating back to the end of the 4th and the first half of the 3rd century. On the mentioned site it was chronologically classified in the transitional horizon Lt B2/C1, which according to Jozef Bujna was the period after the military expedition to the Balkans. The same researcher held that the grave 22 from Karaburma should also be included in that time frame. However, what if J. Bujna was wrong on this matter, given that he opted for a conservative dating of the set of vessels? Based on the above, we might actually consider placing the absolute dating of the Lt C1 phase in the 4th century - the century during which the production of such lekythoi flourished, as did their laying in Macedonian graves. Implicitly, such dating is also confirmed by the items of the La T?ne provenance, found in the region of the southern Balkans, i.e. the Aegean area. They all exhibit formal characteristics typical of the Lt C. Consequently, it can be concluded that the beginning of the Lt C horizon must be sought in the period immediately preceding the expedition to ?the South?. In connection with that, it was precisely J. Bujna who demonstrated that certain graves in the necropolises of the Lt C were found on the periphery, which he interpreted as a possible clue for recognizing the newcomers, i.e. those who returned from the Balkan expedition. Aurel Rustoiu also came to a similar conclusion, having systematically analyzed the equipment of the warrior elites, the socalled mercenaries from the Aegean world. The declining number of male graves in the period between Lt B1 and Lt C1, among other things, also led Peter Ramsl to hypothesize that numerous warriors hired as mercenaries never returned to their homes. Related to this, significant data in the analysis of the share of warrior graves in the necropolises of the Carpathian basin was provided by A. Rustoiu. He showed that the share of warrior graves, i.e. graves with weapons in Lt B2 phase, is higher than of those in the Lt C1. However, the Karaburma necropolis is an exception also in this respect, since the share of the warrior graves is significantly higher than in the other necropolises belonging to both phases. Thus in the Lt C1 it is 48%, while in the Lt B2 it is as high as 70%. On the basis of the collected data, he hypothesized that there were two types of societies in the Carpathian basin: agricultural communities with reduced military elites, and military communities which represented social aristocracy and which formed the core for military and war expeditions, and also constituted the basis for the recruitment of mercenaries. The latter transcended ethnic bounds, given that they were selected on an individual basis, which is clearly reflected in the changeability and different origin of the equipment of warriors. Findings of bronze vessels tie in with this neatly, if we interpret them as a result of contacts and a substitute for the traditional late La T?ne pottery set, consisting of a ceramic bowl (phiale), and a vessel for liquids (situla-like pot or lenticular bottle). Both situla and phiale are standard items, frequent, widespread, and the most indicative parts of solemn ritual banquets and feasts, as shown by numerous and explicit findings from the rich graves of Thracia and Anatolia. However, they were still an essential part of the Greek culture, commonly used in religious, mystical ceremonies. Although we frequently encounter them in hoards and, of course, temples, with rare exceptions mostly due to insufficient knowledge on the item?s context of finding, those situlae and phiale were, almost as a rule, part of luxury sets, indicating rich graves of those belonging to the highest social and political strata of the society. This is the reason why they were often interpreted as burial insignia, used to sanctify the burial space and to encourage eternal deification, divine vitality and the rebirth of a deceased dignitary; in other words, it is thought that they exhibited power and authority in both Thracian and Getian graves. However, the Celts could also have used these vessels at funeral feasts and banquets, just as they were used in their country of origin, since we know that in the graves of the Celtic dignitaries everything was laid that they possessed in their lifetime, especially sets of dishes, for the purpose of ensuring an unbroken cycle of rebirth. It has been further suggested that the bronze vessels were used for the ceremonies of libation, but also for trade and exchange, while the silver drinking cups and luxury sets made of precious metals were used for burial feasts and diplomatic banquets during negotiations and/or when concluding agreements, simply as keimelia or as a ritual device for expressing deeply held and widely accepted eschatological practices and new trends. However, both could have been quite practically used for bribing - both people and gods! Finally, the imported vessels from Karaburma, classified as Macedonian products from the 4th century, should now be viewed as the northernmost findings of a complete symposiastic set, but also in the context of other vessels imported from Macedonia found in the graves with the features of the La T?ne culture. It is unlikely that they represent war spoils from Greece or other parts. The idea that the situla and phiale from the grave 22 of the Karaburma necropolis inaugurated direct contact between the Celts and Macedonians seems more likely. The items could have reached the 4th century Celtic dignitaries of the Danube region as keimelia - diplomatic gifts, or could have simply arrived by a trade route from the northern parts of Macedonia. In that sense, we should also remember those modest, but for this case invaluable records found in the historical sources connected with this period. It has been thought that the Celtic presence dates back to as early as the time of the defeat and expulsion of the Ardiaei in 359/358 B.C., as recorded by Theopompus. However, there are reliable records of their embassy to Alexander the Great while he was engaged with the Tribali in 335 B.C., as reported by Arrian. Precisely those could have been the points of direct contact between the highest ranking military and political dignitaries of the Celts and the aristocrats and diplomats of the Macedonian state. From all this it can be concluded that the Karaburma necropolis is truly an exception, representing the southernmost point of Celtic militarized expansion, where the military social aristocracy was stationed. The region where the Sava and Danube meet thus became an area where technological innovations concentrated and developed, and also the space where the political, military and economic contacts filtered. All this is vividly illustrated by grave 22 in the necropolis, chosen precisely because of those features. Weapons, i.e. the sword of the Celtic dignitary who was buried there, indicate the technological tradition of the early La T?ne. In the same tradition were fashioned the fibulae which, in an unchanged form, remain in the repertoire of accessories at the beginning of the middle La T?ne period, just as, on the other hand, the sword and the shape of its scabbard indicate the beginning of re-fashioning of that same conservative tradition. The sword belt chain set and the spear-butt with its spike indicate the innovations which were yet to become the characteristic features of the middle La T?ne soldiers? equipment. Furthermore, the intertwining of traditions and innovations is also evident from the symbolic and semantic processes which were connected with the ritual of this burial. At the time when the cremation became the predominant type of burial in the Celtic world, the ritual of laying gifts in graves also changed. Instead of the complete equipment which the deceased used during life, only select items are found to represent the totality, which in our example can be seen in the deposited spear-butt. Thus the suum cuique principle was replaced by the pars pro toto principle. Based on the above, the famous warrior from the Karaburma grave 22 both in an abstract and also direct sense, confirms the intertwining of traditions and the circulation of cultural elements, and thus shows that he himself was one of the carriers of the avant-garde of the time, the forerunner of a new period in political and economic relations in the central Balkans of the third quarter of the 4th century.

In the context of migration, hospitality is often analysed as a vertical power relation, in which hosts impose conditions and demands upon their guests. While acknowledging the drastically unequal structural power relations in which hospitality takes place, this article explores how these power relations can be mitigated and developed towards more reciprocal relationalities. To do so, it focuses on a specific form of hospitality: urban residents providing shelter to migrants who are illegalized1 by the state. Drawing on in-depth interviews with residents affiliated with the Brussels-based Citizens Platform for Support of Refugees2, I argue that their discourses and practices of hospitality – while being limited and imperfect – constitute alternative spaces of inclusion and affirmation, circumventing the Belgian State’s exclusionary stance. Combining Derridian hospitality framework with the feminist ethics of care lens, the article casts inquiry into the complexity and ambivalence of hospitality practices, seeing them not only as sites of power struggle but also as potential microcosms of social transformation. First of all, it illustrates how the feminist lens allows us to see hospitality acts as subjective practices, enabling a positive relationality towards the other. Secondly, it deliberates the potential for reciprocal exchange and resident hosts’ strategies to resist the verticality of hospitality relationships. Finally, it challenges the notion of regarding such practices as naïve by showcasing these practices’ political dimension.

In this article, I reflect on the process of understanding and my strategies of reporting in the context of a three-year ethnographic study on non-monogamous sex and relationships in Belgium, which included interviews and participant observation in various dating sites and in support groups for people in consensual non-monogamous relationships. I draw the contours of what a research ethics that creates space for the researcher's embodied learning, and learning through sexual-intimate relationships in particular, might look like, centralizing the concept of vulnerability. An ethics of intersubjective vulnerability not only has the potential to constitute an epistemological position from which to conduct critical analyses that aims at producing multidimensional and embodied understanding of power relations, it also constitutes a space of political contestation and a position from which to start to envision alternative possibilities to the neoliberal values that have pervaded society.

AbstractAdolescents’ identities are multiple, yet there is very little research that investigates the importance of intersecting identities, especially in relationship to teacher ethnic/racial discrimination and mental health. Multiplicity is often approached bi-dimensional (heritage and national identities) yet this study highlights the importance of regional identity. Regions are distinct socio-political contexts in relation to migration and integration dynamics. Hence, this study investigates for different combinations of national, heritage and regional identities (i.e. Flemish, Belgian and Turkish or Moroccan) the relationship between students’ experiences with teacher ethnic/racial discrimination and students’ depressive feelings. Latent Class Analysis of survey data involving a sample of 439 adolescents (Mage = 18, SD = 0.93; Girls = 49%) with Turkish (41%) or Moroccan origin in Flanders, shows three identification classes: full integration (35%), national integration (40%) and (weak) separation (24%). All these identity profiles had in common that heritage identification was high, yet they were highly distinct due to variation in national and regional identification. Additional, multilevel modelling showed that nationally integrated adolescents were less depressed than fully integrated adolescents. This finding illustrates the importance of adolescents’ identity multiplicity for understanding their resilience in relation to teacher discrimination.

AbstractThis paper analyses clashes which took place between Belgian police and young people mainly from 'immigrant' backgrounds in Brussels during 1991. Four models were developed in the Belgian press for understanding the violence, but a deeper understanding of the public confrontations requires an alternative explanation which places local events in a wider context of power and state. The conflict should more properly be understood as the reaction of a relatively powerless community to its disadvantaged situation. The young people were acting not as victims but as active agents questioning dominant notions and policies concerning 'integration', challenging the ethnic labels applied to them and asserting a desire for citizenship rights. Despite these positive reactions the relationship between minorities and the state has not radically changed and violence could easily break out again as more recent events have demonstrated.

Abstract Background Undocumented migrants experience multiple institutional and legal barriers when trying to access healthcare services. Due to such limitations, healthcare workers often experience ethical dilemmas when caring for undocumented migrants. This article aims to understand how individual healthcare workers who regularly take care of undocumented migrants deal with these dilemmas in practice. So far, the role of healthcare workers in this context has mainly been theorized through the lens of biopolitics, conceiving of healthcare workers as merely obedient instruments of humanitarian government or gatekeeping. Methods Based on semi-structured, in-depth interviews and ethnographic observations with healthcare workers in Belgium, we explore how they ascribe meaning, reflect upon and give shape to care practices in relation to undocumented migrants. We use Foucault’s later work on care of the self to interpret the accounts given by the healthcare workers. Results Healthcare workers in clinical roles exercise a certain degree of freedom in relation to the existing limitations to healthcare access of undocumented migrants. They developed techniques such as purposefully being inattentive to the undocumented status of the migrants. They also try to master their affective responses and transform their bodily attitude towards undocumented patients. They perform practical mental exercises to remind themselves of their role or position in the wider healthcare system and about their commitment to treat all patients equally. These techniques and exercises are inspired by colleagues who function as role models, inspiring them to relate in an ethical way to limitations in healthcare access. The developed care practices sometimes reproduce, sometimes transform the legal and institutional limitations to care for undocumented migrants. Conclusions The findings nuance the biopolitical analysis regarding the role of healthcare workers in healthcare delivery to undocumented migrants that has been dominant so far. Theoretically this article provides a reconceptualization of healthcare ethics as care of the self, an ethical practice that is somewhat independent of the traditional professional ethics. Trial Registration Medical ethics committee UZ Jette, Brussels, Belgium – Registration date: 18/05/2016 – Registration number: B.U.N. 143201628279.

Abstract This article explores the role of temporary marriage in the formation of a ‘modern’ Islamic sexual and relational ethics for ‘halal’ (religiously permissible) dating. Based on ethnographic research on the Shiitization (at-tashayyu’) of Moroccan Belgian Sunni Muslims, this article argues that temporary marriage is endorsed by young pious Muslim men who want to date in a religiously observant way. This article illustrates how temporary marriage figures as a site for private relationships and a framework for a modern sexual and relational ethics that permits halal dating for young Muslims. The call of young pious Muslim men to a general Muslim endorsement of temporary marriage brings together both their secular and religious sensibilities whilst simultaneously endeavoring to undo the Sunni-Shia divide in terms of sexual and relational ethics. By drawing on Joan W. Scott’s notion of ‘sexularism’, this article not only deflates the sharp opposition between Islam and secularity, but also provides analytical strategies that disentangle commonplace tropes surrounding Islam and the (sexual) oppression of women.

