Journal articles on the topic 'Cats of Catthulhu (Game)'

The purpose of this research is to improve of gross motor skills of children through the traditional game of cats and mice at TK B Cifor Ceria Kota Depok 2017. The subject of research were 10 children. This research method was based on the research action class of Kemmis and Mc Taggart model included of four steps: (1) planning (2) action (3) observation and evaluation (4) reflection. The study consisted of one cycle, with two times meetings. Data analysis technique were used qualitative and quantitative data. The data were collected used observation instruments, interview non structur and documentation. Results of this research are showed an increased in gross motor skills of children through traditional games, evidenced by the average score of early motor skills crude children 63.61% and cycle I 79.33%. Research findings that the traditional game of cats and mice could increase children gross motor skill in TK B Cifor Ceria

Objectives The aim of this study was to evaluate the measurement of acute phase proteins (APPs) as a diagnostic tool to differentiate between feline infectious peritonitis (FIP) and other diseases in cats with body cavity effusions. Methods Cats with pleural, abdominal or pericardial effusion were prospectively enrolled. Cats were classified as having or not having FIP based on immunohistochemistry (if available) or a sophisticated statistical method using machine learning methodology with concepts from game theory. Cats without FIP were further subdivided into three subgroups: cardiac disease, neoplasia and other diseases. Serum amyloid A (SAA), haptoglobin (Hp) and α1-acid glycoprotein (AGP) were measured in serum and effusion, using assays previously validated in cats. Results Serum and effusion samples were available for the measurement of APPs from 88 and 67 cats, respectively. Concentrations of the APPs in serum and effusion were significantly different in cats with and without FIP ( P <0.001 for all three APPs). The best APP to distinguish between cats with and without FIP was AGP in the effusion; a cut-off value of 1550 µg/ml had a sensitivity and specificity of 93% each for diagnosing FIP. Conclusions and relevance AGP, particularly if measured in effusion, was found to be useful in differentiating between FIP and other diseases, while SAA and Hp were not. The concentration of all three APPs in some diseases (eg, septic processes, disseminated neoplasia) was as high as in cats with FIP; therefore, none of these can be recommended as a single diagnostic test for FIP.

Serological and clinical evidence of human toxoplasmosis in the Canadian Arctic indicates a food safety risk associated with the consumption of wild game meat. Such meat often is eaten raw or partially cooked in locally prepared traditional (country) foods, but no data have been collected to describe survival of Toxoplasma gondii forms in these foods. The muscle of grey seals (Halichoerus grypus) experimentally infected with T. gondii oocysts was used to prepare three country foods: igunaq, a fermented product; nikku, a dried product; and sausage, a salted and spiced product. Igunaq and nikku were stored at 4°C and bioassayed in cats at 49, 95, and 140 days postpreparation (DPP) and 41, 84, and 132 DPP, respectively. Raw and cooked sausages were stored at −20°C and bioassayed at 50, 92, and 141 DPP. The source seal meat was infective for cats, but none of the foods prepared with this meat were infective for cats. Some cooked sausages did not reach internal temperatures considered lethal for T. gondii. Data from studies in domestic animals suggested that the negative results in this experiment were due to temperature and duration of storage. Because of the possibility that T. gondii of arctic origin might be more freeze tolerant than the swine-origin isolate used in this experiment, additional studies are necessary to clarify the risks of toxoplasmosis associated with consumption of arctic country foods.

Toys of the Butcher: Slaughter Animals and Children’s Play in Early Mod-ern Dutch LiteratureThis article discusses cultural representations of slaughter animals from the early modern period, setting them against the post-modern approach to animals. The point of departure constitutes a con­temporary story about a girl eating the heart of a deer, which she has shot. Then the author moves on to a discussion of the poem ‘Kinder-spel’ 1618/1625 by the seventeenth-century Dutch poet Jacob Cats and focuses on the socio-cultural notions of humans and animals which these two texts present. When discussing the poem, the author elaborates on the symbolic meaning of two situations where children play with animal body parts — a game of knucklebones and playing with an inflated bladder. The interpretation of Cats’ text shows that the stereotypical social perceptions of slaughter animals which can be found in the early modern Dutch literature are in fact meant to offer a certain view on humans, by which their domination over the natural world and exploitation of animals is justified. The methodologies applied in this study involve the so-called ‘activist ecocriticism’ and the New Historicism, both being the reading methods, which emphasize the topicality of historical research. By placing Cats’ texts in a broad context, it is shown that the motif of children playing with animal body parts refers to early modern polemics about such issues as the relationship between the human and animal, the tension between culture and nature, as well as children and upbringing models.

Mapping the number and distribution of Salmonella on poultry carcasses will help guide better design of processing procedures to reduce or eliminate this human pathogen from poultry. A selective plating media with multiple antibiotics (xylose-lysine agar medium [XL] containing N-(2-hydroxyethyl)piperazine-N′-(2-ethanesulfonic acid) and the antibiotics chloramphenicol, ampicillin, tetracycline, and streptomycin [XLH-CATS]) and a multiple-antibiotic-resistant strain (ATCC 700408) of Salmonella Typhimurium definitive phage type 104 (DT104) were used to develop an enumeration method for mapping the number and distribution of Salmonella Typhimurium DT104 on the carcasses of young chickens in the Cornish game hen class. The enumeration method was based on the concept that the time to detection by drop plating on XLH-CATS during incubation of whole chicken parts in buffered peptone water would be inversely related to the initial log number (N0)of Salmonella Typhimurium DT104 on the chicken part. The sampling plan for mapping involved dividing the chicken into 12 parts, which ranged in average size from 36 to 80 g. To develop the enumeration method, whole parts were spot inoculated with 0 to 6 log Salmonella Typhimurium DT104, incubated in 300 ml of buffered peptone water, and detected on XLH-CATS by drop plating. An inverse relationship between detection time on XLH-CATS and N0 was found (r =−0.984). The standard curve was similar for the individual chicken parts and therefore, a single standard curve for all 12 chicken parts was developed. The final standard curve, which contained a 95% prediction interval for providing stochastic results for N0, had high goodness of fit (r2 = 0.968) and was N0 (log) = 7.78 ± 0.61 − (0.995 × detention time). Ninety-five percent of N0 were within ± 0.61 log of the standard curve. The enumeration method and sampling plan will be used in future studies to map changes in the number and distribution of Salmonella on carcasses of young chickens fed the DT104 strain used in standard curve development and subjected to different processing procedures.

AbstractSeveral scholars have raised concerns that the institutional mechanisms through which transitional justice is commonly promoted in post-conflict societies can alienate affected populations. Practitioners have looked to bridge this gap by developing ‘outreach’ programmes, in some instances commissioning comic books in order to communicate their findings to the people they seek to serve. In this article, we interrogate the ways in which post-conflict comics produce meaning about truth, reconciliation, and the possibilities of peace, focusing in particular on a comic strip published in 2005 as part of the Sierra Leone Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report into the causes and crimes of the 1991–2002 Civil War. Aimed at Sierra Leonean teenagers, the Report tells the story of ‘Sierrarat’, a peaceful nation of rats whose idyllic lifestyle is disrupted by an invasion of cats. Although the Report displays striking formal similarities with Art Spiegelman's Maus (a text also intimately concerned with reconciliation, in its own way), it does so to very different ends. The article brings these two texts into dialogue in order to explore the aesthetic politics of truth and reconciliation, and to ask what role popular visual media like comics can play in their practice and (re)conceptualisation.

The article discusses the non-standard use of the endings of nouns for feminine and neuter words (продавать рыбов), which became popular in the Runet language in 2021. The competition of the zero ending with -ов in the genitive and animate accusative, arising in the Old Russian language as a result of mixing two declensions, in the modern language led to the victory of -ов (нет столов, домов), while maintaining the zero ending for some groups (нет англичан, мальчишек) and variation in colloquial speech for a number of words (нет помидоров/помидор), meanwhile the zero option in the XXI century is clearly less common than the “ов-forms”. Under the influence of a “viral” meme about a conversation between cats and a seller, since the summer of 2021, a language game has become widespread, consisting in intentionally joining of -ов to the “unsuitable” stem: рыбов, книгов, деньгов, etc. Such a language game has existed for a long time (for example, the traditional ironic imitation of the colloquial делов-то), but as rare individual jokes, and in 2021 it became frequent, popular, used in a variety of memes and in advertising, associated with the theme of “kittens” and a certain worldview. The “Language of kittens” began to turn into a new linguoculturological phenomenon, comparable in degree of recognition to the Olbanian, or the Padonkaffsky jargon, the peak of popularity of which occurred in the mid-2000s. Now, instead of the misrepresentation of the orthographic appearance of the word (аффтар), which is characteristic of the Olbanian, referring to the idea of protest, the grammatical form is changing, referring to the idea of quiet touching humility before the injustice of life.

SUMMARYA case-control study comprising 1315Campylobacter jejunicases, 121Campylobacter colicases and 3409 frequency-matched controls was conducted in The Netherlands in 2002–2003. Risk factors for bothC. jejuniandC. colienteritis were consumption of undercooked meat and barbecued meat, ownership of cats and use of proton pump inhibitors. Consumption of chicken was a predominant risk factor forC. jejunienteritis, but many additional risk factors were identified. Unique risk factors forC. coliinfections were consumption of game and tripe, and swimming. Contact with farm animals and persons with gastroenteritis were predominant risk factors forC. jejunienteritis in young children (0–4 years). Important risk factors for the elderly (⩾60 years) were eating in a restaurant, use of proton pump inhibitors and having a chronic intestinal illness. Consumption of chicken in spring, steak tartare in autumn and winter and barbecued meat in rural areas showed strong associations withC. jejuniinfections. This study illustrates that important differences in risk factors exist for differentCampylobacterspp. and these may differ dependent on age, season or degree of urbanization.