Medical assistance in dying, which includes voluntary euthanasia and assisted suicide, is legally permissible in a number of jurisdictions, including the Netherlands, Belgium, Switzerland and Canada. Although medical assistance in dying is most commonly provided for suffering associated with terminal somatic illness, some jurisdictions have also offered it for severe and irremediable psychiatric illness. Meanwhile, recent work in the philosophy of psychiatry has led to a renewed understanding of psychiatric illness that emphasises the role of the relation between the person and the external environment in the constitution of mental disorder. In this paper, I argue that this externalist approach to mental disorder highlights an ethical challenge to the practice of medical assistance in dying for psychiatric illness. At the level of the clinical assessment, externalism draws attention to potential social and environmental interventions that might have otherwise been overlooked by the standard approach to mental disorder, which may confound the judgement that there is no further reasonable alternative that could alleviate the person’s suffering. At the level of the wider society, externalism underscores how social prejudices and structural barriers that contribute to psychiatric illness constrain the affordances available to people and result in them seeking medical assistance in dying when they otherwise might not have had under better social conditions.

ObjectiveIn Belgium, people with an incurable psychiatric disorder can file a request for euthanasia claiming unbearable psychic suffering. For the request to be accepted, it has to meet stringent legal criteria. One of the requirements is that the patient possesses decision-making capacity. The patient’s decision-making capacity is assessed by physicians.The objective of our study is to provide insight in the assessment of decision-making capacity in the context of euthanasia for patients with psychic suffering caused by a psychiatric disorder.MethodTwenty-two semistructured interviews with psychiatrists and neurologists were analysed with NVivo, a qualitative analysis software to code and organise transcribed data.ResultsDifferent views and approaches regarding decision-making capacity in the context of euthanasia emerged from the data.Most of the physicians have some knowledge of the cognitive ability approach on decision-making capacity. According to this approach, four abilities constitute decision-making capacity: communication, understanding, appreciation and reasoning. We observed differences in the way these abilities are valued in relation to competence. Some physicians take additional elements into consideration when assessing decision-making capacity.Physicians acquired their knowledge on the subject in many different ways. Most of the physicians reported that decision-making capacity was not part of their training.ConclusionWe conclude that physicians assess decision-making capacity in different ways and that personal values and beliefs influence their approach. As such, a common approach in assessing the decision-making capacity of a patient among the interviewed physicians is lacking. Less arbitrariness could be obtained by consistently implementing the cognitive ability approach.

Previous studies contend that Philippines is still a ‘collectivist’ society (Cf. Hofstede Center; Cukur et al. 2004:613-634). In this collectivist or community-oriented society, individualism is not something that is highly valued. Being ‘individualistic’ is often associated to being narcissistic, loner, asocial, selfish, etc. However, one may ask whether the youth in the Philippines are not spared from this insidious culture of individualism, notwithstanding the seemingly dominant collective and communitarian character of the society. Although the overwhelming poverty is still the main problem in the Philippines, where according to Wostyn (2010:26) “only the wonderland of movies gives some respite to their consciousness of suffering and oppression”, the Filipino youth of today are also exposed to the consumeristic values of the ‘city’ and are not spared from the contradictions and insecurities posed by the pluralistic society. They are citizens of an increasing social and cultural pluralism characteristic of many liberal societies. Is it possible that individualism may also exist within this culture, especially among the younger generation? Is individualism slowly creeping in as caused by their exposure and easy access to modern technology, to higher education, mobility, interactions with other cultures, etc. Would this individualistic tendency have any influence on their religious beliefs, especially their belief on salvation? What would be the implications and challenges of these findings to the families in the Philippines? These are the questions we wish to answer in this study. 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What strikes me about the habits of the people who spend so much time on the Net—well, it’s so new that we don't know what will come next—is in fact precisely how niche in character it is. You ask people what nets they are on, and they’re all so specialised! The Argentines on the Argentine Net and so forth. And it’s particularly the Argentines who are not in Argentina. (Anderson, in Gower, par. 5) The preceding quotation, taken from his 1996 interview with Eric Gower, sees Benedict Anderson reflecting on the formation of imagined, transnational communities on the Internet. Anderson is, of course, famous for his work on how nationalism, as an “imagined community,” gets constructed through the shared consumption of print media (6-7, 26-27); although its readers will never all see each other face to face, people consuming a newspaper or novel in a shared language perceive themselves as members of a collective. In this more recent interview, Anderson recognised the specific groupings of people in online communities: Argentines who find themselves outside of Argentina link up online in an imagined diaspora community. Over the course of the last decade and a half since Anderson spoke about Argentinian migrants and diaspora communities, we have witnessed an exponential growth of new forms of digital communication, including social networking sites (e.g. Facebook), Weblogs, micro-blogging (e.g. Twitter), and video-sharing sites (e.g. YouTube). Alongside these new means of communication, our current epoch of globalisation is also characterised by migration flows across, and between, all continents. In his book Modernity at Large, Arjun Appadurai recognised that “the twin forces of mass migration and electronic mediation” have altered the ways the imagination operates. Furthermore, these two pillars, human motion and digital mediation, are in constant “flux” (44). The circulation of people and digitally mediatised content proceeds across and beyond boundaries of the nation-state and provides ground for alternative community and identity formations. Appadurai’s intervention has resulted in increasing awareness of local, transnational, and global networking flows of people, ideas, and culturally hybrid artefacts. In this article, we analyse the various innovative tactics taken up by migrant youth to imagine digital diasporas. Inspired by scholars such as Appadurai, Avtar Brah and Paul Gilroy, we tease out—from a postcolonial perspective—how digital diasporas have evolved over time from a more traditional understanding as constituted either by a vertical relationship to a distant homeland or a horizontal connection to the scattered transnational community (see Safran, Cohen) to move towards a notion of “hypertextual diaspora.” With hypertextual diaspora, these central axes which constitute the understanding of diaspora are reshuffled in favour of more rhizomatic formations where affiliations, locations, and spaces are constantly destabilised and renegotiated. Needless to say, diasporas are not homogeneous and resist generalisation, but in this article we highlight common ways in which young migrant Internet users renew the practices around diaspora connections. Drawing from research on various migrant populations around the globe, we distinguish three common strategies: (1) the forging of transnational public spheres, based on maintaining virtual social relations by people scattered across the globe; (2) new forms of digital diasporic youth branding; and (3) the cultural production of innovative hypertexts in the context of more rhizomatic digital diaspora formations. Before turning to discuss these three strategies, the potential of a postcolonial framework to recognise multiple intersections of diaspora and digital mediation is elaborated. Hypertext as a Postcolonial Figuration Postcolonial scholars, Appadurai, Gilroy, and Brah among others, have been attentive to diasporic experiences, but they have paid little attention to the specificity of digitally mediated diaspora experiences. As Maria Fernández observes, postcolonial studies have been “notoriously absent from electronic media practice, theory, and criticism” (59). Our exploration of what happens when diasporic youth go online is a first step towards addressing this gap. Conceptually, this is clearly an urgent need since diasporas and the digital inform each other in the most profound and dynamic of ways: “the Internet virtually recreates all those sites which have metaphorically been eroded by living in the diaspora” (Ponzanesi, “Diasporic Narratives” 396). Writings on the Internet tend to favour either the “gold-rush” mentality, seeing the Web as a great equaliser and bringer of neoliberal progress for all, or the more pessimistic/technophobic approach, claiming that technologically determined spaces are exclusionary, white by default, masculine-oriented, and heteronormative (Everett 30, Van Doorn and Van Zoonen 261). For example, the recent study by Ito et al. shows that young people are not interested in merely performing a fiction in a parallel online world; rather, the Internet gets embedded in their everyday reality (Ito et al. 19-24). Real-life commercial incentives, power hierarchies, and hegemonies also get extended to the digital realm (Schäfer 167-74). Online interaction remains pre-structured, based on programmers’ decisions and value-laden algorithms: “people do not need a passport to travel in cyberspace but they certainly do need to play by the rules in order to function electronically” (Ponzanesi, “Diasporic Narratives” 405). We began our article with a statement by Benedict Anderson, stressing how people in the Argentinian diaspora find their space on the Internet. Online avenues increasingly allow users to traverse and add hyperlinks to their personal websites in the forms of profile pages, the publishing of preferences, and possibilities of participating in and affiliating with interest-based communities. Online journals, social networking sites, streaming audio/video pages, and online forums are all dynamic hypertexts based on Hypertext Markup Language (HTML) coding. HTML is the protocol of documents that refer to each other, constituting the backbone of the Web; every text that you find on the Internet is connected to a web of other texts through hyperlinks. These links are in essence at equal distance from each other. As well as being a technological device, hypertext is also a metaphor to think with. Figuratively speaking, hypertext can be understood as a non-hierarchical and a-centred modality. Hypertext incorporates multiplicity; different pathways are possible simultaneously, as it has “multiple entryways and exits” and it “connects any point to any other point” (Landow 58-61). Feminist theorist Donna Haraway recognised the dynamic character of hypertext: “the metaphor of hypertext insists on making connections as practice.” However, she adds, “the trope does not suggest which connections make sense for which purposes and which patches we might want to follow or avoid.” We can begin to see the value of approaching the Internet from the perspective of hypertext to make an “inquiry into which connections matter, why, and for whom” (128-30). Postcolonial scholar Jaishree K. Odin theorised how hypertextual webs might benefit subjects “living at the borders.” She describes how subaltern subjects, by weaving their own hypertextual path, can express their multivocality and negotiate cultural differences. She connects the figure of hypertext with that of the postcolonial: The hypertextual and the postcolonial are thus part of the changing topology that maps the constantly shifting, interpenetrating, and folding relations that bodies and texts experience in information culture. Both discourses are characterised by multivocality, multilinearity, openendedness, active encounter, and traversal. (599) These conceptions of cyberspace and its hypertextual foundations coalesce with understandings of “in-between”, “third”, and “diaspora media space” as set out by postcolonial theorists such as Bhabha and Brah. Bhabha elaborates on diaspora as a space where different experiences can be articulated: “These ‘in-between’ spaces provide the terrain for elaborating strategies of selfhood—singular or communal—that initiate new signs of identity, and innovative sites of collaboration, and contestation (4). (Dis-)located between the local and the global, Brah adds: “diaspora space is the point at which boundaries of inclusion and exclusion, of belonging and otherness, of ‘us’ and ‘them,’ are contested” (205). As youths who were born in the diaspora have begun to manifest themselves online, digital diasporas have evolved from transnational public spheres to differential hypertexts. First, we describe how transnational public spheres form one dimension of the mediation of diasporic experiences. Subsequently, we focus on diasporic forms of youth branding and hypertext aesthetics to show how digitally mediated practices can go beyond and transgress traditional formations of diasporas as vertically connected to a homeland and horizontally distributed in the creation of transnational public spheres. Digital Diasporas as Diasporic Public Spheres Mass migration and digital mediation have led to a situation where relationships are maintained over large geographical distances, beyond national boundaries. The Internet is used to create transnational imagined audiences formed by dispersed people, which Appadurai describes as “diasporic public spheres”. He observes that, as digital media “increasingly link producers and audiences across national boundaries, and as these audiences themselves start new conversations between those who move and those who stay, we find a growing number of diasporic public spheres” (22). Media and communication researchers have paid a lot of attention to this transnational dimension of the networking of dispersed people (see Brinkerhoff, Alonso and Oiarzabal). We focus here on three examples from three different continents. Most famously, media ethnographers Daniel Miller and Don Slater focused on the Trinidadian diaspora. They describe how “de Rumshop Lime”, a collective online chat room, is used by young people at home and abroad to “lime”, meaning to chat and hang out. Describing the users of the chat, “the webmaster [a Trini living away] proudly proclaimed them to have come from 40 different countries” (though massively dominated by North America) (88). Writing about people in the Greek diaspora, communication researcher Myria Georgiou traced how its mediation evolved from letters, word of mouth, and bulletins to satellite television, telephone, and the Internet (147). From the introduction of the Web, globally dispersed people went online to get in contact with each other. Meanwhile, feminist film scholar Anna Everett draws on the case of Naijanet, the virtual community of “Nigerians Living Abroad”. She shows how Nigerians living in the diaspora from the 1990s onwards connected in global transnational communities, forging “new black public spheres” (35). These studies point at how diasporic people have turned to the Internet to establish and maintain social relations, give and receive support, and share general concerns. Establishing transnational communicative networks allows users to imagine shared audiences of fellow diasporians. Diasporic imagination, however, goes beyond singular notions of this more traditional idea of the transnational public sphere, as it “has nowadays acquired a great figurative flexibility which mostly refers to practices of transgression and hybridisation” (Ponzanesi, “Diasporic Subjects” 208). Below we recognise another dimension of digital diasporas: the articulation of diasporic attachment for branding oneself. Mocro and Nikkei: Diasporic Attachments as a Way to Brand Oneself In this section, we consider how hybrid cultural practices are carried out over geographical distances. Across spaces on the Web, young migrants express new forms of belonging in their dealing with the oppositional motivations of continuity and change. The generational specificity of this experience can be drawn out on the basis of the distinction between “roots” and “routes” made by Paul Gilroy. In his seminal book The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, Gilroy writes about black populations on both sides of the Atlantic. The double consciousness of migrant subjects is reflected by affiliating roots and routes as part of a complex cultural identification (19 and 190). As two sides of the same coin, roots refer to the stable and continuing elements of identities, while routes refer to disruption and change. Gilroy criticises those who are “more interested in the relationship of identity to roots and rootedness than in seeing identity as a process of movement and mediation which is more appropriately approached via the homonym routes” (19). He stresses the importance of not just focusing on one of either roots or routes but argues for an examination of their interplay. Forming a response to discrimination and exclusion, young migrants in online networks turn to more positive experiences such as identification with one’s heritage inspired by generational specific cultural affiliations. Here, we focus on two examples that cross two continents, showing routed online attachments to “be(com)ing Mocro”, and “be(coming) Nikkei”. Figure 1. “Leipe Mocro Flavour” music video (Ali B) The first example, being and becoming “Mocro”, refers to a local, bi-national consciousness. The term Mocro originated on the streets of the Netherlands during the late 1990s and is now commonly understood as a Dutch honorary nickname for youths with Moroccan roots living in the Netherlands and Belgium. A 2003 song, Leipe mocro flavour (“Crazy Mocro Flavour”) by Moroccan-Dutch rapper Ali B, familiarised a larger group of people with the label (see Figure 1). Ali B’s song is exemplary for a wider community of youngsters who have come to identify themselves as Mocros. One example is the Marokkanen met Brainz – Hyves (Mo), a community page within the Dutch social networking site Hyves. On this page, 2,200 youths who identify as Mocro get together to push against common stereotypes of Moroccan-Dutch boys as troublemakers and thieves and Islamic Moroccan-Dutch girls as veiled carriers of backward traditions (Leurs, forthcoming). Its description reads, “I assume that this Hyves will be the largest [Mocro community]. Because logically Moroccans have brains” (our translation): What can you find here? Discussions about politics, religion, current affairs, history, love and relationships. News about Moroccan/Arabic Parties. And whatever you want to tell others. Use your brains. Second, “Nikkei” directs our attention to Japanese migrants and their descendants. The Discover Nikkei website, set up by the Japanese American National Museum, provides a revealing description of being and becoming Nikkei: As Nikkei communities form in Japan and throughout the world, the process of community formation reveals the ongoing fluidity of Nikkei populations, the evasive nature of Nikkei identity, and the transnational dimensions of their community formations and what it means to be Nikkei. (Japanese American National Museum) This site was set up by the Japanese American National Museum for Nikkei in the global diaspora to connect and share stories. Nikkei youths of course also connect elsewhere. In her ethnographic online study, Shana Aoyama found that the social networking site Hi5 is taken up in Peru by young people of Japanese heritage as an avenue for identity exploration. She found group confirmation based on the performance of Nikkei-ness, as well as expressions of individuality. She writes, “instead of heading in one specific direction, the Internet use of Nikkei creates a starburst shape of identity construction and negotiation” (119). Mocro-ness and Nikkei-ness are common collective identification markers that are not just straightforward nationalisms. They refer back to different homelands, while simultaneously they also clearly mark one’s situation of being routed outside of this homeland. Mocro stems from postcolonial migratory flows from the Global South to the West. Nikkei-ness relates to the interesting case of the Japanese diaspora, which is little accounted for, although there are many Japanese communities present in North and South America from before the Second World War. The context of Peru is revealing, as it was the first South American country to accept Japanese migrants. It now hosts the second largest South American Japanese diaspora after Brazil (Lama), and Peru’s former president, Alberto Fujimoro, is also of Japanese origin. We can see how the importance of the nation-state gets blurred as diasporic youth, through cultural hybridisation of youth culture and ethnic ties, initiates subcultures and offers resistance to mainstream western cultural forms. Digital spaces are used to exert youthful diaspora branding. Networked branding includes expressing cultural identities that are communal and individual but also both local and global, illustrative of how “by virtue of being global the Internet can gift people back their sense of themselves as special and particular” (Miller and Slater 115). In the next section, we set out how youthful diaspora branding is part of a larger, more rhizomatic formation of multivocal hypertext aesthetics. Hypertext Aesthetics In this section, we set out how an in-between, or “liminal”, position, in postcolonial theory terms, can be a source of differential and multivocal cultural production. Appadurai, Bhabha, and Gilroy recognise that liminal positions increasingly leave their mark on the global and local flows of cultural objects, such as food, cinema, music, and fashion. Here, our focus is on how migrant youths turn to hypertextual forms of cultural production for a differential expression of digital diasporas. Hypertexts are textual fields made up of hyperlinks. Odin states that travelling through cyberspace by clicking and forging hypertext links is a form of multivocal digital diaspora aesthetics: The perpetual negotiation of difference that the border subject engages in creates a new space that demands its own aesthetic. This new aesthetic, which I term “hypertext” or “postcolonial,” represents the need to switch from the linear, univocal, closed, authoritative aesthetic involving passive encounters characterising the performance of the same to that of non-linear, multivocal, open, non-hierarchical aesthetic involving active encounters that are marked by repetition of the same with and in difference. (Cited in Landow 356-7) On their profile pages, migrant youth digitally author themselves in distinct ways by linking up to various sites. They craft their personal hypertext. These hypertexts display multivocal diaspora aesthetics which are personal and specific; they display personal intersections of affiliations that are not easily generalisable. In several Dutch-language online spaces, subjects from Dutch-Moroccan backgrounds have taken up the label Mocro as an identity marker. Across social networking sites such as Hyves and Facebook, the term gets included in nicknames and community pages. Think of nicknames such as “My own Mocro styly”, “Mocro-licious”, “Mocro-chick”. The term Mocro itself is often already multilayered, as it is often combined with age, gender, sexual preference, religion, sport, music, and generationally specific cultural affiliations. Furthermore, youths connect to a variety of groups ranging from feminist interests (“Women in Charge”), Dutch nationalism (“I Love Holland”), ethnic affiliations (“The Moroccan Kitchen”) to clothing (the brand H&M), and global junk food (McDonalds). These diverse affiliations—that are advertised online simultaneously—add nuance to the typical, one-dimensional stereotype about migrant youth, integration, and Islam in the context of Europe and Netherlands (Leurs, forthcoming). On the online social networking site Hi5, Nikkei youths in Peru, just like any other teenagers, express their individuality by decorating their personal profile page with texts, audio, photos, and videos. Besides personal information such as age, gender, and school information, Aoyama found that “a starburst” of diverse affiliations is published, including those that signal Japanese-ness such as the Hello Kitty brand, anime videos, Kanji writing, kimonos, and celebrities. Also Nikkei hyperlink to elements that can be identified as “Latino” and “Chino” (Chinese) (104-10). Furthermore, users can show their multiple affiliations by joining different “groups” (after which a hyperlink to the group community appears on the profile page). Aoyama writes “these groups stretch across a large and varied scope of topics, including that of national, racial/ethnic, and cultural identities” (2). These examples illustrate how digital diasporas encompass personalised multivocal hypertexts. With the widely accepted adagio “you are what you link” (Adamic and Adar), hypertextual webs can be understood as productions that reveal how diasporic youths choose to express themselves as individuals through complex sets of non-homogeneous identifications. Migrant youth connects to ethnic origin and global networks in eclectic and creative ways. The concept of “digital diaspora” therefore encapsulates both material and virtual (dis)connections that are identifiable through common traits, strategies, and aesthetics. Yet these hypertextual connections are also highly personalised and unique, offering a testimony to the fluid negotiations and intersections between the local and the global, the rooted and the diasporic. Conclusions In this article, we have argued that migrant youths render digital diasporas more complex by including branding and hypertextual aesthetics in transnational public spheres. Digital diasporas may no longer be understood simply in terms of their vertical relations to a homeland or place of origin or as horizontally connected to a clearly marked transnational community; rather, they must also be seen as engaging in rhizomatic digital practices, which reshuffle traditional understandings of origin and belonging. Contemporary youthful digital diasporas are therefore far more complex in their engagement with digital media than most existing theory allows: connections are hybridised, and affiliations are turned into practices of diasporic branding and becoming. There is a generational specificity to multivocal diaspora aesthetics; this specificity lies in the ways migrant youths show communal recognition and express their individuality through hypertext which combines affiliation to their national/ethnic “roots” with an embrace of other youth subcultures, many of them transnational. These two axes are constantly reshuffled and renegotiated online where, thanks to the technological possibilities of HTML hypertext, a whole range of identities and identifications may be brought together at any given time. We trust that these insights will be of interest in future discussion of online networks, transnational communities, identity formation, and hypertext aesthetics where much urgent and topical work remains to be done. References Adamic, Lada A., and Eytan Adar. “You Are What You Link.” 2001 Tenth International World Wide Web Conference, Hong Kong. 26 Apr. 2010. ‹http://www10.org/program/society/yawyl/YouAreWhatYouLink.htm›. Ali B. “Leipe Mocro Flavour.” ALIB.NL / SPEC Entertainment. 2007. 4 Oct. 2010 ‹http://www3.alib.nl/popupAlibtv.php?catId=42&contentId=544›. Alonso, Andoni, and Pedro J. Oiarzabal. Diasporas in the New Media Age. Reno: U of Nevada P, 2010. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Rev. ed. London: Verso, 2006 (1983). Aoyama, Shana. Nikkei-Ness: A Cyber-Ethnographic Exploration of Identity among the Japanese Peruvians of Peru. Unpublished MA thesis. South Hadley: Mount Holyoke, 2007. 1 Feb. 2010 ‹http://hdl.handle.net/10166/736›. Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge, 1994. Brah, Avtar. Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. London: Routledge, 1996. Brinkerhoff, Jennifer M. Digital Diasporas: Identity and Transnational Engagement. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2009. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. London: U College London P, 1997. Everett, Anna. Digital Diaspora: A Race for Cyberspace. Albany: SUNY, 2009. Fernández, María. “Postcolonial Media Theory.” Art Journal 58.3 (1999): 58-73. Georgiou, Myria. Diaspora, Identity and the Media: Diasporic Transnationalism and Mediated Spatialities. Creskill: Hampton Press, 2006. Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso, 1993. Gower, Eric. “When the Virtual Becomes the Real: A Talk with Benedict Anderson.” NIRA Review, 1996. 19 Apr. 2010 ‹http://www.nira.or.jp/past/publ/review/96spring/intervi.html›. Haraway, Donna. Modest Witness@Second Millennium. FemaleMan Meets OncoMouse: Feminism and Technoscience. New York: Routledge, 1997. Ito, Mizuko, et al. Hanging Out, Messing Out, and Geeking Out: Kids Living and Learning with New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2010. Japanese American National Museum. “Discover Nikkei: Japanese Migrants and Their Descendants.” Discover Nikkei, 2005. 4 Oct. 2010. ‹http://www.discovernikkei.org/en/›. Lama, Abraham. “Home Is Where the Heartbreak Is for Japanese-Peruvians.” Asia Times 16 Oct. 1999. 6 May 2010 ‹http://www.atimes.com/japan-econ/AJ16Dh01.html›. Landow, George P. Hypertext 3.0. Critical Theory and New Media in an Era of Globalization. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 2006. Leurs, Koen. Identity, Migration and Digital Media. Utrecht: Utrecht University. PhD Thesis, forthcoming. Miller, Daniel, and Don Slater. The Internet: An Etnographic Approach. Oxford: Berg, 2000. Mo. “Marokkanen met Brainz.” Hyves, 23 Feb. 2008. 4 Oct. 2010. ‹http://marokkaansehersens.hyves.nl/›. Odin, Jaishree K. “The Edge of Difference: Negotiations between the Hypertextual and the Postcolonial.” Modern Fiction Studies 43.3 (1997): 598-630. Ponzanesi, Sandra. “Diasporic Narratives @ Home Pages: The Future as Virtually Located.” Colonies – Missions – Cultures in the English-Speaking World. Ed. Gerhard Stilz. Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 2001. 396–406. Ponzanesi, Sandra. “Diasporic Subjects and Migration.” Thinking Differently: A Reader in European Women's Studies. Ed. Gabrielle Griffin and Rosi Braidotti. London: Zed Books, 2002. 205–20. Safran, William. “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return.” Diaspora 1.1 (1991): 83-99. Schäfer, Mirko T. Bastard Culture! How User Participation Transforms Cultural Production. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2011. Van Doorn, Niels, and Liesbeth van Zoonen. “Theorizing Gender and the Internet: Past, Present, and Future.” Routledge Handbook of Internet Politics. Ed. Andrew Chadwick and Philip N. Howard. London: Routledge. 261-74.