The article presents the results of epizootic monitoring for rabies in the Russian Federation for 2021. The species and number composition of animals with a laboratory-confirmed diagnosis of rabies was analyzed. A picture of the spread of the disease and the involvement of many animal species in the epizootic process is shown. In 2021, veterinary laboratories received over 10 000 brain samples from animals suspected of having rabies. A positive diagnosis was laboratory established in 1189 cases in 63 subjects of the Russian Federation. The most intense epizootic situation is in the Volga Federal District (382 cases) and the Central Federal District (257 cases). 47 % of positive results (563 cases) are for dogs and cats; 39 % (459 cases) – for commercial and wild animals; 13,5 % (161 cases) – for farm animals; 0,5 % (rabbit, 2 wild hamsters and 3 hedgehogs) – for other animal species. The main reservoir of the rabies virus in Russia is the red fox. Among game and wild animals, the largest number of cases was registered among foxes (80 % of cases).

Background To the best of our knowledge, no specialized research has been conducted to address ailurophobia (fear of cats) in Iran or globally. This has driven our project, along with the prevalence of ailurophobia and the absence of a gamified virtual reality exposure therapy (VRET) that incorporates affordable and easily accessible biofeedback (BF) tools. We hypothesize that a gamified VRET augmented with BF will yield more positive effects than a similar device lacking BF. Objective This study primarily focuses on the development and preliminary evaluation of a smartphone-gamified VRET integrated with BF, targeting animal phobia, with a specific case study on ailurophobia. The secondary objectives are using affordable and readily available BF found in devices such as smart bands and smartwatches and creating a mobile virtual reality gamified app to improve patients’ adherence to treatments while simultaneously enhancing the app’s accessibility, scalability, and outreach. Methods Evaluations encompassed 3 methods. First, we identified the tool’s potential positive effects on phobia interventions, exploring 4 effects: intrinsic motivation, simulation of fearful situations, management of stressful circumstances without therapists’ presence and mitigation of catastrophic thoughts, and preliminary effects on ailurophobia treatment. Participants were divided into BF and non-BF groups. Second, we gathered user preferences and opinions about the treatment. Third, we conducted heuristic evaluations using 44 heuristics from existing system usability scales assessing user interfaces, virtual reality platforms, and video games’ playability. To interpret the data, mean scores; ANOVA, single factor; and ANOVA, 2-factor with replication were used. A total of 29 individuals were identified, of which 10 met the eligibility criteria or were accessible. Results The smartphone-gamified VRET augmented with BF exhibited better results on the identified effects compared with the non-BF version and contributed to normalizing encounters with cats. Moreover, 41 of the 44 heuristics achieved a percentage above 62%, indicating its potential as a therapeutic product and its ability to enhance patient adherence to treatments. Patient preferences on the treatment and its strengths and weaknesses were provided for further improvement. Conclusions The tool has the potential to evolve into a comprehensive solution by incorporating various types of cats and their behaviors, simulating environments in which they are commonly found, and enhancing its appeal through an increased sense of adventure without inducing unrealistic fears. By adapting fear elements, the game can be tailored to treat various animal phobias. Phobia-focused games should avoid action and combat scenarios to prevent reinforcement of fear responses. After rigorous evaluation, further exploration is required to provide remote use beyond clinical settings.

Emerging parasitic invasions may have a significant influence on wild and domestic animals, as well as humans worldwide. One of the possible sources of infection is the consumption of the meat of wild animals that enable infectious agents to circulate in the environment and transmit them to human and domesticated animal hosts. Human sparganosis is an emerging and neglected zoonosis worldwide. Most cases are known from Asia; however, a few cases have also been diagnosed in Europeans. Recently, in Białowieża Primeval Forest, north-eastern Poland, cases of sparganosis were stated in both intermediate (raccoon dog, badger, wild boar) and definitive hosts (wolf, lynx). Confirmed presence of sparganosis in game species (wild boar) and the possibility of its occurrence in domestic animals (dogs and cats) must be taken into consideration in case this zoonosis is not routinely diagnosed by veterinarians. Plerocercoids in wild boar are located subcutaneously and in muscle tissue. Thus, the emergence of human sparganosis due to consumption of undercooked or smoked wild boar meat is very likely in the areas where wild boar is an approved food source. In this review we describe the biology of Spirometra sp. and the current knowledge about the spread of this tapeworm among wild animals as well as the risk for people, focusing on the situation in Europe. .

The subject of the study is the "world tree" concept, coined by the young writer from the United Arab Emirates, Al-Yazia Khalifa, “The Mango Tree” (2021). The authors are interested in this symbol interpretation. Using the example of an Arab family, the artist creates a picture of the quiet and measured life of Arabs in the province of al-Ain. Through the eyes of a little girl, she describes one sultry day spent in the house of her beloved grandmother, in whose yard a magnificent mango grows. The aspects of life of a large Emirati family are depicted - work, prayer, and meals. The methods of historical and systemic analysis allow the authors to prove that the mango tree is a symbol of the cycle of life continuity. A seed planted in the ground becomes a sprout of hope for a bright future and faith in the inviolability of the traditional family way of life. Cicadas chirping on a tree are the embodiment of the element of air. The fish that family members eat at dinner symbolize water, while cats in the yard represent fire. In the game, the heroine tames four natural elements, beating her fears. Thanks to the fragrant and juicy “king of fruits,” an atmosphere of comfort, prosperity and harmony is created in which several generations of the family grew up. That is why the little girl would not break away from their native roots and would follow their parents’ measured pattern of life.

A case of acute toxoplasmosis in an adolescent girl, almost certainly related to the consumption of raw sausage, is described. The girl suffered of fever and weakness and presented a swollen lymph node in the submandibular region. Serology analysis was positive for Toxoplasma gondii and excluded other infections. Further analysis, with avidity test and immunoblot, confirmed the acute toxoplasmosis. She reported that about a month before the appearance of the symptoms, she had eaten a piece of raw sausage while it was being prepared by her father. We analyzed sausage samples prepared from this same batch that had been frozen for later consumption, and they demonstrated evidence of T. gondii DNA when using a specific nested PCR assay. The sausage was prepared from the meat of a pig that had been backyard raised and slaughtered at home, a traditional practice in rural communities in many countries. The tasting of fresh prepared raw sausage is a common practice throughout Italy, and it could be a major cause for toxoplasmosis as suggested by the results of a questionnaire administered in the province of Palermo, Sicily. Contact with cats and, to a lesser extent, raw salad consumption were also referred to as presumptive causes for the symptomatic cases. Two additional cases of acute toxoplasmosis reported during questionnaire administration were alleged to have been caused by the consumption of fresh sausage made with the meat of a pig raised in the yard. Traditional practices in animal farming, and the processing of meat from animals raised in the backyard or meat from wild game animals, might have a big impact on food safety.

Loss of genetic diversity due to infertility or the premature death of valuable individuals is a significant problem in the conservation of rare and endangered felid species, as well as in the maintenance of lines of cats used to study inherited feline and human disease. Attempts to overcome loss of genetic diversity have focused on freezing sperm;; however, sperm cannot be collected from immature males. Previously, we reported completion of spermatogenesis in testis tissue from newborn pigs and goats grafted ectopically into host mice (Honaramooz A et al., 2002 Nature 418, 778–781). Xenografting of testis tissue not only serves as a powerful system for the study of spermatogenesis and testicular maturation, but it also provides a previously unavailable system to obtain sperm from immature animals. The objective of the present study was to extend the technique of testis tissue xenografting to the domestic cat as a model animal for felid species. Testes from 1- to 5-wk-old domestic short-haired kittens (n=8) were cut into small fragments (about 1×3mm each), and up to eight fragments were grafted under the back skin of each castrated immunodeficient host mouse (n=12). Histological examination of the testis xenografts was performed between 14 and 36 weeks post-transplantation. From 8 of the 12 recipient mice, 93% of testis tissue grafts were recovered. No grafts were recovered from the remaining 4 mice. At the time of grafting, the seminiferous cords of the donor testis tissue contained only immature Sertoli cells and gonocytes. At 14 weeks after grafting, tubular expansion was evident, caused by the proliferation of Sertoli cells and tubular lumen formation. By 18 weeks after transplantation, the seminiferous epithelium contained spermatocytes, and by 20 weeks, round spermatids were the most advanced types of germ cells. By 36 weeks after transplantation, xenografts of cat testis tissue had completed spermatogenesis and mature sperm were present. In all recipient animals where xenografts were recovered, the weight of the seminal vesicles in the castrated host mice was restored to pre-castration values, indicating that xenografts were capable of releasing biologically active testosterone. These results demonstrate the potential of xenografting to achieve full spermatogenesis in testis tissue from kittens without the necessity of exogenous hormonal stimulation. It was shown previously that sperm recovered from testis xenografts can support fertilization and development (Shinohara T et al., 2002 Hum. Reprod. 17, 3039–3045; Schlatt S et al., 2003 Biol. Reprod. 68, 2331–2335). Therefore, sperm production in a mouse host can provide an alternative for germ line preservation from immature felids where sperm cryopreservation is not an option. Sperm recovered from xenografts can be used for assisted reproduction, thereby making it possible to produce offspring from immature males.