“There is nothing more public than privacy.” (Berlant and Warner, Sex) How did it come to this? How did it happen that a one-off, two-hour event at a public swimming pool in a suburb of outer Melbourne ignited international hate mail and generated media-fanned political anguish and debate about the proper use of public spaces? In 2010, women who attend a women’s only swim session on Sunday evenings at the Dandenong Oasis public swimming pool asked the pool management and the local council for permission to celebrate the end of Ramadan at the pool during the time of their regular swim session. The request was supported by the pool managers and the council and promoted by both as an opportunity for family and friends to get together in a spirit of multicultural learning and understanding. Responding to criticisms of the event as an unreasonable claim on public facilities by one group, the Mayor of the City of Greater Dandenong, Jim Memeti, rejected claims that this event discriminates against non-Muslim residents of the suburb. But here’s the rub. The event, to be held after hours at the pool, requires all participants older than ten years of age to follow a dress code of knee-length shorts and T-shirts. This is a suburban moment that is borne of but exceeds the local. It reflects and responds to a contemporary global conundrum of great political and theoretical significance—how to negotiate and govern the relations between multiculturalism, religion, gender, sexual freedom, and democracy. Specifically this event speaks to how multicultural democracy in the public sphere negotiates the public presence and expression of different cultural and religious frameworks related to gender and sexuality. This is demanding political stuff. Situated in the messy political and theoretical terrains of the relation between public space and the public sphere, this local moment called for political judgement about how cultural differences should be allowed to manifest in and through public space, giving consideration to the potential effects of these decisions on an inclusive multicultural democracy. The local authorities in Dandenong engaged in an admirable process of democratic labour as they puzzled over how to make decisions that were responsible and equitable, in the absence of a rulebook or precedents for success. Ultimately however this mode of experimental decision-making, which will become increasingly necessary to manage such predicaments in the future, was foreclosed by unwarranted and unhelpful media outrage. "Foreclosed" here stresses the preemptive nature of the loss; a lost opportunity for trialing approaches to governing cultural diversity that may fail, but might then be modified. It was condemned in advance of either success or failure. The role of the media rather than the discomfort of the local publics has been decisive in this event.This Multicultural SuburbDandenong is approximately 30 kilometres southeast of central Melbourne. Originally home to the Bunorong People of the Kulin nation, it was settled by pastoralists by the 1800s, heavily industrialised during the twentieth century, and now combines cultural diversity with significant social disadvantage. The City of Greater Dandenong is proud of its reputation as the most culturally and linguistically diverse municipality in Australia. Its population of approximately 138,000 comprises residents from 156 different language groups. More than half (56%) of its population was born overseas, with 51% from nations where English is not the main spoken language. These include Vietnam, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, India, China, Italy, Greece, Bosnia and Afghanistan. It is also a place of significant religious diversity with residents identifying as Buddhist (15 per cent) Muslim (8 per cent), Hindu (2 per cent) and Christian (52 per cent) [CGD]. Its city logo, “Great Place, Great People” evokes its twin pride in the placemaking power of its diverse population. It is also a brazen act of civic branding to counter its reputation as a derelict and dangerous suburb. In his recent book The Bogan Delusion, David Nichols cites a "bogan" website that names Dandenong as one of Victoria’s two most bogan areas. The other was Moe. (p72). The Sunday Age newspaper had already depicted Dandenong as one of two excessively dangerous suburbs “where locals fear to tread” (Elder and Pierik). The other suburb of peril was identified as Footscray.Central Dandenong is currently the site of Australia’s largest ever state sponsored Urban Revitalisation program with a budget of more than $290 million to upgrade infrastructure, that aims to attract $1billion in private investment to provide housing and future employment.The Cover UpIn September 2010, the Victorian and Civil and Administrative Appeals Tribunal (VCAT) granted the YMCA an exemption from the Equal Opportunity Act to allow a dress code for the Ramadan event at the Oasis swimming pool that it manages. The "Y" sees the event as “an opportunity for the broader community to learn more about Ramadan and the Muslim faith, and encourages all members of Dandenong’s diverse community to participate” (YMCA Ramadan). While pool management and the municipal council refer to the event as an "opening up" of the closed swimming session, the media offer a different reading of the VCAT decision. The trope of the "the cover up" has framed most reports and commentaries (Murphy; Szego). The major focus of the commentaries has not been the event per se, but the call to dress "appropriately." Dress codes however are a cultural familiar. They exist for workplaces, schools, nightclubs, weddings, racing and sporting clubs and restaurants, to name but a few. While some of these codes or restrictions are normatively imposed rather than legally required, they are not alien to cultural life in Australia. Moreover, there are laws that prohibit people from being meagerly dressed or naked in public, including at beaches, swimming pools and so on. The dress code for this particular swimming pool event was, however, perceived to be unusual and, in a short space of time, "unusual" converted to "social threat."Responses to media polls about the dress code reveal concerns related to the symbolic dimensions of the code. The vast majority of those who opposed the Equal Opportunity exemption saw it as the thin edge of the multicultural wedge, a privatisation of public facilities, or a denial of the public’s right to choose how to dress. Tabloid newspapers reported on growing fears of Islamisation, while the more temperate opposition situated the decision as a crisis of human rights associated with tolerating illiberal cultural practices. Julie Szego reflects this view in an opinion piece in The Age newspaper:the Dandenong pool episode is neither trivial nor insignificant. It is but one example of human rights laws producing outcomes that restrict rights. It raises tough questions about how far public authorities ought to go in accommodating cultural practices that sit uneasily with mainstream Western values. (Szego)Without enquiring into the women’s request and in the absence of the women’s views about what meaning the event held for them, most media commentators and their electronically wired audiences treated the announcement as yet another alarming piece of evidence of multicultural failure and the potential Islamisation of Australia. The event raised specific concerns about the double intrusion of cultural difference and religion. While the Murdoch tabloid Herald Sun focused on the event as “a plan to force families to cover up to avoid offending Muslims at a public event” (Murphy) the liberal Age newspaper took a more circumspect approach, reporting on its small vox pop at the Dandenong pool. Some people here referred to the need to respect religions and seemed unfazed by the exemption and the event. Those who disagreed thought it was important not to enforce these (dress) practices on other people (Carey).It is, I believe, significant that several employees of the local council informed me that most of the opposition has come from the media, people outside of Dandenong and international groups who oppose the incursion of Islam into non-Islamic settings. Opposition to the event did not appear to derive from local concern or opposition.The overwhelming majority of Herald Sun comments expressed emphatic opposition to the dress code, citing it variously as unAustralian, segregationist, arrogant, intolerant and sexist. The Herald Sun polled readers (in a self-selecting and of course highly unrepresentative on-line poll) asking them to vote on whether or not they agreed with the VCAT exemption. While 5.52 per cent (512 voters) agreed with the ruling, 94.48 per cent (8,760) recorded disagreement. In addition, the local council has, for the first time in memory, received a stream of hate-mail from international anti-Islam groups. Muslim women’s groups, feminists, the Equal Opportunity Commissioner and academics have also weighed in. According to local reports, Professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Melbourne, Shahram Akbarzadeh, considered the exemption was “nonsense” and would “backfire and the people who will pay for it will be the Muslim community themselves” (Haberfield). He repudiated it as an example of inclusion and tolerance, labeling it “an effort of imposing a value system (sic)” (Haberfield). He went so far as to suggest that, “If Tony Abbott wanted to participate in his swimwear he wouldn’t be allowed in. That’s wrong.” Tasneem Chopra, chairwoman of the Islamic Women’s Welfare Council and Sherene Hassan from the Islamic Council of Victoria, both expressed sensitivity to the group’s attempt to establish an inclusive event but would have preferred the dress code to be a matter of choice rather coercion (Haberfield, "Mayor Defends Dandenong Pool Cover Up Order"). Helen Szoke, the Commissioner of the Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission, defended the pool’s exemption from the Law that she oversees. “Matters such as this are not easy to resolve and require a balance to be achieved between competing rights and obligations. Dress codes are not uncommon: e.g., singlets, jeans, thongs etc in pubs/hotels” (in Murphy). The civil liberties organisation, Liberty Victoria, supported the ban because the event was to be held after hours (Murphy). With astonishing speed this single event not only transformed the suburban swimming pool to a theatre of extra-local disputes about who and what is entitled to make claims on public space and publically funded facilities, but also fed into charged debates about the future of multiculturalism and the vulnerability of the nation to the corrosive effects of cultural and religious difference. In this sense suburbs like Dandenong are presented as sites that not only generate fear about physical safety but whose suburban sensitivities to its culturally diverse population represent a threat to the safety of the nation. Thus the event both reflects and produces an antipathy to cultural difference and to the place where difference resides. This aversion is triggered by and mediated in this case through the figure, rather than the (corpo)reality, of the Muslim woman. In this imagining, the figure of the Muslim woman is assigned the curious symbolic role of "cultural creep." The debates around the pool event is not about the wellbeing or interests of the Muslim women themselves, nor are broader debates about the perceived, culturally-derived restrictions imposed on Muslim women living in Australia or other western countries. The figure of the Muslim woman is, I would argue, simply the ground on which the debates are held. The first debate relates to social and public space, access to which is considered fundamental to freedom and participatory democracy, and in current times is addressed in terms of promoting inclusion, preventing exclusion and finding opportunities for cross cultural encounters. The second relates not to public space per se, but to the public sphere or the “sphere of private people coming together as a public” for political deliberation (Habermas 21). The literature and discussions dealing with these two terrains have remained relatively disconnected (Low and Smith) with public space referring largely to activities and opportunities in the socio-cultural domain and the public sphere addressing issues of politics, rights and democracy. This moment in Dandenong offers some modest leeway for situating "the suburb" as an ideal site for coalescing these disparate discussions. In this regard I consider Iveson’s provocative and productive question about whether some forms of exclusions from suburban public space may actually deepen the democratic ideals of the public sphere. Exclusions may in such cases be “consistent with visions of a democratically inclusive city” (216). He makes his case in relation to a dispute about the exclusion of men exclusion from a women’s only swimming pool in the Sydney suburb of Coogee. The Dandenong case is similarly exclusive with an added sense of exclusion generated by an "inclusion with restrictions."Diversity, Difference, Public Space and the Public SphereAs a prelude to this discussion of exclusion as democracy, I return to the question that opened this article: how did it come to this? How is it that Australia has moved from its renowned celebration and pride in its multiculturalism so much in evidence at the suburban level through what Ghassan Hage calls an “unproblematic” multiculturalism (233) and what others have termed “everyday multiculturalism” (Wise and Velayutham). Local cosmopolitanisms are often evinced through the daily rituals of people enjoying the ethnic cuisines of their co-residents’ pasts, and via moments of intercultural encounter. People uneventfully rub up against and greet each other or engage in everyday acts of kindness that typify life in multicultural suburbs, generating "reservoirs of hope" for democratic and cosmopolitan cities (Thrift 147). In today’s suburbs, however, the “Imperilled Muslim women” who need protection from “dangerous Muslim men” (Razack 129) have a higher discursive profile than ethnic cuisine as the exemplar of multiculturalism. Have we moved from pleasure to hostility or was the suburban pleasure in racial difference always about a kind of “eating the other” (bell hooks 378). That is to ask whether our capacity to experience diversity positively has been based on consumption, consuming the other for our own enrichment, whereas living with difference entails a commitment not to consumption but to democracy. This democratic multicultural commitment is a form of labour rather than pleasure, and its outcome is not enrichment but transformation (although this labour can be pleasurable and transformation might be enriching). Dandenong’s prized cultural precincts, "Little India" and the "Afghan bazaar" are showcases of food, artefacts and the diversity of the suburb. They are centres of pleasurable and exotic consumption. The pool session, however, requires one to confront difference. In simple terms we can think about ethnic food, festivals and handicrafts as cultural diversity, and the Muslim woman as cultural difference.This distinction between diversity and difference is useful for thinking through the relation between multiculturalism in public space and multicultural democracy of the public sphere. According to the anthropologist Thomas Hylland Eriksen, while a neoliberal sensibility supports cultural diversity in the public space, cultural difference is seen as a major cause of social problems associated with immigrants, and has a diminishing effect on the public sphere (14). According to Eriksen, diversity is understood as aesthetic, or politically and morally neutral expressions of culture that are enriching (Hage 118) or digestible. Difference, however, refers to morally objectionable cultural practices. In short, diversity is enriching. Difference is corrosive. Eriksen argues that differences that emerge from distinct cultural ideas and practices are deemed to create conflicts with majority cultures, weaken social solidarity and lead to unacceptable violations of human rights in minority groups. The suburban swimming pool exists here at the boundary of diversity and difference, where the "presence" of diverse bodies may enrich, but their different practices deplete and damage existing culture. The imperilled Muslim woman of the suburbs carries a heavy symbolic load. She stands for major global contests at the border of difference and diversity in three significant domains, multiculturalism, religion and feminism. These three areas are positioned simultaneously in public space and of the public sphere and she embodies a specific version of each in this suburban setting. First, there a global retreat from multiculturalism evidenced in contemporary narratives that describe multiculturalism (both as official policy and unofficial sensibility) as failed and increasingly ineffective at accommodating or otherwise dealing with religious, cultural and ethnic differences (Cantle; Goodhart; Joppke; Poynting and Mason). In the UK, Europe, the US and Australia, popular media sources and political discourses speak of "parallel lives,"immigrant enclaves, ghettoes, a lack of integration, the clash of values, and illiberal cultural practices. The covered body of the Muslim woman, and more particularly the Muslim veil, are now read as visual signs of this clash of values and of the refusal to integrate. Second, religion has re-emerged in the public domain, with religious groups and individuals making particular claims on public space both on the basis of their religious identity and in accord with secular society’s respect for religious freedom. This is most evident in controversies in France, Belgium and Netherlands associated with banning niqab in public and other religious symbols in schools, and in Australia in court. In this sense the covered Muslim woman raises concerns and indignation about the rightful place of religion in the public sphere and in social space. Third, feminism is increasingly invoked as the ground from which claims about the imperilled Muslim woman are made, particularly those about protecting women from their dangerous men. The infiltration of the Muslim presence into public space is seen as a threat to the hard won gains of women’s freedom enjoyed by the majority population. This newfound feminism of the public sphere, posited by those who might otherwise disavow feminism, requires some serious consideration. This public discourse rarely addresses the discrimination, violation and lack of freedom experienced systematically on an everyday basis by women of majority cultural backgrounds in western societies (such as Australia). However, the sexism of racially and religiously different men is readily identified and decried. This represents a significant shift to a dubious feminist register of the public sphere such that: “[w]omen of foreign origin, ...more specifically Muslim women…have replaced the traditional housewife as the symbol of female subservience” (Tissot 41–42).The three issues—multiculturalism, religion and feminism—are, in the Dandenong pool context, contests about human rights, democracy and the proper use of public space. Szego’s opinion piece sees the Dandenong pool "cover up" as an example of the conundrum of how human rights for some may curtail the human rights of others and lead us into a problematic entanglement of universal "rights," with claims of difference. In her view the combination of human rights and multiculturalism in the case of the Dandenong Pool accommodates illiberal practices that put the rights of "the general public" at risk, or as she puts it, on a “slippery slope” that results in a “watering down of our human rights.” Ideas that entail women making a claim for private time in public space are ultimately not good for "us."Such ideas run counter to the West's more than 500-year struggle for individual freedom—including both freedom of religion and freedom from religion—and for gender equality. Our public authorities ought to be pushing back hardest when these values are under threat. Yet this is precisely where they've been buckling under pressure (Szego)But a different reading of the relation between public and private space, human rights, democracy and gender freedom is readily identifiable in the Dandenong event—if one looks for it. Living with difference, I have already suggested, is a problem of democracy and the public sphere and does not so easily correspond to consuming diversity, as it demands engagement with cultural difference. In what remains, I explore how multicultural democracy in the public sphere and women’s rights in public and private realms relate, firstly, to the burgeoning promise of democracy and civility that might emerge in public space through encounter and exchange. I also point out how this moment in Dandenong might be read as a singular contribution to dealing with this global problematic of living with difference; of democracy in the public sphere. Public urban space has become a focus for speculation among geographers and sociologists in particular, about the prospects for an enhanced civic appreciation of living with difference through encountering strangers. Random and repetitious encounters with people from all cultures typify contemporary urban life. It remains an open question however as to whether these encounters open up or close down possibilities for conviviality and understanding, and whether they undo or harden peoples’ fears and prejudices. There is, however, at least in some academic and urban planning circles, some hope that the "throwntogetherness" (Massey) and the "doing" of togetherness (Laurier and Philo) found in the multicultural city may generate some lessons and opportunities for developing a civic culture and political commitment to living with difference. Alongside the optimism of those who celebrate the city, the suburb, and public spaces as forging new ways of living with difference, there are those such as Gill Valentine who wonder how this might be achieved in practice (324). Ash Amin similarly notes that city or suburban public spaces are not necessarily “the natural servants of multicultural engagement” (Ethnicity 967). Amin and Valentine point to the limited or fleeting opportunities for real engagement in these spaces. Moreover Valentine‘s research in the UK revealed that the spatial proximity found in multicultural spaces did not so much give rise to greater mutual respect and engagement, but to a frustrated “white self-segregation in the suburbs.” She suggests therefore that civility and polite exchange should not be mistaken for respect (324). Amin contends that it is the “micro-publics” of social encounters found in workplaces, schools, gardens, sports clubs [and perhaps swimming pools] rather than the fleeting encounters of the street or park, that offer better opportunities for meaningful intercultural exchange. The Ramadan celebration at the pool, with its dress code and all, might be seen more fruitfully as a purposeful event engaging a micro-public in which people are able to “break out of fixed relations and fixed notions” and “learn to become different” (Amin, Ethnicity 970) without that generating discord and resentment.Micropublics, Subaltern Publics and a Democracy of (Temporary) ExclusionsIs this as an opportunity to bring the global and local together in an experiment of forging new democratic spaces for gender, sexuality, culture and for living with difference? More provocatively, can we see exclusion and an invitation to share in this exclusion as a precursor to and measure of, actually existing democracy? Painter and Philo have argued that democratic citizenship is questionable if “people cannot be present in public spaces (streets, squares, parks, cinemas, churches, town halls) without feeling uncomfortable, victimized and basically ‘out of place’…" (Iveson 216). Feminists have long argued that distinctions between public and private space are neither straightforward nor gender neutral. For Nancy Fraser the terms are “cultural classifications and rhetorical labels” that are powerful because they are “frequently deployed to delegitimate some interests, views and topics and to valorize others” (73). In relation to women and other subordinated minorities, the "rhetoric of privacy" has been historically used to restrict the domain of legitimate public contestation. In fact the notion of what is public and particularly notions of the "public interest" and the "public good" solidify forms of subordination. Fraser suggests the concept of "subaltern counterpublics" as an alternative to notions of "the public." These are discursive spaces where groups articulate their needs, and demands are circulated formulating their own public sphere. This challenges the very meaning and foundational premises of ‘the public’ rather than simply positing strategies of inclusion or exclusion. The twinning of Amin’s notion of "micro-publics" and Fraser’s "counterpublics" is, I suggest, a fruitful approach to interpreting the Dandenong pool issue. It invites a reading of this singular suburban moment as an experiment, a trial of sorts, in newly imaginable ways of living democratically with difference. It enables us to imagine moments when a limited democratic right to exclude might create the sorts of cultural exchanges that give rise to a more authentic and workable recognition of cultural difference. I am drawn to think that this is precisely the kind of democratic experimentation that the YMCA and Dandenong Council embarked upon when they applied for the Equal Opportunity exemption. I suggest that by trialing, rather than fixing forever a "critically exclusive" access to the suburban swimming pool for two hours per year, they were in fact working on the practical problem of how to contribute in small but meaningful ways to a more profoundly free democracy and a reworked public sphere. In relation to the similar but distinct example of the McIver pool for women and children in Coogee, New South Wales, Kurt Iveson makes the point that such spaces of exclusion or withdrawal, “do not necessarily serve simply as spaces where people ‘can be themselves’, or as sites through which reified identities are recognised—in existing conditions of inequality, they can also serve as protected spaces where people can take the risk of exploring who they might become with relative safety from attack and abuse” (226). These are necessary risks to take if we are to avoid entrenching fear of difference in a world where difference is itself deeply, and permanently, entrenched.ReferencesAmin, Ash. “Ethnicity and the Multicultural City: Living with Diversity.” Environment and Planning A 34 (2002): 959–80.———. “The Good City.” Urban Studies 43 (2006): 1009–23.Berlant, Lauren, and Michael Warner. “Sex in Public.” Critical Inquiry 24 (1998): 547–66.Cantle, Ted. Community Cohesion: A Report of the Independent Review Team. London, UK Home Office, 2001.Carey, Adam. “Backing for Pool Cover Up Directive.” The Age 17 Sep. 2010. ‹http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/backing-for-pool-coverup-directive-20100916-15enz.html›.Elder, John, and Jon Pierick. “The Mean Streets: Where the Locals Fear to Tread.” The Sunday Age 10 Jan. 2010. ‹http://www.theage.com.au/national/the-mean-streets-where-the-locals-fear-to-tread-20100109-m00l.html?skin=text-only›.Eriksen, Thomas Hyland. “Diversity versus Difference: Neoliberalism in the Minority Debate." The Making and Unmaking of Difference. Ed. Richard Rottenburg, Burkhard Schnepel, and Shingo Shimada. Bielefeld: Transaction, 2006. 13–36.Fraser, Nancy. “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy.” Social Text 25/26 (1990): 56–80.Goodhart, David. “Too Diverse.” Prospect 95 (2004): 30-37.Haberfield, Georgie, and Gilbert Gardner. “Mayor Defends Pool Cover-up Order.” Dandenong Leader 16 Sep. 2010 ‹http://dandenong-leader.whereilive.com.au/news/story/dandenong-oasis-tells-swimmers-to-cover-up/›.Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 2001.Hage, Ghassan. White Nation: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society. Sydney: Pluto, 1998.hooks, bell. "Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance." Media and Cultural Studies Keyworks. Eds. Meenakshi Gigi and Douglas Kellner. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2001. 366-380.Iveson, Kurt. "Justifying Exclusion: The Politics of Public Space and the Dispute over Access to McIvers Ladies' Baths, Sydney.” Gender, Place and Culture 10.3 (2003): 215–28.Joppke, Christian. “The Retreat of Multiculturalism in the Liberal State: Theory and Policy.” The British Journal of Sociology 55.2 (2004): 237–57.Laurier, Chris, and Eric Philo. “Cold Shoulders and Napkins Handed: Gestures of Responsibility.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 31 (2006): 193–207.Low, Setha, and Neil Smith, eds. The Politics of Public Space. London: Routledge, 2006.Massey, Doreen. For Space. London: Sage, 2005.Murphy, Padraic. "Cover Up for Pool Even at Next Year's Ramadan.” Herald Sun 23 Sep. 2010. ‹http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/victoria/cover-up-for-pool-event-during-next-years-ramadan/story-e6frf7kx-1225924291675›.Nichols, David. The Bogan Delusion. Melbourne: Affirm Press, 2011.Poynting, Scott, and Victoria Mason. "The New Integrationism, the State and Islamophobia: Retreat from Multiculturalism in Australia." International Journal of Law, Crime and Justice 36 (2008): 230–46.Razack, Sherene H. “Imperilled Muslim Women, Dangerous Muslim Men and Civilised Europeans: Legal and Social Responses to Forced Marriages.” Feminist Legal Studies 12.2 (2004): 129–74.Szego, Julie. “Under the Cover Up." The Age 9 Oct. 2010. < http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/under-the-coverup-20101008-16c1v.html >.Thrift, Nigel. “But Malice Afterthought: Cities and the Natural History of Hatred.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 30 (2005): 133–50.Tissot, Sylvie. “Excluding Muslim Women: From Hijab to Niqab, from School to Public Space." Public Culture 23.1 (2011): 39–46.Valentine, Gill. “Living with Difference: Reflections on Geographies of Encounter.” Progress in Human Geography 32.3 (2008): 323–37.Wise, Amanda, and Selveraj Velayutham, eds. Everyday Multiculturalism. Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009.YMCA. “VCAT Ruling on Swim Sessions at Dandenong Oasis to Open Up to Community During Ramadan Next Year.” 16 Sep. 2010. ‹http://www.victoria.ymca.org.au/cpa/htm/htm_news_detail.asp?page_id=13&news_id=360›.