AbstractTo assess the role of white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus, WTD) in the epidemiology of toxoplasmosis, we conducted a national survey of WTD across the USA for Toxoplasma gondii infection. To do this, we combined serology with parasite isolation to evaluate the prevalence and genetic diversity of T. gondii in this game species. From October 2012 to March 2019, serum and tissues were collected from 914 WTD across the USA. Serum samples were screened for antibodies to T. gondii, and then the tissues of seropositive WTD were bioassayed in mice. Antibodies were detected in 329 (36%) of 914 WTD tested by the modified agglutination test (positive reaction at 1:25 or higher). Viable T. gondii was isolated from the heart of 36 WTD from 11 states. Three of the 36 isolates were pathogenic but not highly virulent to outbred Swiss Webster mice and all 36 isolates could be propagated further in cell culture and were genotyped. For genotyping, DNA extracted from cell culture-derived tachyzoites was characterized by polymerase chain reaction-restriction fragment length polymorphism (PCR-RFLP) using the genetic markers SAG1, SAG2, SAG3, BTUB, GRA6, c22-8, c29-2, L358, PK1 and Apico. Genotyping revealed seven ToxoDB PCR-RFLP genotypes, including 24 isolates for genotype #5 (haplogroup 12), four isolates for #2 (type III, haplogroup 3), three isolates for genotypes #1 (type II, haplogroup 2), two isolates for genotypes #3 (type II, haplogroup 2) and one isolate each for #39, #221 and #224. Genotype #5 was the most frequently isolated, accounting for 66.6% (24 of 36) of the isolates. Combining the 36 isolates from this study with previously reported 69 isolates from WTD, 15 genotypes have been identified. Among these, 50.4% (53/105) isolates belong to genotype #5. Our results indicate moderate genetic diversity of T. gondii in WTD. The results also indicate that undercooked venison should not be consumed by humans or fed to cats.

1. Orienting movements, consisting of coordinated eye and head displacements, direct the visual axis to the source of a sensory stimulus. A recent hypothesis suggests that the CNS may control gaze position (gaze = eye-relative-to-space = eye-relative-to-head + head-relative-to-space) by the use of a feedback circuit wherein an internally derived representation of gaze motor error drives both eye and head premotor circuits. In this paper we examine the effect of behavioral task on the individual and summed trajectories of horizontal eye- and head-orienting movements to gain more insight into how the eyes and head are coupled and controlled in different behavioral situations. 2. Cats whose heads were either restrained (head-fixed) or unrestrained (head-free) were trained to make orienting movements of any desired amplitude in a simple cat-and-mouse game we call the barrier paradigm. A rectangular opaque barrier was placed in front of the hungry animal who either oriented to a food target that was visible to one side of the barrier or oriented to a location on an edge of the barrier where it predicted the target would reappear from behind the barrier. 3. The dynamics (e.g., maximum velocity) and duration of eye- and head-orienting movements were affected by the task. Saccadic eye movements (head-fixed) elicited by the visible target attained greater velocity and had shorter durations than comparable amplitude saccades directed toward the predicted target. A similar observation has been made in human and monkey. In addition, when the head was unrestrained both the eye and head movements (and therefore gaze movements) were faster and shorter in the visible- compared with the predicted-target conditions. Nevertheless, the relative contributions of the eye and head to the overall gaze displacement remained task independent: i.e., the distance traveled by the eye and head movements was determined by the size of the gaze shift only. This relationship was maintained because the velocities of the eye and head movements covaried in the different behavioral situations. Gaze-velocity profiles also had characteristic shapes that were dependent on task. In the predicted-target condition these profiles tended to have flattened peaks, whereas when the target was visible the peaks were sharper. 4. Presentation of a visual cue (e.g., reappearance of food target) immediately before (less than 50 ms) the onset of a gaze shift to a predicted target triggered a midflight increase in first the eye- and, after approximately 20 ms, the head-movement velocity.(ABSTRACT TRUNCATED AT 400 WORDS)

Abstract Feral and free-roaming domestic cats (Felis catus) are invasive predators throughout the world. In some areas, cats occur in higher densities than native mammalian predators and can have severe effects upon prey populations. We set 48 wildlife game cameras in residential yards in Arkansas, USA, to evaluate which landscape and yard features influenced cat abundance occurring in yards. In addition, we quantified the daily activity patterns of free-roaming cats and explored how habitat features or predator activity influenced the timing of cat activity. We found that cats were present in 70.8% of yards with an average of three recognizable individuals per yard. Abundance of cats was higher than all native mesopredators except for raccoon (Procyon lotor) and Virginia opossum (Didelphis virginiana). Cat abundance and minimum population decreased when forest cover was high within 400 m of the camera. Cats were active at all times of the day but tended to be more diurnal in areas closer to city centers or in agricultural settings. Conversely, cats were more nocturnal later in the summer and in areas that had high levels of predator activity. Our results indicate that cats are widespread in this region and their relative abundance is driven more by landscape features than by yard features, possibly due to their large home ranges. Cats may alter their activity to better coexist with predators. Alteration in yard features is unlikely to be an effective deterrent for cats and more direct control measures may be necessary.

Purpose The purpose of this study is to describe the present taxonomy of money, summarize potential central bank digital currency (CBDC) regimes that central banks worldwide could adopt and explore the implications of the introduction of each of these CDBC regimes for money laundering through the lens of the regulatory dialectic theory. Design/methodology/approach The methodology used in the analysis of significant recent events regarding the progress of central banks in establishing a CBDC and the implications for money laundering under a CBDC regime. This paper also reviews the literature regarding the Regulatory Dialectic to highlight potential innovative responses of money launderers to circumvent the controls generated through the implementation of a CBDC. Findings This study examines the impact of Kane’s regulatory dialectic paradigm on the feasibility of money laundering under a CBDC regime and identifies potential avenues that would be available for those seeking to launder money, based on the form a CBDC would take. Research limitations/implications This paper is unable as of yet to empirically evaluate anti-money laundering (AML) tactics under a CBDC regime as it has not yet been fully implemented. Practical implications Many central banks worldwide are evaluating the structure of and introduction of a CBDC. There are a number of forms that a CBDC could take, each of which has implications for individual privacy and for entities involved in AML efforts within financial institutions and the regulatory community. The paper has implications for AML experts who are considering how AML procedures would change under a CBDC regime. Social implications The regulatory dialectic predicts that regulatory response reactive, rather than proactive when it comes to socially undesirable phenomena. As central banks and governments seek to divert economic activity away from the laundering of the proceeds of illicit activity, there are tradeoffs in terms of a loss of privacy. The regulatory dialectic predicts a corresponding innovative response of those who wish to undermine the controls generated through the establishment of a CBDC. Originality/value To the authors’ knowledge, this is the first paper to explore the impact of a potential CBDC on money laundering and the potential innovative circumventions within the paradigm of the Regulatory Dialectic.

This article analyzes specific characteristics of value created through digital scarcity and blockchain-proven ownership in cryptogames. Our object of study is CryptoKitties, the first instance of a blockchain-based game that has garnered media recognition and financial interest. The objective of this article is to demonstrate the limits of scarcity in value construction for owners of CryptoKitties tokens, manifested as breedable virtual cats. Our work extends the trends set out by earlier cryptocurrency studies from the perspective of cultural studies. For the purpose of this article, we rely on open blockchain analytics such as DappRadar and Etherscan, as well as player-created analytics, backed by a one-year-long participant observation period in the said game for research material. Combining theoretical cryptocurrency and Bitcoin studies, open data analysis, and virtual ethnography enables a grounded discussion on blockchain-based game design and play.

Abstract Management of domestic and wild animals is an integral part of conservation and is often based on how an animal is categorised. For example, feral cats are often killed, while valued companion cats and native wildcats are protected. Drawing on qualitative research and using the concept of boundary‐work, this paper examines the complex categorisation and management of cats within conservation in Britain and Aotearoa, New Zealand (NZ). We examine how, both in theory and in practice, valued companion and wildcats are distinguished from unprotected feral cats, and in‐between categories of stray and hybrid cats. We demonstrate that stakeholders draw boundaries between cat categories differently. These differences in boundary‐drawing reflect the inherent blurriness of category boundaries, practical challenges and, importantly, differences in values, in particular whether priority is placed on the life of the cat or the cat's potential victim, particularly native or game birds. This can mean that laws outlining protections for specific categories of animals have limited effect if, in practice, those encountering cats draw boundaries differently. This paper also reports on important differences between the two case studies. In NZ, even cat advocates support the humane killing of unambiguously feral cats while this is less true in Britain. Furthermore, due to the nature of the contexts, conservationists in NZ are more inclined to assume that ambiguous cats are feral whereas conservationists in Britain are more inclined to assume that they are wildcats. This paper demonstrates that values not only shape people's perceptions and treatment of animals but also how they draw boundaries between them. This finding may have important implications for understanding other controversies in conservation and animal management. Read the free Plain Language Summary for this article on the Journal blog.

Both domestic and wild carnivore species are commonly diagnosed with rabies virus (RABV) infection in South Africa. Although the majority of confirmed rabies cases in wild carnivore species are reported from the yellow mongoose (Cynictis penicillata), the rest are from other wild carnivores including the highly endangered wild dog (Lycaon pictus). Lyssavirus infection was confirmed in two wild dogs and a spotted hyaena (Crocuta crocuta) in the Madikwe Game Reserve, North West province in South Africa, in 2014 and 2015, using a direct fluorescent antibody test and immunohistochemistry. There had been no new wild dog introductions to the Madikwe Game Reserve for many years and the wild dogs were last vaccinated against rabies approximately 11 years prior to the incident. The first euthanised wild dog was the last surviving of a break-away pack of 6, and the second was the last of a larger pack of 18, the rest of which died with no carcasses being found or carcasses too decomposed for sampling. Subsequent antigenic typing of the lyssaviruses indicated that they were canid RABVs. The RABVs originating from 22 wild carnivore species, 7 dogs, and a caprine, mostly from the North West province, were genetically characterised by targeting a partial region of the nucleoprotein gene. The nucleotide sequence analyses of these viruses and two previously characterised RABVs confirmed that the outbreak viruses were also canid rabies, phylogenetically clustering with virus isolates originating from black-backed jackals recovered between 2012 and 2015 from the North West province, and domestic dogs from neighbouring communal areas. The source(s) of the mortalities and possible reservoir host(s) for the virus could only be speculated upon from data on specific predator numbers, movements and behaviour, kills, park management and the changing environmental ecology, which were monitored closely in Madikwe over several years. The most likely rabies sources were from boundary fence contacts between wild carnivores within the park, with domestic dogs or cats and/or naturally occurring wild carnivores outside the park. The associated risk of zoonotic infection and threat to important and endangered predators may be mitigated through regional rabies control primarily in domestic dogs and cats, as well as by preventative vaccination of at-risk park employees and their pets. The importance of ongoing prophylactic rabies protection by regular vaccination of highly endangered wildlife carnivores and the submission of carcasses for rabies diagnosis of any wild or domestic animals behaving uncharacteristically or found dead is emphasised.