Ajzenstat, Janet, Paul Romney, Ian Gentles and William D. Gairdner, eds. Canada's Founding Debates. By Alan Cairns 847Lazar, Harvey, ed. Canada: The State of the Federation 1999/2000: Toward a New Mission Statement for Canadian Fiscal Federalism. By Hugh Mellon 848Mouchon, Jean. La politique sous l'influence des médias; Monière, Denis. Démocratie médiatique et représentation politique: analyse comparative de quatre journaux télévisés : Radio-Canada, France 2, RTBF (Belgique) et TSR (Suisse); et Gingras, Anne-Marie. Médias et démocratie. Le grand malentendu. Par Maud Vuillardot 850Livingstone, D. W., D. Hart and L. E. Davie. Public Attitudes towards Education in Ontario 1998: The Twelfth OISE/UT Survey; and O'Sullivan, Edmund. Transformative Learning: Educational Vision for the 21st Century. By Benjamin Levin 853Perrier, Yvan et Raymond Robert. Savoir Plus : outils et méthodes de travail intellectuel. Par Veronique Bell 855Salazar, Debra J. and Donald K. Alper, eds. Sustaining the Forests of the Pacific Coast: Forging Truces in the War in the Woods. By Jeremy Rayner 856DeLuca, Kevin Michael. Image Politics: The New Rhetoric of Environmental Activism. By Michael Howlett 857Beem, Christopher. The Necessity of Politics: Reclaiming American Public Life. By Loralea Michaelis 858Kennedy, Moorhead, R. Gordon Hoxie and Brenda Repland, eds. The Moral Authority of Government: Essays to Commemorate the Centennial of the National Institute of Social Sciences. By Joseph M. Knippenberg 860Atkinson, Hugh and Stuart Wilks-Heeg. Local Government from Thatcher to Blair: The Politics of Creative Autonomy. By G. W. Jones 862Geoghegan, Patrick M. The Irish Act of Union: A Study in High Politics, 1798-1801. By Gary Owens 863Sabetti, Filippo. The Search for Good Government: Understanding the Paradox of Italian Democracy. By Grant Amyot 864Stein, Eric. Thoughts from a Bridge: A Retrospective of Writings on New Europe and American Federalism. By Manuel Mertin 866Janos, Andrew C. East Central Europe in the Modern World: The Politics of the Borderlands from Pre- to Post-Communism. By Paul G. Lewis 869Higley, John and Gyorgy Lengyel, eds. Elites after State Socialism: Theories and Analysis. By Marta Dyczok 870Lomnitz, Larissa Adler and Ana Melnick. Chile's Political Culture and Parties: An Anthropological Explanation. By Ken Roberts 872Itzigsohn, José. Developing Poverty: The State, Labor Market Deregulation, and the Informal Economy in Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic. By Andrew Schrank 873Davenport, Rodney and Christopher Saunders. South Africa: A Modern History. By Hermann Giliomee 875Matthes, Melissa M. The Rape of Lucretia and the Founding of Republics. By Lori J. Marso 877Gorham, Eric B. The Theater of Politics: Hannah Arendt, Political Science, and Higher Education. By Herman van Gunsteren 878Dodd, Nigel. Social Theory and Modernity. By J. C. Myers 879Sciabarra, Chris Matthew. Total Freedom: Toward a Dialectical Libertarianism. By Paul Safier 881Sztompka, Piotr. Trust: A Sociological Theory. By Fiona M. Kay 882 Laugier, Sandra. Recommencer la philosphie. La philosophie américaine aujourd'hui. Par Dalie Giroux 884Bishop, John Douglas, ed. Ethics and Capitalism. By Raino Malnes 886Orend, Brian. War and International Justice: A Kantian Perspective. By Howard Williams 888Buchanan, Allen, Dan W. Brock, Norman Daniels and Daniel Wikler. From Chance to Choice: Genetics and Justice. By Travis D. Smith 889Young, Iris Marion. Inclusion and Democracy. By Jeff Spinner-Halev 891Shapiro, Ian and Stephen Macedo, eds. Designing Democratic Institutions. By John S. Dryzek 893O'Brien, Robert, Anne Marie Goetz, Jan Aart Scholte and Marc Williams. Global Governance: Multilateral Economic Institutions and Global Social Movements. By Stephen McBride 894Giddens, Anthony. Runaway World: How Globalization Is Reshaping Our Lives. By Trevor Salmon 896Haglund, David G., ed. Pondering NATO's Nuclear Options: Gambits for a Post-Westphalian World. By T.V. Paul 897Bertsch, Gary K. and William C. Potter, eds. Dangerous Weapons, Desperate States: Russia, Belarus, Kazakstan, and Ukraine. By Benjamin E. Goldsmith 898Shlaim, Avi. The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World. By Salim Mansur 900Aldecoa, Francisco and Michael Keating, eds. Paradiplomacy in Action: The Foreign Relations of Subnational Governments. By Hans J. Michelmann 901Davis, James W. Threats and Promises: The Pursuit of International Influence. By David Rousseau 903Lavoy, Peter R., Scott D. Sagan and James J. Wirtz, eds. Planning the Unthinkable: How New Powers Will Use Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Weapons. By Greg Dinsmore 905

Introduction Burning Man (BM) is a festival of art and music that materialises for one week each year in the Nevada desert. It is considered by many to be the world’s largest countercultural event. But what is BM, really? With record attendance of 69,613 in 2013 (Griffith) (the original event in 1986 had twenty), and recent event themes that have engaged with mainstream political themes such as “Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008), can BM still be considered countercultural? Was it ever? In the first part of this article, we define counterculture as a subculture that originates in the hippie movement of 1960s America and the rejection of “mainstream” values associated with post-WWII industrial culture, that aligns itself with environmentalism and ecological consciousness, and that is distinctly anti-consumer (Roszak, Making). Second, we identify BM as an art and music festival that transcends the event to travel with its desert denizens out into the “real world.” In this way, it is also a festival that has countercultural connections. Third, though BM bears some resemblance to counterculture, given that it is founded upon “Radical Self-Reliance”, BM is actually anything but countercultural because it interlocks with the current socioeconomic zeitgeist of neoliberalism, and that reflects a “new individualism” (Elliot & Lemert). BM’s ambition to be a commercial-free zone runs aground against its entanglement with market relations, and BM is also arguably a consumer space. Finally, neoliberal ideology and “new individualism” are encoded in the space of BM at the level of the spectacle (Debord). The Uchronian’s structure from BM 2006 (a cavernous wooden construction nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle”) could be read as one example. However, opportunities for personal transformation and transcendent experience may persist as counterculture moves into a global age. Defining Counterculture To talk about BM as a counterculture, we must first define counterculture. Hebdige provided a useful distinction between subculture and counterculture in an endnote to a discussion of Teds versus Rockers (148). According to Hebdige, what distinguishes counterculture from mere subculture and related styles is its association with a specific era (1967–70), that its adherents tended to hail from educated, middle-class families, and that it is “explicitly political and ideological” and thus more easily “read” by the dominant powers. Finally, it opposes the dominant culture. Counterculture has its roots in “the hippies, the flower children, the yippies” of the 60s. However, perhaps Hebdige’s definition is too narrow; it is more of an instance of counterculture than a definition. A more general definition of counterculture might be a subculture that rejects “mainstream” values, and examples of this have existed throughout time. For example, we might include the 19th century Romantics with their rejection of the Enlightenment and distrust of capitalism (Roszak 1972), or the Beat generation and post-War America (Miller). Perhaps counterculture even requires one to be a criminal: the prominent Beat writer William S. Burroughs shot guns and heroin, was a homosexual, and accidentally shot and killed his wife in a drug haze (Severo). All of these are examples of subcultures that rejected or opposed the mainstream values of the time. But it was Roszak (Making) who originally defined counterculture as the hippie movement of 1960s era college-aged middle-class American youth who revolted against the values and society inherited not only from their parents, but from the “military-industrial complex” itself, which “quite simply was the American political system” (3). Indeed, the 1960s counterculture—what the term “counterculture” has more generally come to mean—was perhaps the most radical expression of humanity ever in its ontological overthrow of industrial culture and all that it implied (and also, Roszak speculates, in so much that it may have been an experiment gone wrong on the part of the American establishment): The Communist and Socialist Left had always been as committed to industrialism as their capitalist foes, never questioning it as an inevitable historical stage. From this viewpoint, all that needed to be debated was the ownership and control of the system. But here was a dissenting movement that yearned for an entirely different quality of life. It was not simply calling the political superstructure into question; with precocious ecological insight, it was challenging the culture of industrial cities on which that superstructure stood. And more troubling still, there were those among the dissenters who questioned the very sanity of that culture. These psychic disaffiliates took off in search of altered states of consciousness that might generate altered states of society. (8) For the purposes of this paper, then, counterculture refers specifically to those cultures that find their roots in the hippie movement of the late 1960s. I embrace both Roszak’s and Hebdige’s definitions of counterculture because they define it as a unique reaction of post-WWII American youth against industrial culture and a rejection of the accompanying values of home, marriage and career. Instead, counterculture embraced ecological awareness, rejected consumption, and even directed itself toward mystical altered states. In the case of the espoused ecological consciousness, that blossomed into the contemporary (increasingly mainstream) environmental movement toward “green” energy. In the case of counterculture, the specific instance really is the definition in this case because the response of postwar youth was so strong and idiosyncratic, and there is overlap between counterculture and the BM community. So what is Burning Man? Defining Burning Man According to the event’s website: Burning Man is an annual event and a thriving year-round culture. The event takes place the week leading up to and including Labor Day, in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert. The Burning Man organization […] creates the infrastructure of Black Rock City, wherein attendees (or “participants”) dedicate themselves to the spirit of community, art, self-expression, and self-reliance. They depart one week later, leaving no trace […] Outside the event, Burning Man’s vibrant year-round culture is growing through the non-profit Burning Man Project, including worldwide Regional Groups and associated non-profits who embody Burning Man’s ethos out in the world. (“What is Burning Man?”) I interpret BM as a massive art festival and party that materialises in the desert once a year to produce one of the largest cities in Nevada, but one with increasingly global reach in which the participants feel compelled to carry the ethos forward into their everyday lives. It is also an event with an increasing number of “regional burns” (Taylor) that have emerged as offshoots of the original. Creator Larry Harvey originally conceived of burning the effigy of a man on San Francisco’s Baker Beach in 1986 in honor of the solstice (“Burning Man Timeline”). Twenty people attended the first BM. That figure rapidly rose to 800 by 1990 when for legal reasons it became necessary to relocate to the remote Black Rock desert in Nevada, the largest expanse of flat land in the United States. In the early 90s, when BM had newly relocated and attendees numbered in the low thousands, it was not uncommon for participants to mix drugs, booze, speeding cars and firearms (Bonin) (reminiscent of the outlaw associations of counterculture). As the Internet became popular in the mid-1990s word spread quickly, leading to a surge in the population. By the early 2000s attendance regularly numbered in the tens of thousands and BM had become a global phenomenon. In 2014 the festival turned 28, but it had already been a corporation for nearly two decades before transitioning to a non-profit (“Burning Man Transitions”). Burning Man as Countercultural Event BM has connections to the counterculture, though the organisation is quick to dispel these connections as myths (“Media Myths”). For example, in response to the notion that BM is a “90s Woodstock”, the organisers point out that BM is for all ages and not a concert. Rather, it is a “noncommercial environment” where the participants come to entertain each other, and thus it is “not limited by the conventions of any subculture.” The idea that BM is a “hippie” festival is also a myth, but one with some truth to it: Hippies helped create environmental ethics, founded communes, wore colorful clothing, courted mysticism, and distrusted the modern industrial economy. In some ways, this counterculture bears a resemblance to aspects of Burning Man. Hippie society was also a youth movement that often revolved around drugs, music, and checks from home. Burning Man is about “radical self-reliance”–it is not a youth movement, and it is definitely not a subculture (“Media Myths”). There are some familiar aspects of counterculture here, particularly environmental consciousness, anti-consumer tendencies and mysticism. Yet, looking at the high attendance numbers and the progression of themes in recent years one might speculate that BM is no longer as countercultural as it once was. For instance, psychedelic themes such as “Vault of Heaven” (2004) and “Psyche” (2005) gave way to “The Green Man” (2007) and “American Dream” (2008). Although “Green Man” was an environmental theme it debuted the year after Vice President Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” (2006) brought the issue of climate change to a mainstream audience. Indeed, as a global, leaderless event with a strong participatory ethos in many respects BM followed suit with the business world, particularly given it was a Limited Liability Corporation (LLC) for many years (though it was ahead of the curve): “Capitalism has learned from the counter culture. But this is not news” (Rojek 355). Similarly, just in time for the 2008 U.S. Presidential election the organisational committee decided to juxtapose “the Man” with the American flag. Therefore, there has been an arguable shift toward engagement with mainstream issues and politics in recent years (and away from mysticism). Recent themes are really re-appropriations of mainstream discourses; hence they are “agonistic” readings (Mouffe). Take for example the VoterDrive Bus, an early example of political talk at BM that engaged with mainstream politics. The driver was seven-time BM veteran Corey Mervis (also known as “Misty Mocracy”) (“Jack Rabbit Speaks”). Beginning on 22 July 2004, the VoterDrive Bus wrote the word VOTE in script across the continental United States in the months before the election, stopping in the Black Rock City (BRC) for one week during the BM festival. Four years later the theme “American Dream” would reflect this countercultural re-appropriation of mainstream political themes in the final months leading up to the 2008 Presidential election. In that year, “the Man,” a massive wooden effigy that burns on the last night of the event, stood atop a platform of windows, each inscribed with the flag of a different country. “American Dream” was as politically as it was poetically inspired. Note the agonistic appeal: “This year's art theme is about patriotism—not that kind which freights the nation state with the collective weight of ego, but a patriotism that is based upon a love of country and culture. Leave ideology at home…Ask yourself, instead…What can postmodern America, this stumbling, roused, half-conscious giant, yet give to the world?” (“2008 Art Theme: American Dream”). BM has arguably retained its countercultural authenticity despite engagement with mainstream political themes by virtue of such agonistic appeals to “American Dream”, and to “Green Man” which promoted environmental awareness, and which after all started out in the counterculture. I attended BM twice in 2006 and 2007 with “The Zombie Hotel”, one among a thousand camps in the BRC, Nevada (oddly, there were numerous zombie-themed camps). The last year I attended, the festival seemed to have come of age, and 2007 was the first in its history that BM invited corporate presence in the form of green energy companies (and informational kiosks, courtesy of Google) (Taylor). Midway through the week, as I stumbled through the haphazard common area that was The Zombie Hotel hiding from the infernal heat of the desert sun, two twin fighter jets, their paths intertwining, disturbed the sanctity of the clear, blue afternoon sky followed by a collective roar from the city. One can imagine my dismay at rumours that the fighter jets—which I had initially assumed to be some sort of military reconnaissance—were in fact hired by the BM Organizational Committee to trace the event’s symbol in the sky. Speculation would later abound on Tribe.net (“What was up with the fighter jets?”). What had BM become after all? Figure 1: Misty Mocracy & the VoterDrive Bus. Photo: Erick Leskinen (2004). Reproduced with permission. “Radical Self-Reliance”, Neoliberalism and the “New Individualism” Despite overlap with elements of counterculture, there is something quite normative about BM from the standpoint of ideology, and thus “mainstream” in the sense of favouring values associated with what Roszak calls “industrial society”, namely consumption and capitalist labor relations. To understand this, let us examine “The Ten Principles of BM”. These include: Radical Inclusion, Gifting, Decommodification, Radical Self-Reliance, Radical Self-Expression, Communal Effort, Civic Responsibility, Leaving No Trace, Participation and Immediacy (“Ten Principles of Burning Man”). These categories speak to BM’s strong connection to the counterculture. For example, “Decommodification” is a rejection of consumerism in favour of a culture of giving; “Immediacy” rejects mediation, and “Participation” stresses transformative change. Many of these categories also evoke political agonism, for example “Radical Inclusion” requires that “anyone may be a part of Burning Man”, and “Radical Self-Expression”, which suggests that no one other than the gift-giver can determine the content of the message. Finally, there are categories that also engage with concepts associated with traditional civil society and democracy, such as “Civic Responsibility”, which refers to the “public welfare”, “Participation”, and “Communal Effort.” Though at first it may seem to connect with countercultural values, upon closer inspection “Radical Self-Reliance” aligns BM with the larger socioeconomic zeitgeist under late-capitalism, subverting its message of “Decommodification.” Here is what it says: “Burning Man encourages the individual to discover, exercise and rely on his or her inner resources.” That message is transformative, even mystical, but it aligns well with a neoliberal ideology and uncertain labor relations under late capitalism. Indeed, Elliot and Lemert explore the psychological impact of a “new individualism”, setting the self in opposition to the incoming forces of globalisation. They address the question of how individuals respond to globalisation, perhaps pathologically. Elliot and Lemert clarify the socio-psychological ramifications of economic fragmentation. They envision this as inextricably caught up with the erosion of personal identity and the necessity to please “self-absorbed others” in a multiplicity of incommensurate realities (20, 21). Individuals are not merely atomised socially but fragmented psychologically, while at the macroscopic level privatisation of the economy spawns this colonisation of the personal Lifeworld, as social things move into the realm of individualised dilemmas (42). It is interesting to note how BM’s principles (in particular “Radical Self-Reliance”) evoke this fracturing of identity as identities and realities multiply in the BRC. Furthermore, the spectre of neoliberal labour conditions on “the Playa” kicks down the door for consumer culture’s entrée. Consumer society “technicises” the project of the self as a series of problems having consumer solutions with reference to expert advice (Slater 86), BM provides that solution in the form of a transformative experience through “Participation”, and acolytes of the BM festival can be said to be deeply invested in the “experience economy” (Pine & Gilmore): “We believe that transformative change, whether in the individual or in society, can occur only through the medium of deeply personal participation” (“Ten Principles”). Yet, while BM rejects consumption as part of “Decommodification”, the event has become something of a playground for new technological elites (with a taste for pink fur and glow tape rather than wine and cheese) with some camps charging as much as US $25,000 in fees per person for the week (most charge $300) (Bilton). BM is gentrifying, or as veteran attendee Tyler Hanson put it, “Burning Man is no longer a counterculture revolution. It’s now become a mirror of society” (quoted in Bilton). Neoliberalism and “new individualism” are all around at BM, and a reading of space and spectacle in the Uchronian structure reveals this encoding. Figure 2: “Message Out of the Future by Night” (also known as “the Belgian Waffle). Photo: Laurent Chavanne (2006). Reproduced with permission. “Long Gone Hippies” Republican tax reformist Grover Norquist made his way to BM for the first time this year, joining the tech elites. He subsequently proclaimed that America had a lot to learn from BM: “The story of Burning Man is one of radical self-reliance” (Norquist). As the population of the BRC surges toward seventy thousand, it may be difficult to call BM a countercultural event any longer. Given parallels between the BM ethos and neoliberal market relations and a “new individualism”, it is hard to deny that BM is deeply intertwined with counterposing forces of globalisation. However, if you ask the participants (and Norquist) they will have a different story: After you buy your ticket to Burning Man to help pay for the infrastructure, and after you pay for your own transportation, food and water, and if you optionally decide to pay to join a camp that provides some services THEN you never have to take your wallet out while at Burning Man. Folks share food, massages, alcohol, swimming pools, trampolines, many experiences. The expenses that occur prior to the festival are very reasonable and it is wonderful to walk around free from shopping or purchasing. Pockets are unnecessary. So are clothes. (Alex & Allyson Grey) Consumerism is a means to an end in an environment where the meanings of civic participation and “giving back” to the counterculture take many forms. Moreover, Thornton argued that the varied definitions of what is “mainstream” among subcultures point more to a complex and multifaceted landscape of subculture than to any coherent agreement as to what “mainstream” actually means (101), and so perhaps our entire discussion of the counterculture/mainstream binary is moot. Perhaps there is something yet to be salvaged in the spaces of participation at BM, some agonistic activity to be harnessed. The fluid spaces of the desert are the loci of community action. Jan Kriekels, founder of the Uchronia Community, holds out some hope. The Belgian based art collective hauled 150 kilometres of lumber to the BRC in the summer of 2006 to construct a freestanding, cavernous structure with a floor space of 60 by 30 metres at its center and a height of 15 metres (they promised a reforestation of the equivalent amount of trees) (Figure 1). “Don’t mistake us for long gone hippies in the desert”, wrote Kriekels in Message Out of the Future: Uchronia Community, “we are trying to build a bridge between materialism and spiritualism” (102). The Uchronians announced themselves as not only desert nomads but nomads in time (“U” signifying “nothing” and “chronos” or “time”), their time-traveller personas designed to subvert commodification, their mysterious structure (nicknamed the “Belgian Waffle” by the burners, a painful misnomer in the eyes of the Uchronians) evoking a sense of timelessness. I remember standing within that “cathedral-like” (60) structure and feeling exhilarated and lonely and cold all at once for the chill of the desert at night, and later, much later, away from the Playa in conversations with a friend we recalled Guy Debord’s “Thesis 30”: “The spectator feels at home nowhere, for the spectacle is everywhere.” The message of the Uchronians provokes a comparison with Virilio’s conceptualisations of “world time” and “simultaneity” that emerge from globalisation and digital technologies (13), part of the rise of a “globalitarianism” (15)—“world time (‘live’) takes over from the ancient, immemorial supremacy of the local time of regions” (113). A fragmented sense of time, after all, accompanies unstable labour conditions in the 21st century. Still, I hold out hope for the “resistance” inherent in counterculture as it fosters humanity’s “bothersomely unfulfilled potentialities” (Roszak, Making 16). I wonder in closing if I have damaged the trust of burners in attempting to write about what is a transcendent experience for many. It may be argued that the space of the BRC is not merely a spectacle—rather, it contains the urban “forests of gestures” (de Certeau 102). These are the secret perambulations—physical and mental—at risk of betrayal. References An Inconvenient Truth. Dir. Davis Guggenheim. Perf. Al Gore. Paramount Pictures, 2006. Bilton, Nick. “At Burning Man, the Tech Elite One-Up One Another.” The New York Times: Fashion & Style, 20 Aug. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/21/fashion/at-burning-man-the-tech-elite-one-up-one-another.html› “Burning Man Timeline.” Burningman. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://burningman.org/timeline/›. “Burning Man Transitions to Non-Profit Organization.” Burningman 3 Mar. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://blog.burningman.com/2014/03/news/burning-man-transitions-to-non-profit-organization/›. De Bord, Guy. The Society of the Spectacle. New York: Zone, 1994. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, Calif.: U of California P, 1984. Dust & Illusions: 30 Years of History of Burning Man. Dir. Oliver Bonin. Perf. Jerry James, Larry Harvey, John Law. Imagine, 2009. Elliot, Anthony, and Charles Lemert. The New Individualism. New York: Routledge, 2006. Grey, Alex, and Alyson Grey. “Ticket 4066, Burning Man Study.” Message to the author. 30 Nov. 2007. E-mail. Griffith, Martin. “Burning Man Draws 66,000 People to the Nevada Desert.” The Huffington Post 2 Sep. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/02/burning-man-2014_n_5751648.html›. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. New York: Methuen, 1979. “Jack Rabbit Speaks.” JRS 8.32 (2004). 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.burningman.com/blackrockcity_yearround/jrs/vol08/jrs_v08_i32.html›. Kriekels, Jan. Message Out of the Future: Uchronia Community. 2006. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://issuu.com/harmenvdw/docs/uchronia-book-low#›. “Media Myths.” Burningman. 6 Nov. 2014 ‹http://www.burningman.com/press/myths.html›. Miller, Timothy. The Hippies and American Values. Knoxville: U of Tennessee P, 1999. Mouffe, Chantal. On the Political. London: Routledge, 2005. Norquist, Grover. “My First Burning Man: Confessions of a Conservative from Washington.” The Guardian 2 Sep. 2014. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/sep/02/my-first-burning-man-grover-norquist›. Pine, B. Joseph, and James H. Gilmore. The Experience Economy. Boston: Harvard Business School P, 1999. Rojek, Chris. "Leaderless Organization, World Historical Events and Their Contradictions: The ‘Burning Man’ City Case.” Cultural Sociology 8.3 (2014): 351–364. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of a Counter Culture. Oakiland, Calif.: U of California P, 1995 [1968]. Roszak, Theodore. Where the Wasteland Ends. Charlottesville, Va.: U of Virginia P, 1972. Severo, Richard. “William S. Burroughs Dies at 83.” New York Times 3 Aug. 1997. 6 Nov. 2014 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/1997/08/03/nyregion/william-s-burroughs-dies-at-83-member-of-the-beat-generation-wrote-naked-lunch.html›. Slater, Don. Consumer Culture and Modernity. Cambridge, U.K.: Polity, 1997. Taylor, Chris. “Burning Man Grows Up.” CNN: Money. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://money.cnn.com/magazines/business2/business2_archive/2007/07/01/100117064›. “Ten Principles of Burning Man.” Burningman. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://burningman.org/culture/philosophical-center/10-principles/›. Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan UP, 1996. Virilio, Paul. The Information Bomb. London: Verso, 2000. “What Was Up with the Fighter Jets?” Tribe 7 Sep. 2007. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://bm.tribe.net/thread/84f762e0-2160-4e6e-b5af-1e35ce81a1b7›. “2008 Art Theme: American Dream.” Tribe 3 Sep. 2007. 10 Oct. 2014 ‹http://bm.tribe.net/thread/60b9b69c-001a-401f-b69f-25e9bdef95ce›.