Stroke remains the second leading cause of death worldwide and the third cause of disability-adjusted life-years. Most strokes are ischemic in nature, meaning they are caused by the disruption of cerebral blood flow resulting from obstructed blood vessels. Reperfusion therapies such as thrombolysis with tissue plasminogen activator and endovascular mechanical thrombectomy are very effective and are becoming game changers for eligible patients. Despite these advances, the achieved effects are insufficient from the perspective of the entire population of stroke patients. Therefore, there is an urgent need to expand eligibility for reperfusion therapies and implement adjuvant therapeutic measures. Animal stroke models are at the forefront of these efforts, helping to untangle complex pathophysiology and providing valuable preclinical data to guide further clinical trials. Various stroke models are available, including direct blocking of cerebral arteries or using other means to recapitulate stroke pathophysiology. International advisory boards recommend initial in vivo experiments be performed in smaller animals, such as rodents. However, second testing would be more desirable in larger animals such as cats, pigs, dogs, and non-human primates. Due to larger cerebral volume, gyrencephalization, and higher white/gray matter ratio, large animals are crucial in translational stroke research. Animal stroke models differ in the time and complexity of the stroke induction procedure, the reproducibility rate, the level of similarity to the human condition, and the possibilities for analysis, imaging, and follow-up studies. The choice of the most appropriate stroke model may translate to better bench-to-bedside translation of preclinical stroke research; ideally, this choice should be based solely on scientific merit.

AbstractWhile the impact of introduced predators is a widely acknowledged issue and key component of conservation considerations for endemic waterbird populations in the Hawaiian Islands, the impact of native predators on endemic, endangered waterbirds is not as frequently discussed or factored into recovery models. The Pueo (Hawaiian Short‐eared Owl; Asio flammeus sandwichensis) is a subspecies of Short‐eared Owl endemic to the Hawaiian Islands and is State‐listed as Endangered on the island of O'ahu. The Ae'o (Hawaiian Stilt; Himantopus mexicanus knudensi) is a subspecies of the Black‐necked Stilt endemic to Hawai'i and is federally listed as Endangered throughout its range. A variety of non‐native predators are confirmed to consume Ae'o eggs, chicks, and adults, including invasive mammals (e.g., feral cats), birds (e.g., Barn Owls), and amphibians (e.g., bullfrogs). While predation by native predators was suspected, there are no cases documented in the literature to date describing Pueo preying upon Ae'o. Here, we describe four events that provide evidence of Pueo predating Ae'o during the 2019–2021 breeding seasons in a wetland area on the island of O'ahu: (1) confirmed Pueo predating an Ae'o chick, (2) a suspected predation attempt of a Pueo chasing adult Ae'o, and (3) two suspected predation events based on (a) 10 adult‐sized Ae'o carcasses and remains found near an active Pueo nest and (b) game camera photos of Pueo visiting two Ae'o nests. To our knowledge, these novel observations are the first published accounts of predator–prey interactions between these two subspecies.

AbstractFootball is the most popular game in the world and has significant influence on various aspects including politics, economy and culture. The experience of the football developed nation has shown that the steady growth of youth football is crucial for elevating a nation's overall football proficiency. It is essential to develop techniques and create strategies that adapt to their individual physical features to resolve the football players’ problem of lacking exercise in various topics. In this manuscript, Computer aided technology depending on the Graph Sample and Aggregate Attention Network Optimized for Soccer Teaching and Training (CAT-GSAAN-STT) is proposed to improve the efficiency of Soccer teaching and training effectively. The proposed method contains four stages, like data collection, data preprocessing, prediction and optimization. Initially the input data are collected by Microsoft Kinect V2 smart camera. Then the collected data are preprocessed by using Improving graph collaborative filtering. After preprocessing the data is given for motion recognition layer here prediction is done using Graph Sample and Aggregate Attention Network (GSAAN) for improving the effectiveness of Soccer Teaching and Training. To enhance the accuracy of the system, the GSAAN are optimized by using Artificial Rabbits Optimization. The proposed CAT-GSAAN-STT method is executed in Python and the efficiency of the proposed technique is examined with different metrics, like accuracy, computation time, learning activity analysis, student performance ratio and teaching evaluation analysis. The simulation outcomes proves that the proposed technique attains provides28.33%, 31.60%, 25.63% higherRecognition accuracy and33.67%, 38.12% and 27.34%lesser evaluation time while compared with existing techniques like computer aided teaching system based upon artificial intelligence in football teaching with training (STT-IOT-CATS), Computer Aided Teaching System for Football Teaching and Training Based on Video Image (CAT-STT-VI) and method for enhancing the football coaching quality using artificial intelligence and meta verse-empowered in mobile internet environment (SI-STQ-AI-MIE) respectively.

MacGregor, Roy. Mystery at Lake Placid. 1995. Toronto: Tundra Books, 2013. Print.This Young Adult mystery novel is the story of Travis Lindsay, a twelve year old boy, and his Canadian peewee hockey team, the Screech Owls, while they play at an international tournament. Travis dreams of being an NHL hockey player someday, even though he’s small for his age and still afraid of the dark. He is not the star of his team, the title of which belongs to team captain Sarah Cuthbertsome, but Travis is a great skater, stick handler, and is very passionate about the sport and his team. The Screech Owls is a diverse team, with people of all backgrounds including the excitable and loyal Nish, the science fiction fanatic “Data”, the clever strategist Fahd, the ambitious Dmitri, the loveable and humourous coach Muck, team trainer Mr. Dillinger, and his son, Derek.In this novel, the Screech Owls team is on their way to Lake Placid, New York, where they will play at an international peewee tournament, and potentially be seen by scouting agents for other important hockey teams. This tournament is even more exciting for the team, because they get to play on an Olympic rink in a huge arena.Almost as soon as the team arrives, however, things seem to go wrong for them. At the hotel, people keep knocking on star player Sarah’s door, stopping her from sleeping and making her too tired to play. Next, Travis is knocked down in the street by a player from another team at the tournament. Finally, Sarah’s equipment is tampered with and damaged on multiple occasions during the night. The Screech Owls believe that these acts are not random, but that someone is sabotaging the team. They must use their combined skills to figure out who the culprit is. In the process, Travis challenges his own limits and witnesses the importance of teamwork and forgiveness.Roy MacGregor, the author of the novel, is also a sports columnist for the Globe and Mail. This background gives MacGregor excellent insight into the hockey world in both a national and international level, and he brings the sport to life through his detailed accounts of a hockey game. The novel takes great care in describing the workings of a team, and the various roles that coaches, parents, and other team members play. Important themes about competition, forgiveness, teamwork, and gender roles are conveyed through this detail, and MacGregor shows both the good and bad side of being caught up in the love of a sport.Mystery at Lake Placid is part of a larger series of twenty-two novels focused on the Screech Owls as they travel around the world for tournaments, and solve mysteries. It is also a re-publication, the original novel was published in 1995, but the story remains contemporary and engaging, partly due to its humour, light action, and well-developed characters. This book will appeal to a wide audience of children and young adults interested in sports or mystery stories.Highly Recommended: 4 out of 4 stars Reviewer: Colette LeungColette Leung is a graduate student at the University of Alberta, working in the fields of Library and Information science and Humanities Computing who loves reading, cats, and tea. Her research interests focus around how digital tools can be used to explore fields such as literature, language, and history in new and innovative ways.

In “Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning,” urban planners Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber outline what they term “wicked problems.” According to Rittel and Webber, wicked problems are unavoidably “ill-defined,” that is, unlike “problems in the natural sciences, which are definable and separable and may have solutions that are findable…[wicked problems] are never solved. At best they are only re-solved—over and over again” (160). Rittel and Webber were thinking specifically of the challenges involved in making decisions within immensely complex social circumstances—building highways through cities and designing low income housing projects, for example—but public policy-making and urban design are not the only fields rife with wicked problems. Indeed, the nub of Rittel and Webber’s articulation of wicked problems concerns a phenomenon common to many disciplines: interdisciplinary collaboration. As anyone who has collaborated with people outside her area of expertise will acknowledge, interdisciplinary collaboration itself is among the wickedest problems of all. By way of introduction, we direct the Learning Games Initiative (LGI), a transdisciplinary, inter-institutional research group that studies, teaches with, and builds computer games. In the seven years since LGI was inaugurated, we have undertaken many productive and well-received collaborations, including: 1) leading workshops at national and international conferences; 2) presenting numerous academic talks; 3) editing academic journals; 4) writing books, book chapters, journal articles, and other scholarly materials; 5) exhibiting creative and archival work in museums, galleries, and libraries; and 6) building one of the largest academic research archives of computer games, systems, paraphernalia, and print-, video-, and audio-scholarship in the world. We thus have a fair bit of experience with the wicked problem of collaboration. The purpose of this article is to share some of that experience with readers and to describe candidly some of the challenges we have faced—and sometimes overcome—working collaboratively across disciplinary, institutional, and even international boundaries. Collaborative Circle? Michael Farrell, whose illuminating analysis of “collaborative circles” has lent much to scholars’ understandings of group dynamics within creative contexts, succinctly describes how many such groups form: “A collaborative circle is a set of peers in the same discipline who, through open exchange of support, ideas, and criticism develop into an interdependent group with a common vision that guides their creative work” (266). Farrell’s model, while applicable to several of the smaller projects LGI has nurtured over the years, does not capture the idiosyncratic organizational method that has evolved more broadly within our collective. Rather, LGI has always tended to function according to a model more akin to that found in used car dealerships, one where “no reasonable offer will be refused.” LGI is open to anyone willing to think hard and get their hands dirty, which of course has molded the organization and its projects in remarkable ways. Unlike Farrell’s collaborative circles, for example, LGI’s collaborative model actually decentralizes the group’s study and production of culture. Any member from anywhere—not just “peers in the same discipline”—can initiate or join a project provided she or he is willing to trade in the coin of the realm: sweat equity. Much like the programmers of the open source software movement, LGI’s members work only on what excites them, and with other similarly motivated people. The “buy-in,” simply, is interest and a readiness to assume some level of responsibility for the successes and failures of a given project. In addition to decentralizing the group, LGI’s collaborative model has emerged such that it naturally encourages diversity, swelling our ranks with all kinds of interesting folks, from fine artists to clergy members to librarians. In large part this is because our members view “peers” in the most expansive way possible; sure, optical scientists can help us understand how virtual cameras simulate the real properties of lenses and research linguists can help us design more effective language-in-context tools for our games. However, in an organization that always tries to understand the layers of meaning-making that constitute computer games, such technical expertise is only one stratum. For a game about the cultural politics of ancient Greece that LGI has been working on for the past year, our members invited a musical instrument maker, a potter, and a school teacher to join the development team. These new additions—all experts and peers as far as LGI is concerned—were not merely consultants but became part of the development team, often working in areas of the project completely outside their own specialties. While some outsiders have criticized this project—currently known as “Aristotle’s Assassins”—for being too slow in development, the learning taking place as it moves forward is thrilling to those on the inside, where everyone is learning from everyone else. One common consequence of this dynamic is, as Farrell points out, that the work of the individual members is transformed: “Those who are merely good at their discipline become masters, and, working together, very ordinary people make extraordinary advances in their field” (2). Additionally, the diversity that gives LGI its true interdisciplinarity also makes for praxical as well as innovative projects. The varying social and intellectual concerns of the LGI’s membership means that every collaboration is also an exploration of ethics, responsibility, epistemology, and ideology. This is part of what makes LGI so special: there are multiple levels of learning that underpin every project every day. In LGI we are fond of saying that games teach multiple things in multiple ways. So too, in fact, does collaborating on one of LGI’s projects because members are constantly forced to reevaluate their ways of seeing in order to work with one another. This has been particularly rewarding in our international projects, such as our recently initiated project investigating the relationships among the mass media, new media, and cultural resource management practices. This project, which is building collaborative relationships among a team of archaeologists, game designers, media historians, folklorists, and grave repatriation experts from Cambodia, the Philippines, Australia, and the U.S., is flourishing, not because its members are of the same discipline nor because they share the same ideology. Rather, the team is maturing as a collaborative and productive entity because the focus of its work raises an extraordinary number of questions that have yet to be addressed by national and international researchers. In LGI, much of the sweat equity we contribute involves trying to answer questions like these in ways that are meaningful for our international research teams. In our experience, it is in the process of investigating such questions that effective collaborative relationships are cemented and within which investigators end up learning about more than just the subject matter at hand. They also learn about the micro-cultures, histories, and economies that provide the usually invisible rhetorical infrastructures that ground the subject matter and to which each team member is differently attuned. It is precisely because of this sometimes slow, sometimes tense learning/teaching dynamic—a dynamic too often invoked in both academic and industry settings to discourage collaboration—that François Chesnais calls attention to the fact that collaborative projects frequently yield more benefits than the sum of their parts suggests possible. This fact, says Chesnais, should lead institutions to value collaborative projects more highly as “resource-creating, value-creating and surplus-creating potentialities” (22). Such work is always risky, of course, and Jitendra Mohan, a scholar specializing in cross-cultural collaborations within the field of psychology, writes that international collaboration “raises methodological problems in terms of the selection of culturally-coloured items and their historical as well as semantic meaning…” (314). Mohan means this as a warning and it is heeded as such by LGI members; at the same time, however, it is precisely the identification and sorting out of such methodological problems that seems to excite our best collaborations and most innovative work. Given such promise, it is easy to see why LGI is quite happy to adopt the used car dealer’s slogan “no reasonable offer refused.” In fact, in LGI we see our open-door policy for projects as mirroring our primary object of study: games. This is another factor that we believe contributes to the success of our members’ collaborations. Commercial computer game development is a notoriously interdisciplinary and collaborative endeavor. By collaborating in a fashion similar to professional game developers, LGI members are constantly fashioning more complex understandings of the kinds of production practices and social interactions involved in game development; these practices and interactions are crucial to game studies precisely because they shape what games consist of, how they mean, and the ways in which they are consumed. For this reason, we think it foolish to refuse any reasonable offer to help us explore and understand these meaning-making processes. Wicked Problem Backlash Among the striking points that Rittel and Webber make about wicked problems is that solutions to them are usually created with great care and planning, and yet inevitably suffer severe criticism (at least) or utter annihilation (at worst). Far from being indicative of a bad solution, this backlash against a wicked problem’s solution is an integral element of what we call the “wicked problem dialectic.” The backlash against attempts to establish and nurture transdisciplinary collaboration is easy to document at multiple levels. For example, although our used car dealership model has created a rich research environment, it has also made the quotidian work of doing projects difficult. For one thing, organizing something as simple as a project meeting can take Herculean efforts. The wage earners are on a different schedule than the academics, who are on a different schedule from the artists, who are on a different schedule from the librarians. Getting everyone together in the same room at the same time (even virtually) is like herding cats. As co-directors of LGI, we have done our best to provide the membership with both synchronous and asynchronous resources to facilitate communication (e.g., conference-call enabled phones, online forums, chat clients, file-sharing software, and so on), but nothing beats face-to-face meetings, especially when projects grow complex or deadlines impend mercilessly. Nonetheless, our members routinely fight the meeting scheduling battle, despite the various communication options we have made available through our group’s website and in our physical offices. Most recently we have found that an organizational wiki makes the process of collecting and sharing notes, drawings, videos, segments of code, and drafts of writing decidedly easier than it had been, especially when the projects involve people who do not live a short distance (or a cheap phone call) away from each other. Similarly, not every member has the same amount of time to devote to LGI and its projects despite their considerable and demonstrated interest in them. Some folks are simply busier than others, and cannot contribute to projects as much as they might like. This can be a real problem when a project requires a particular skill set, and the owner of those skills is busy doing other things like working at a paying job or spending time with family. LGI’s projects are always done in addition to members’ regular workload, and it is understandable when that workload has to take precedence. Like regular exercise and eating right, the organization’s projects are the first things to go when life’s demands intrude. Different projects handle this challenge in a variety of ways, but the solutions always tend to reflect the general structure of the project itself. In projects that follow what Andrea Lunsford and Lisa Ede refer to as “hierarchical collaborations”—projects that are clearly structured, goal-oriented, and define clear roles for its participants—milestones and deadlines are set at the beginning of the project and are often tied to professional rewards that stand-in for a paycheck: recommendation letters, all-expenses-paid conference trips, guest speaking invitations, and so forth (133). Less organized projects—what Lunsford and Ede call “dialogic collaborations”—deal with time scheduling challenges differently. Inherently, dialogic collaborations such as these tend to be less hampered by time because they are loosely structured, accept and often encourage members to shift roles, and often value the process of working toward the project’s goals as highly as actually attaining them (134). The most common adaptive strategy used in these cases is simply for the most experienced members of the team to keep the project in motion. As long as something is happening, dialogic collaborations can be kept fruitful for a very long time, even when collaborators are only able to contribute once or twice a month. In our experience, as long as each project’s collaborators understand its operative expectations—which can, by the way, be a combination of hierarchical and dialogical modes—their work proceeds smoothly. Finally, there is the matter of expenses. As an institutionally unaffiliated collective, the LGI has no established revenue stream, which means project funding is either grant-based or comes out of the membership’s pockets. As anyone who has ever applied for a grant knows, it is one thing to write a grant, and another thing entirely to get it. Things are especially tough when grant monies are scarce, as they have been (at least on this side of the pond) since the U.S. economy started its downward spiral several years ago. Tapping the membership’s pockets is not really a viable funding option either. Even modest projects can be expensive, and most folks do not have a lot of spare cash to throw around. What this means, ultimately, is that even though our group’s members have carte blanche to do as they will, they must do so in a resource-starved environment. While it is sometimes disappointing that we are not able to fund certain projects despite their artistic and scholarly merit, LGI members learned long ago that such hardships rarely foreclose all opportunities. As Anne O’Meara and Nancy MacKenzie pointed out several years ago, many “seemingly extraneous features” of collaborative projects—not only financial limitations, but also such innocuous phenomena as where collaborators meet, the dance of their work and play patterns, their conflicting responsibilities, geographic separations, and the ways they talk to each other—emerge as influential factors in all collaborations (210). Thus, we understand in LGI that while our intermittent funding has influenced the dimension and direction of our group, it has also led to some outcomes that in hindsight we are glad we were led to. For example, while LGI originally began studying games in order to discover where production-side innovations might be possible, a series of funding shortfalls and serendipitous academic conversations led us to favor scholarly writing, which has now taken precedence over other kinds of projects. At the most practical level, this works out well because writing costs nothing but time, plus there is a rather desperate shortage of good game scholarship. Moreover, we have discovered that as LGI members have refined their scholarship and begun turning out books, chapters, and articles on a consistent basis, both they and the organization accrue publicity and credibility. Add to this the fact that for many of the group’s academics, traditional print-based work is more valued in the tenure and promotion economy than is, say, an educational game, an online teachers’ resource, or a workshop for a local parent-teacher association, and you have a pretty clear research path blazed by what Kathleen Clark and Rhunette Diggs have called “dialectical collaboration,” that is, collaboration marked by “struggle and opposition, where tension can be creative, productive, clarifying, as well as difficult” (10). Conclusion In sketching out our experience directing a highly collaborative digital media research collective, we hope we have given readers a sense of why collaboration is almost always a “wicked problem.” Collaborators negotiate different schedules, work demands, and ways of seeing, as well as resource pinches that hinder the process by which innovative digital media collaborations come to fruition. And yet, it is precisely because collaboration can be so wicked that it is so valuable. In constantly requiring collaborators to assess and reassess their rationales, artistic visions, and project objectives, collaboration makes for reflexive, complex, and innovative projects, which (at least to us) are the most satisfying and useful of all. References Chesnais, François. “Technological Agreements, Networks and Selected Issues in Economic Theory.” In Technological Collaboration: The Dynamics of Cooperation in Industrial Innovation. Rod Coombs, Albert Richards, Vivien Walsh, and Pier Paolo Saviotti, eds. Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar, 1996. 18-33. Clark, Kathleen D., and Rhunette C. Diggs. “Connected or Separated?: Toward a Dialectical View of Interethnic Relationships.” In Building Diverse Communities: Applications of Communication Research. McDonald, Trevy A., Mark P. Orbe, and Trevellya Ford-Ahmed, eds. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press, 2002. 3-25. Farrell, Michael P. Collaborative Circles: Friendship Dynamics & Creative Work. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2001. Lunsford, Andrea, and Lisa Ede. Singular Texts/Plural Authors: Perspectives on Collaborative Writing. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1990. Mohan, Jitendra. “Cross-Cultural Experience of Collaboration in Personality Research.” Personality across Cultures: Recent Developments and Debates. Jitendra Mohan, ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. 313-335. O’Meara, Anne, and Nancy R. MacKenzie. “Reflections on Scholarly Collaboration.” In Common Ground: Feminist Collaboration in the Academy. Elizabeth G. Peck and JoAnna Stephens Mink, eds. Albany: State U of New York P, 1998. 209-26. Rittel, Horst W. J., and Melvin M. Weber. “Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning.” Policy Sciences 4 (1973): 155-69. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Ruggill, Judd, and Ken McAllister. "The Wicked Problem of Collaboration." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/07-ruggillmcallister.php>. APA Style Ruggill, J., and K. McAllister. (May 2006) "The Wicked Problem of Collaboration," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/07-ruggillmcallister.php>.