Lists and Social MediaLists have long been an ordering mechanism for computer-mediated social interaction. While far from being the first such mechanism, blogrolls offered an opportunity for bloggers to provide a list of their peers; the present generation of social media environments similarly provide lists of friends and followers. Where blogrolls and other earlier lists may have been user-generated, the social media lists of today are more likely to have been produced by the platforms themselves, and are of intrinsic value to the platform providers at least as much as to the users themselves; both Facebook and Twitter have highlighted the importance of their respective “social graphs” (their databases of user connections) as fundamental elements of their fledgling business models. This represents what Mejias describes as “nodocentrism,” which “renders all human interaction in terms of network dynamics (not just any network, but a digital network with a profit-driven infrastructure).”The communicative content of social media spaces is also frequently rendered in the form of lists. Famously, blogs are defined in the first place by their reverse-chronological listing of posts (Walker Rettberg), but the same is true for current social media platforms: Twitter, Facebook, and other social media platforms are inherently centred around an infinite, constantly updated and extended list of posts made by individual users and their connections.The concept of the list implies a certain degree of order, and the orderliness of content lists as provided through the latest generation of centralised social media platforms has also led to the development of more comprehensive and powerful, commercial as well as scholarly, research approaches to the study of social media. Using the example of Twitter, this article discusses the challenges of such “big data” research as it draws on the content lists provided by proprietary social media platforms.Twitter Archives for ResearchTwitter is a particularly useful source of social media data: using the Twitter API (the Application Programming Interface, which provides structured access to communication data in standardised formats) it is possible, with a little effort and sufficient technical resources, for researchers to gather very large archives of public tweets concerned with a particular topic, theme or event. Essentially, the API delivers very long lists of hundreds, thousands, or millions of tweets, and metadata about those tweets; such data can then be sliced, diced and visualised in a wide range of ways, in order to understand the dynamics of social media communication. Such research is frequently oriented around pre-existing research questions, but is typically conducted at unprecedented scale. The projects of media and communication researchers such as Papacharissi and de Fatima Oliveira, Wood and Baughman, or Lotan, et al.—to name just a handful of recent examples—rely fundamentally on Twitter datasets which now routinely comprise millions of tweets and associated metadata, collected according to a wide range of criteria. What is common to all such cases, however, is the need to make new methodological choices in the processing and analysis of such large datasets on mediated social interaction.Our own work is broadly concerned with understanding the role of social media in the contemporary media ecology, with a focus on the formation and dynamics of interest- and issues-based publics. We have mined and analysed large archives of Twitter data to understand contemporary crisis communication (Bruns et al), the role of social media in elections (Burgess and Bruns), and the nature of contemporary audience engagement with television entertainment and news media (Harrington, Highfield, and Bruns). Using a custom installation of the open source Twitter archiving tool yourTwapperkeeper, we capture and archive all the available tweets (and their associated metadata) containing a specified keyword (like “Olympics” or “dubstep”), name (Gillard, Bieber, Obama) or hashtag (#ausvotes, #royalwedding, #qldfloods). In their simplest form, such Twitter archives are commonly stored as delimited (e.g. comma- or tab-separated) text files, with each of the following values in a separate column: text: contents of the tweet itself, in 140 characters or less to_user_id: numerical ID of the tweet recipient (for @replies) from_user: screen name of the tweet sender id: numerical ID of the tweet itself from_user_id: numerical ID of the tweet sender iso_language_code: code (e.g. en, de, fr, ...) of the sender’s default language source: client software used to tweet (e.g. Web, Tweetdeck, ...) profile_image_url: URL of the tweet sender’s profile picture geo_type: format of the sender’s geographical coordinates geo_coordinates_0: first element of the geographical coordinates geo_coordinates_1: second element of the geographical coordinates created_at: tweet timestamp in human-readable format time: tweet timestamp as a numerical Unix timestampIn order to process the data, we typically run a number of our own scripts (written in the programming language Gawk) which manipulate or filter the records in various ways, and apply a series of temporal, qualitative and categorical metrics to the data, enabling us to discern patterns of activity over time, as well as to identify topics and themes, key actors, and the relations among them; in some circumstances we may also undertake further processes of filtering and close textual analysis of the content of the tweets. Network analysis (of the relationships among actors in a discussion; or among key themes) is undertaken using the open source application Gephi. While a detailed methodological discussion is beyond the scope of this article, further details and examples of our methods and tools for data analysis and visualisation, including copies of our Gawk scripts, are available on our comprehensive project website, Mapping Online Publics.In this article, we reflect on the technical, epistemological and political challenges of such uses of large-scale Twitter archives within media and communication studies research, positioning this work in the context of the phenomenon that Lev Manovich has called “big social data.” In doing so, we recognise that our empirical work on Twitter is concerned with a complex research site that is itself shaped by a complex range of human and non-human actors, within a dynamic, indeed volatile media ecology (Fuller), and using data collection and analysis methods that are in themselves deeply embedded in this ecology. “Big Social Data”As Manovich’s term implies, the Big Data paradigm has recently arrived in media, communication and cultural studies—significantly later than it did in the hard sciences, in more traditionally computational branches of social science, and perhaps even in the first wave of digital humanities research (which largely applied computational methods to pre-existing, historical “big data” corpora)—and this shift has been provoked in large part by the dramatic quantitative growth and apparently increased cultural importance of social media—hence, “big social data.” As Manovich puts it: For the first time, we can follow [the] imaginations, opinions, ideas, and feelings of hundreds of millions of people. We can see the images and the videos they create and comment on, monitor the conversations they are engaged in, read their blog posts and tweets, navigate their maps, listen to their track lists, and follow their trajectories in physical space. (Manovich 461) This moment has arrived in media, communication and cultural studies because of the increased scale of social media participation and the textual traces that this participation leaves behind—allowing researchers, equipped with digital tools and methods, to “study social and cultural processes and dynamics in new ways” (Manovich 461). However, and crucially for our purposes in this article, many of these scholarly possibilities would remain latent if it were not for the widespread availability of Open APIs for social software (including social media) platforms. APIs are technical specifications of how one software application should access another, thereby allowing the embedding or cross-publishing of social content across Websites (so that your tweets can appear in your Facebook timeline, for example), or allowing third-party developers to build additional applications on social media platforms (like the Twitter user ranking service Klout), while also allowing platform owners to impose de facto regulation on such third-party uses via the same code. While platform providers do not necessarily have scholarship in mind, the data access affordances of APIs are also available for research purposes. As Manovich notes, until very recently almost all truly “big data” approaches to social media research had been undertaken by computer scientists (464). But as part of a broader “computational turn” in the digital humanities (Berry), and because of the increased availability to non-specialists of data access and analysis tools, media, communication and cultural studies scholars are beginning to catch up. Many of the new, large-scale research projects examining the societal uses and impacts of social media—including our own—which have been initiated by various media, communication, and cultural studies research leaders around the world have begun their work by taking stock of, and often substantially extending through new development, the range of available tools and methods for data analysis. The research infrastructure developed by such projects, therefore, now reflects their own disciplinary backgrounds at least as much as it does the fundamental principles of computer science. In turn, such new and often experimental tools and methods necessarily also provoke new epistemological and methodological challenges. The Twitter API and Twitter ArchivesThe Open API was a key aspect of mid-2000s ideas about the value of the open Web and “Web 2.0” business models (O’Reilly), emphasising the open, cross-platform sharing of content as well as promoting innovation at the margins via third-party application development—and it was in this ideological environment that the microblogging service Twitter launched and experienced rapid growth in popularity among users and developers alike. As José van Dijck cogently argues, however, a complex interplay of technical, economic and social dynamics has seen Twitter shift from a relatively open, ad hoc and user-centred platform toward a more formalised media business: For Twitter, the shift from being primarily a conversational communication tool to being a global, ad-supported followers tool took place in a relatively short time span. This shift did not simply result from the owner’s choice for a distinct business model or from the company’s decision to change hardware features. Instead, the proliferation of Twitter as a tool has been a complex process in which technological adjustments are intricately intertwined with changes in user base, transformations of content and choices for revenue models. (van Dijck 343)The specifications of Twitter’s API, as well as the written guidelines for its use by developers (Twitter, “Developer Rules”) are an excellent example of these “technological adjustments” and the ways they are deeply interwined with Twitter’s search for a viable revenue model. These changes show how the apparent semantic openness or “interpretive flexibility” of the term “platform” allows its meaning to be reshaped over time as the business models of platform owners change (Gillespie).The release of the API was first announced on the Twitter blog in September 2006 (Stone), not long after the service’s launch but after some popular third-party applications (like a mashup of Twitter with Google Maps creating a dynamic display of recently posted tweets around the world) had already been developed. Since then Twitter has seen a flourishing of what the company itself referred to as the “Twitter ecosystem” (Twitter, “Developer Rules”), including third-party developed client software (like Twitterific and TweetDeck), institutional use cases (such as large-scale social media visualisations of the London Riots in The Guardian), and parasitic business models (including social media metrics services like HootSuite and Klout).While the history of Twitter’s API rules and related regulatory instruments (such as its Developer Rules of the Road and Terms of Use) has many twists and turns, there have been two particularly important recent controversies around data access and control. First, the company locked out developers and researchers from direct “firehose” (very high volume) access to the Twitter feed; this was accompanied by a crackdown on free and public Twitter archiving services like 140Kit and the Web version of Twapperkeeper (Sample), and coincided with the establishment of what was at the time a monopoly content licensing arrangement between Twitter and Gnip, a company which charges commercial rates for high-volume API access to tweets (and content from other social media platforms). A second wave of controversy among the developer community occurred in August 2012 in response to Twitter’s release of its latest API rules (Sippey), which introduce further, significant limits to API use and usability in certain circumstances. In essence, the result of these changes to the Twitter API rules, announced without meaningful consultation with the developer community which created the Twitter ecosystem, is a forced rebalancing of development activities: on the one hand, Twitter is explicitly seeking to “limit” (Sippey) the further development of API-based third-party tools which support “consumer engagement activities” (such as end-user clients), in order to boost the use of its own end-user interfaces; on the other hand, it aims to “encourage” the further development of “consumer analytics” and “business analytics” as well as “business engagement” tools. Implicit in these changes is a repositioning of Twitter users (increasingly as content consumers rather than active communicators), but also of commercial and academic researchers investigating the uses of Twitter (as providing a narrow range of existing Twitter “analytics” rather than engaging in a more comprehensive investigation both of how Twitter is used, and of how such uses continue to evolve). The changes represent an attempt by the company to cement a certain, commercially viable and valuable, vision of how Twitter should be used (and analysed), and to prevent or at least delay further evolution beyond this desired stage. Although such attempts to “freeze” development may well be in vain, given the considerable, documented role which the Twitter user base has historically played in exploring new and unforeseen uses of Twitter (Bruns), it undermines scholarly research efforts to examine actual Twitter uses at least temporarily—meaning that researchers are increasingly forced to invest time and resources in finding workarounds for the new restrictions imposed by the Twitter API.Technical, Political, and Epistemological IssuesIn their recent article “Critical Questions for Big Data,” danah boyd and Kate Crawford have drawn our attention to the limitations, politics and ethics of big data approaches in the social sciences more broadly, but also touching on social media as a particularly prevalent site of social datamining. In response, we offer the following complementary points specifically related to data-driven Twitter research relying on archives of tweets gathered using the Twitter API.First, somewhat differently from most digital humanities (where researchers often begin with a large pre-existing textual corpus), in the case of Twitter research we have no access to an original set of texts—we can access only what Twitter’s proprietary and frequently changing API will provide. The tools Twitter researchers use rely on various combinations of parts of the Twitter API—or, more accurately, the various Twitter APIs (particularly the Search and Streaming APIs). As discussed above, of course, in providing an API, Twitter is driven not by scholarly concerns but by an attempt to serve a range of potentially value-generating end-users—particularly those with whom Twitter can create business-to-business relationships, as in their recent exclusive partnership with NBC in covering the 2012 London Olympics.The following section from Twitter’s own developer FAQ highlights the potential conflicts between the business-case usage scenarios under which the APIs are provided and the actual uses to which they are often put by academic researchers or other dataminers:Twitter’s search is optimized to serve relevant tweets to end-users in response to direct, non-recurring queries such as #hashtags, URLs, domains, and keywords. The Search API (which also powers Twitter’s search widget) is an interface to this search engine. Our search service is not meant to be an exhaustive archive of public tweets and not all tweets are indexed or returned. Some results are refined to better combat spam and increase relevance. Due to capacity constraints, the index currently only covers about a week’s worth of tweets. (Twitter, “Frequently Asked Questions”)Because external researchers do not have access to the full, “raw” data, against which we could compare the retrieved archives which we use in our later analyses, and because our data access regimes rely so heavily on Twitter’s APIs—each with its technical quirks and limitations—it is impossible for us to say with any certainty that we are capturing a complete archive or even a “representative” sample (whatever “representative” might mean in a data-driven, textualist paradigm). In other words, the “lists” of tweets delivered to us on the basis of a keyword search are not necessarily complete; and there is no way of knowing how incomplete they are. The total yield of even the most robust capture system (using the Streaming API and not relying only on Search) depends on a number of variables: rate limiting, the filtering and spam-limiting functions of Twitter’s search algorithm, server outages and so on; further, because Twitter prohibits the sharing of data sets it is difficult to compare notes with other research teams.In terms of epistemology, too, the primary reliance on large datasets produces a new mode of scholarship in media, communication and cultural studies: what emerges is a form of data-driven research which tends towards abductive reasoning; in doing so, it highlights tensions between the traditional research questions in discourse or text-based disciplines like media and communication studies, and the assumptions and modes of pattern recognition that are required when working from the “inside out” of a corpus, rather than from the outside in (for an extended discussion of these epistemological issues in the digital humanities more generally, see Dixon).Finally, even the heuristics of our analyses of Twitter datasets are mediated by the API: the datapoints that are hardwired into the data naturally become the most salient, further shaping the type of analysis that can be done. For example, a common process in our research is to use the syntax of tweets to categorise it as one of the following types of activity: original tweets: tweets which are neither @reply nor retweetretweets: tweets which contain RT @user… (or similar) unedited retweets: retweets which start with RT @user… edited retweets: retweets do not start with RT @user…genuine @replies: tweets which contain @user, but are not retweetsURL sharing: tweets which contain URLs(Retweets which are made using the Twitter “retweet button,” resulting in verbatim passing-along without the RT @user syntax or an opportunity to add further comment during the retweet process, form yet another category, which cannot be tracked particularly effectively using the Twitter API.)These categories are driven by the textual and technical markers of specific kinds of interactions that are built into the syntax of Twitter itself (@replies or @mentions, RTs); and specific modes of referentiality (URLs). All of them focus on (and thereby tend to privilege) more informational modes of communication, rather than the ephemeral, affective, or ambiently intimate uses of Twitter that can be illuminated more easily using ethnographic approaches: approaches that can actually focus on the individual user, their social contexts, and the broader cultural context of the traces they leave on Twitter. ConclusionsIn this article we have described and reflected on some of the sociotechnical, political and economic aspects of the lists of tweets—the structured Twitter data upon which our research relies—which may be gathered using the Twitter API. As we have argued elsewhere (Bruns and Burgess)—and, hopefully, have begun to demonstrate in this paper—media and communication studies scholars who are actually engaged in using computational methods are well-positioned to contribute to both the methodological advances we highlight at the beginning of this paper and the political debates around computational methods in the “big social data” moment on which the discussion in the second part of the paper focusses. One pressing issue in the area of methodology is to build on current advances to bring together large-scale datamining approaches with ethnographic and other qualitative approaches, especially including close textual analysis. More broadly, in engaging with the “big social data” moment there is a pressing need for the development of code literacy in media, communication and cultural studies. In the first place, such literacy has important instrumental uses: as Manovich argues, much big data research in the humanities requires costly and time-consuming (and sometimes alienating) partnerships with technical experts (typically, computer scientists), because the free tools available to non-programmers are still limited in utility in comparison to what can be achieved using raw data and original code (Manovich, 472).But code literacy is also a requirement of scholarly rigour in the context of what David Berry calls the “computational turn,” representing a “third wave” of Digital Humanities. Berry suggests code and software might increasingly become in themselves objects of, and not only tools for, research: I suggest that we introduce a humanistic approach to the subject of computer code, paying attention to the wider aspects of code and software, and connecting them to the materiality of this growing digital world. With this in mind, the question of code becomes increasingly important for understanding in the digital humanities, and serves as a condition of possibility for the many new computational forms that mediate our experience of contemporary culture and society. (Berry 17)A first step here lies in developing a more robust working knowledge of the conceptual models and methodological priorities assumed by the workings of both the tools and the sources we use for “big social data” research. Understanding how something like the Twitter API mediates the cultures of use of the platform, as well as reflexively engaging with its mediating role in data-driven Twitter research, promotes a much more materialist critical understanding of the politics of the social media platforms (Gillespie) that are now such powerful actors in the media ecology. ReferencesBerry, David M. “Introduction: Understanding Digital Humanities.” Understanding Digital Humanities. Ed. David M. Berry. 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