In the mass media, the primacy of ever more intimate perspectives on violent confrontation, which has long been a staple of journalistic profit and practice, has undergone a crucial transformation over the last century. From an overt eagerness to take an active role in the experience of war to a coy, self-promoting emphasis on the risks of the trade, the representation of violent subjects has consistently been filtered through reportorial, yet tremendous change has befallen the role of professional interlocutors in the serving up the experience of war and violent conflict for domestic consumption. The triumph of a technologised perspective has eclipsed journalistic agency, collapsing the distinction between the pen and the sword in a way that reporters, for all their efforts to command the prestige of each, could never achieve. The focus on the fight, narrowed to the point of impact, strips away orienting discourses to produce a dehumanised perspective that is, if no more or less violent in its own right, unquestioning in its pursuit of the vivid sensation violence provides. In this essay, I hope to illuminate some of the relationships between pen and sword that have evolved from the time of my own historical period of specialisation, the Cuban-Spanish-American and Philippine-American wars, to the unfortunate juncture at which we find ourselves a century later. I will begin, however, in the middle, for it is in my own experience of looking for a fight, finding and reporting on it, and then, later, as a historian, reflecting upon the phenomenon in historical comparison with previous correspondents, that I arrived at the conclusions presented here. My work as a “front-line” correspondent took place in environments largely lacking front lines or sophisticated machinery. From skulking about in back alleys to avoid Duvalier’s secret police in Haiti, I had graduated to the “low intensity conflict” of the Philippines. Sporadic and isolated though such violence might be, it was nonetheless my mission to seek it out and capitalise upon it. I felt long past appreciating the news value of being in the line of fire, however, I was soon speeding madly from the scene of my first at-risk gunplay, on February 7, 1986, the day of the Marcos-Aquino election, prelude to the People Power revolution later that month. That violence begets violence, incidental and otherwise, was being made all too clear: as I listened to the thumps representing the likely ends of roadside dogs and cats unfortunate enough to be in the way of the speeding getaway car driven by my Filipino oppositionist hosts, I noted that my ostensibly peaceful guides were vigorously contemplating an armed response. There was news value in the scene, but I was sickened by their rapid descent into revenge mode. My disappointment was not entirely based on aversion to the addictive and infectious power of violence, however: in showing that they, too, were capable of bloodshed, my once-sympathetic guides were spoiling a clean story line. In the moment, knowing my market, I was, it must be admitted, every bit as inclined to value a sharp image over a nuanced portrait as the narrowly focused machine I at other times decry. My article presented the story in diverse detail, but the market logic of its genesis had directed it toward the singular, violent departure point on which I did, indeed, focus when, asked that morning where I wanted to go, I had responded, “Wherever there’s going to be fighting.” In addition to market considerations holding violence as the highest news value, though, my approach had roots in the aspiring war correspondent’s classic infatuation with getting a piece of the action. Just as soldiers need a war to amass the medals and experience necessary for rapid advancement, journalists can extract from exposure to the most arresting stories professional opportunity and, often, the thrill of a lifetime. The cultural capital offered by a role in a good fight is a currency subjected to official devaluation over the years, but in the marketplace of personal identity, war stories retain worth. My students appear to like hearing them; I must admit that I can revel in telling one. Like an accounting of scars and scares past, it celebrates triumph over threats large and small. Even a well-established reputation is no bar to glory-seeking on the basis of proximity to the fight. Top New York Times reporter R.W. Apple’s tale of a bullet passing through the loose folds of his trousers was undermined by the absence of evidence (other reporters could not believe he would throw out so treasured a souvenir), but it only serves to emphasise all the more the delicious appeal to reporters of a physical link to the fighting. Such anecdotes, and the ascendant prestige accorded photojournalists, who must place themselves closer to the action than those who only have to write about it, serve to emphasise the emergence of an informal pecking order based on proximity to peril. This emphasis on risk, with its evocation of potential sacrifice, represents a historical change. Where today facing danger is a featured facet of journalistic practice, a century ago the emphasis was on dishing it out. For example, I found in the Manuscript Division of the U.S. Library of Congress a letter from John Barrett, the first journalist to suggest military action in the Philippines to a national American audience, in which he wrote to his mother of having derived “great pleasure in firing five or six shots at the enemy.” Despite his former rank as consul to Siam and the position of power and distinction he enjoyed as correspondent for both the prestigious North American Review and the widely-read network of newspapers headed by William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal, Barrett sought parity with simple soldiers whose institutional base more readily connoted glory. "[I] may not be an enlisted soldier but in my way as a correspondent of the greatest daily newspapers of the world—i.e., the most extensively read—bear a responsibility quite equal to a lesser officer unto those who are on the rank.” he wrote to his mother on June 26, 1898, adding, “I would not send any 'fake' account of the battle even if ordered to do so by the editor himself and if I do not send a 'fake' story I must be at the front where I can see what is actually done." Barrett’s location of the “actual” war at the front lines, where hot lead and blood were imagined to flow freely, adhered to a prevailing press perspective valorizing immersion in the fight. As the nineteenth century drew to a close, widespread acceptance was accorded to the notion of the superiority of “hard-won” knowledge, gained through exposure to combat (or perhaps, as in the case of a rival interlocutor of Philippine affairs, Dean Worcester, to alternative threats such head-hunters). In part a reflection of the rough-edged Social Darwinism holding up such survivors as the “fittest” and in part a simple testament to the universal power of warrior myths, battle-certified claims to a higher degree of both patriotism and veracity were an effective rhetorical trump card against the reasoned, impassioned pleas for caution and humanity emerging from the mostly older men of letters leading the anti-imperialist movement. Other reporters of the age also won fame for their activist roles. One of Hearst’s other minions, Karl Decker, engineered an 1897 jailbreak in Cuba that brought to a nationwide audience New York Journal’s tale of the “Cuban girl martyr,” Evangelina Cosio y Cisneros. Other reporters fought alongside the Cuban rebels, sweetening the romantic notion of siding with the underdog—which contributed mightily to the popularity of the “yellow” press’ sensational accounts of war. While the insertion of such blatant reportorial machismo into war reporting has diminished with time and the supposed rise of objectivity as a guiding standard, the interest of media audiences in intimate details of the experience of war has not diminished, and the technologies available to answer such demands have proliferated. From the “living room war” so roundly decried by those who mistakenly saw the seeds of defeat in enhanced public access to the details of war in Vietnam, we have “advanced” to a perspective on warfare that is funneled through the dispassionate gaze of the weapons themselves. The video game metaphor for war, popularised during and since the first Persian Gulf War, gave rise to a missile’s-eye-view that rendered apparently superfluous the role of the reporter. Government restrictions on press access to war zones, instituted in Grenada in 1983 and carried to new lengths in Iraq in 1991, further contributed to the marginalisation of the reportorial agency. It did not help that reporters did so poor and tardy a job of exposing as false the notions of technological infallibility promoted by officialdom. Their failure to question the Big Lie of reported Patriot missile accuracy in striking down Iraqi Scuds only served to support the notion that machines were more reliable than men. Meanwhile, the celebrity of “Scud Stud” Arthur Kent was largely based on his positioning before a pyrotechnic backdrop of flares, tracers, and the occasional missile, which helped keep alive the impression that a reporter’s importance is contingent upon close physical connection with the scene of the fight. Today, we see the new face of war through the lens of the Predator, an unmanned drone that can both gather and disseminate information and issue a deadly strike. The bomber-camera combo dissolves the dated dichotomy constructed as pen vs. sword. All too frequently a false construction in the first place, the “which is mightier?” question nonetheless offered value in its oppositional frame. Even if reporters understood the supremacy of arms, and tied their own identities to their use in diverse and sometimes contradictory fashion, their ability to wield words had a self-interested way of conveying the hazards of war, and thus at least some of its potential human consequences. Akin to the dashboard-cam that has pervaded consciousness in the age of “Cops” and other all-car-chase-all-the-time forms of television, the machine vision that orders and produces audience perceptions of distant fighting has sidelined the reportorial perspective, putting the viewer in the imaginary cockpit. Has the stripping away of reportorial mediation produced any more or less humane or accurate an impression? Despite the often pugnacious and self-glorifying approach of reporters seeking to validate their vitality and influence, the removal of journalistic agency has left the field open for manipulation by the controllers of the bomber-camera combo, and thus has impoverished public understanding of the deadly spiral violence inspires. There is historical precedent, or at least parallel, for this, and it is not encouraging. Public enthusiasm for taking the Philippines was stirred in 1898 by the ease with which the technologically superior new American gunboats destroyed the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay. Newspapers filled page after page with illustrations and descriptions of naval ordnance, inspiring a fusion of technophilia and war fever that helped prepare the way for the United States’ rapid conversion from an anti-imperialist polity into an expanding power with global ambitions and concomitant responsibilities and exposures. What began as an ostensibly diversionary military manoeuver designed to keep Spanish ships from playing a highly unlikely role in reinforcing the defense of Cuba—a preemptive strike, to use a currently popular term—grew, through an initial affinity for the new fighting machines, into an engagement that ended up portending a transoceanic American empire and altered national destinies to go with it. Not long after, bogged down in a grisly and unexpectedly lengthy land war against Filipino independence-seekers, Americans had reason to rethink their assumptions about the ease with which wars could be prosecuted. The Philippine-American war has been largely erased from American history, along with the accounts of the war correspondents who covered it. But the legacy of globalised imperial violence it initiated lives on, with the next installment coming soon. Check your local listings. Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Vaughan, Christopher. "If It Bleeds, It Leads" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 6.1 (2003). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0302/04-ifitbleeds.php>. APA Style Vaughan, C., (2003, Feb 26). If It Bleeds, It Leads. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,(1). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0302/04-ifitbleeds.html

Everyone thinks I named my cat Mango because of his orange eyes but that’s not the case. I named him Mango because the sounds of his purrs and his wheezes and his meows are all various shades of yellow-orange. (Mass 3) Synaesthesia, a condition where stimulus in one sense is perceived in that sense as well as in another, is thought to be a neurological fluke, marked by cross-sensory reactions. Mia, a character in the children’s book A Mango-Shaped Space, has audition colorée or coloured hearing, the most common form of synaesthesia where sounds create dynamic coloured photisms in the visual field. Others with the condition may taste shapes (Cytowic 5), feel colours (Duffy 52), taste sounds (Cytowic 118) or experience a myriad of other sensory combinations. Most non-synaesthetes have never heard of synaesthesia and many treat the condition with disbelief upon learning of it, while synaesthetes are often surprised to hear that others don’t have it. Although there has been a resurgence of interest in synaesthesia recently in psychology, neuroscience and philosophy (Ward and Mattingley 129), there is no widely accepted explanation for how or why synaesthetic perception occurs. However, if we investigate what meaning this particular condition may offer for rethinking not only what constitutes sensory normalcy, but also the ocular-centric bias in cultural studies, especially media studies, synaesthesia may present us with very productive coalitions indeed.Some theorists posit the ultimate role of media of all forms “to transfer sense experiences from one person to another” (Bolter and Grusin 3). Alongside this claim, many “have also maintained that the ultimate function of literature and the arts is to manifest this fusion of the senses” found in synaesthesia (Dann ix). If the most primary of media aims are to fuse and transfer sensory experiences, manifesting these goals would be akin to transferring synaesthetic experience to non-synaesthetes. In some cases, this synaesthetic transfer has been the explicit goal of media forms, from the invention of kaleidoscopes as colour symphonies in 1818 (Dann 66) to the 2002 launch of the video game Rez, the packaging for which reads “Discover a new world. A world of sound, visuals and vibrations. Release your instincts, open your senses and experience synaesthesia” (Rez). Recent innovations such as touch screen devices, advances in 3D film and television technologies and a range of motion-sensing video gaming consoles extend media experience far beyond the audio-visual and as such, present both serious challenges and important opportunities for media and culture scholars to reinvigorate ways of thinking about media experience, sensory embodiment and what might be learned from engaging with synaesthesia. Fleshing out the Field While acknowledging synaesthesia as a specific condition that enhances and complicates the lives of many individuals, I also suggest that synaesthesia is a useful mode of interference into our current ocular-centric notions of culture. Vision and visual phenomena hold a particularly powerful role in producing and negotiating meanings, values and relationships in the contemporary cultural arena and as a result, the eye has become privileged as the “master sense of the modern era” (Jay Scopic 3). Proponents of visual culture claim that the majority of modern life takes place through sight and that “human experience is now more visual and visualized than ever before ... in this swirl of imagery, seeing is much more than believing. It is not just a part of everyday life, it is everyday life” (Mirzoeff 1). In order to enjoy this privilege as the master sense, vision has been disentangled from the muscles and nerves of the eyeball and relocated to the “mind’s eye”, a metaphor that equates a kind of disembodied vision with knowledge. Vision becomes the most non-sensual of the senses, and made to appear “as a negative reference point for the other senses...on the side of detachment, separation” (Connor) or even “as the absence of sensuality” (Haraway). This creates a paradoxical “visual culture” in which the embodied eye is, along with the ear, skin, tongue and nose, strangely absent. If visual culture has been based on the separation of the senses, and in fact, a refutation of embodied senses altogether, what about that which we might encounter and know in the world that is not encompassed by the mind’s eye? By silencing the larger sensory context, what are we missing? What ocular-centric assumptions have we been making? What responsibilities have we ignored?This critique does not wish to do away with the eye, but instead to re-embrace and extend the field of vision to include an understanding of the eye and what it sees within the context of its embodied abilities and limitations. Although the mechanics of the eye make it an important and powerful sensory organ, able to perceive at a distance and provide a wealth of information about our surroundings, it is also prone to failures. Equipped as it is with eyelids and blind spots, reliant upon light and gullible to optical illusions (Jay, Downcast 4), the eye has its weaknesses and these must be addressed along with its abilities. Moreover, by focusing only on what is visual in culture, we are missing plenty of import. The study of visual culture is not unlike studying an electrical storm from afar. The visually impressive jagged flash seems the principal aspect of the storm and quite separate from the rumbling sound that rolls after it. We perceive them and name them as two distinct phenomena; thunder and lightning. However, this separation is a feature only of the distance between where we stand and the storm. Those who have found themselves in the eye of an electrical storm know that the sight of the bolt, the sound of the crash, the static tingling and vibration of the crack and the smell of ozone are mingled. At a remove, the bolt appears separate from the noise only artificially because of the safe distance. The closer we are to the phenomenon, the more completely it envelops us. Although getting up close and personal with an electrical storm may not be as comfortable as viewing it from afar, it does offer the opportunity to better understand the total experience and the thrill of intensities it can engage across the sensory palette. Similarly, the false separation of the visual from the rest of embodied experience may be convenient, but in order to flesh out this field, other embodied senses and sensory coalitions must be reclaimed for theorising practices. The senses as they are traditionally separated are simply put, false categories. Towards SynaestheoryAny inquiry inspired by synaesthesia must hold at its core the idea that the senses cannot be responsibly separated. This notion applies firstly to the separation of senses from one another. Synaesthetic experience and experiment both insist that there is rich cross-fertility between senses in synaesthetes and non-synaesthetes alike. The French verb sentir is instructive here, as it can mean “to smell”, “to taste” or “to feel”, depending on the context it is used in. It can also mean simply “to sense” or “to be aware of”. In fact, the origin of the phrase “common sense” meant exactly that, the point at which the senses meet. There also must be recognition that the senses cannot be separated from cognition or, in the Cartesian sense, that body and mind cannot be divided. An extensive and well-respected study of synaesthesia conducted in the 1920s by Raymond Wheeler and Thomas Cutsforth, non-synaesthetic and synaesthetic researchers respectively, revealed that the condition was not only a quirk of perception, but of conception. Synaesthetic activity, the team deduced “is an essential mechanism in the construction of meaning that functions in the same way as certain unattended processes in non-synaesthetes” (Dann 82). With their synaesthetic imagery impaired, synaesthetes are unable to do even a basic level of thinking or recalling (Dann, Cytowic). In fact, synaesthesia may be a universal process, but in synaesthetes, “a brain process that is normally unconscious becomes bared to consciousness so that synaesthetes know they are synaesthetic while the rest of us do not” (166). Maurice Merleau-Ponty agrees, claiming:Synaesthetic perception is the rule, and we are unaware of it only because scientific knowledge shifts the centre of gravity of experience, so that we unlearn how to see, hear, and generally speaking, feel in order to deduce, from our bodily organisation and the world as the physicist conceives it, what we are to see, hear and feel. (229) With this in mind, neither the mind’s role nor the body’s role in synaesthesia can be isolated, since the condition itself maintains unequivocally that the two are one.The rich and rewarding correlations between senses in synaesthesia prompt us to consider sensory coalitions in other experiences and contexts as well. We are urged to consider flows of sensation seriously as experiences in and of themselves, with or without interpretation and explanation. As well, the debates around synaesthetic experience remind us that in order to speak to phenomena perceived and conceived it is necessary to recognise the specificities, ironies and responsibilities of any embodied experience. Ultimately, synaesthesia helps to highlight the importance of relationships and the complexity of concepts necessary in order to practice a more embodied and articulate theorising. We might call this more inclusive approach “synaestheory”.Synaestheorising MediaDystopia, a series of photographs by artists Anthony Aziz and Sammy Cucher suggests a contemporary take on Decartes’s declaration that “I will now close my eyes, I will stop my ears, I will turn away my senses from their objects” (86). These photographs consist of digitally altered faces where the subject’s skin has been stretched over the openings of eyes, nose, mouth and ears, creating an interesting image both in process and in product. The product of a media mix that incorporates photography and computer modification, this image suggests the effects of the separation from our senses that these media may imply. The popular notion that media allow us to surpass our bodies and meet without our “meat” tagging along is a trope that Aziz and Cucher expose here with their computer-generated cover-up. By sealing off the senses, they show us how little we now seem to value them in a seemingly virtual, post-embodied world. If “hybrid media require hybrid analyses” (Lunenfeld in Graham 158), in our multimedia, mixed media, “mongrel media” (Dovey 114) environment, we need mongrel theory, synaestheory, to begin to discuss the complexities at hand. The goal here is producing an understanding of both media and sensory intelligences as hybrid. Symptomatic of our simple sense of media is our tendency to refer to media experiences as “audio-visual”: stimuli for the ear, eye or both. However, even if media are engineered to be predominately audio and/or visual, we are not. Synaestheory examines embodied media use, including the sensory information that the media does not claim to concentrate on, but that is still engaged and present in every mediated experience. It also examines embodied media use by paying attention to the pops and clicks of the material human-media interface. It does not assume simple sensory engagement or smooth engagement with media. These bumps, blisters, misfirings and errors are just as crucial a part of embodied media practice as smooth and successful interactions. Most significantly, synaesthesia insists simply that sensation matters. Sensory experiences are material, rich, emotional, memorable and important to the one sensing them, synaesthete or not. This declaration contradicts a legacy of distrust of the sensory in academic discourse that privileges the more intellectual and abstract, usually in the form of the detached text. However, academic texts are sensory too, of course. Sound, feeling, movement and sight are all inseparable from reading and writing, speaking and listening. We might do well to remember these as root sensory situations and by extension, recognise the importance of other sensual forms.Indeed, we have witnessed a rise of media genres that appeal to our senses first with brilliant and detailed visual and audio information, and story or narrative second, if at all. These media are “direct and one-dimensional, about little, other than their ability to commandeer the sight and the senses” (Darley 76). Whereas any attention to the construction of the media product is a disastrous distraction in narrative-centred forms, spectacular media reveals and revels in artifice and encourages the spectator to enjoy the simulation as part of the work’s allure. It is “a pleasure of control, but also of being controlled” (MacTavish 46). Like viewing abstract art, the impact of the piece will be missed if we are obsessed with what the artwork “is about”. Instead, we can reflect on spectacular media’s ability, like that of an abstract artwork, to impact our senses and as such, “renew the present” (Cubitt 32).In this framework, participation in any medium can be enjoyed not only as an interpretative opportunity, but also as an experience of sensory dexterity and relevance with its own pleasures and intelligences; a “being-present”. By focusing our attention on sensory flows, we may be able to perceive aspects of the world or ourselves that we had previously missed. Every one of us–synaesthete or nonsynaesthete–has a unique blueprint of reality, a unique way of coding knowledge that is different from any other on earth [...] By quieting down the habitually louder parts of our mind and turning the dial of our attention to its darker, quieter places, we may hear our personal code’s unique and usually unheard “song”, needing the touch of our attention to turn up its volume. (Duffy 123)This type of presence to oneself has been termed a kind of “perfect immediacy” and is believed to be cultivated through meditation or other sensory-focused experiences such as sex (Bolter and Grusin 260), art (Cubitt 32), drugs (Dann 184) or even physical pain (Gromala 233). Immersive media could also be added to this list, if as Bolter and Grusin suggest, we now “define immediacy as being in the presence of media” (236). In this case, immediacy has become effectively “media-cy.”A related point is the recognition of sensation’s transitory nature. Synaesthetic experiences and sensory experiences are vivid and dynamic. They do not persist. Instead, they flow through us and disappear, despite any attempts to capture them. You cannot stop or relive pure sound, for example (Gross). If you stop it, you silence it. If you relive it, you are experiencing another rendition, different even if almost imperceptibly from the last time you heard it. Media themselves are increasingly transitory and shifting phenomena. As media forms emerge and fall into obsolescence, spawning hybrid forms and spinoffs, the stories and memories safely fixed into any given media become outmoded and ultimately inaccessible very quickly. This trend towards flow over fixation is also informed by an embodied understanding of our own existence. Our sensations flow through us as we flow through the world. Synaesthesia reminds us that all sensation and indeed all sensory beings are dynamic. Despite our rampant lust for statis (Haraway), it is important to theorise with the recognition that bodies, media and sensations all flow through time and space, emerging and disintegrating. Finally, synaesthesia also encourages an always-embodied understanding of ourselves and our interactions with our environment. In media experiences that traditionally rely on vision the body is generally not only denied, but repressed (Balsamo 126). Claims to disembodiment flood the rhetoric around new media as an emancipatory element of mediated experience and somehow, seeing is superimposed on embodied being to negate it. However phenomena such as migraines, sensory release hallucinations, photo-memory, after-images, optical illusions and most importantly here, the “crosstalk” of synaesthesia (Cohen Kadosh et al. 489) all attest to the co-involvement of the body and brain in visual experience. Perhaps useful here for understanding media involvement in light of synaestheory is a philosophy of “mingled bodies” (Connor), where the world and its embodied agents intermingle. There are no discrete divisions, but plenty of translation and transfer. As Sean Cubitt puts it, “the world, after all, touches us at the same moment that we touch it” (37). We need to employ non-particulate metaphors that do away with the dichotomies of mind/body, interior/exterior and real/virtual. A complex embodied entity is not an object or even a series of objects, but embodiment work. “Each sense is in fact a nodal cluster, a clump, confection or bouquet of all the other senses, a mingling of the modalities of mingling [...] the skin encompasses, implies, pockets up all the other sense organs: but in doing so, it stands as a model for the way in which all the senses in their turn also invaginate all the others” (Connor). The danger here is of delving into a nostalgic discussion of a sort of “sensory unity before the fall” (Dann 94). The theory that we are all synaesthetes in some ways can lead to wistfulness for a perfect fusion of our senses, a kind of synaesthetic sublime that we had at one point, but lost. This loss occurs in childhood in some theories, (Maurer and Mondloch) and in our aboriginal histories in others (Dann 101). This longing for “original syn” is often done within a narrative that equates perfect sensory union with a kind of transcendence from the physical world. Dann explains that “during the modern upsurge in interest that has spanned the decades from McLuhan to McKenna, synaesthesia has continued to fulfil a popular longing for metaphors of transcendence” (180). This is problematic, since elevating the sensory to the sublime does no more service to understanding our engagements with the world than ignoring or degrading the sensory. Synaestheory does not tolerate a simplification of synaesthesia or any condition as a ticket to transcendence beyond the body and world that it is necessarily grounded in and responsible to. At the same time, it operates with a scheme of senses that are not a collection of separate parts, but blended; a field of intensities, a corporeal coalition of senses. It likewise refuses to participate in the false separation of body and mind, perception and cognition. More useful and interesting is to begin with metaphors that assume complexity without breaking phenomena into discrete pieces. This is the essence of a new anti-separatist synaestheory, a way of thinking through embodied humans in relationships with media and culture that promises to yield more creative, relevant and ethical theorising than the false isolation of one sense or the irresponsible disregard of the sensorium altogether.ReferencesAziz, Anthony, and Sammy Cucher. Dystopia. 1994. 15 Sep. 2010 ‹http://www.azizcucher.net/1994.php>. Balsamo, Anne. “The Virtual Body in Cyberspace.” Technologies of the Gendered Body: Reading Cyborg Women. Durham: Duke UP, 1997. 116-32.Bolter, Jay David, and Richard Grusin. Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1999.Cohen Kadosh, Roi, Avishai Henik, and Vincent Walsh. “Synaesthesia: Learned or Lost?” Developmental Science 12.3 (2009): 484-491.Connor, Steven. “Michel Serres’ Five Senses.” Michel Serres Conference. Birkbeck College, London. May 1999. 5 Oct. 2010 ‹http://www.bbk.ac.uk/eh/skc/5senses.htm>. Cubitt, Sean. “It’s Life, Jim, But Not as We Know It: Rolling Backwards into the Future.” Fractal Dreams: New Media in Social Context. Ed. Jon Dovey. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1996. 31-58.Cytowic, Richard E. The Man Who Tasted Shapes: A Bizarre Medical Mystery Offers Revolutionary Insights into Emotions, Reasoning and Consciousness. New York: Putnam Books, 1993.Dann, Kevin T. Bright Colors Falsely Seen: Synaesthesia and the Search for Transcendental Knowledge. New Haven: Yale UP, 1998.Darley, Andrew. Visual Digital Culture: Surface Play and Spectacle in New Media Genres. London: Routledge, 2000.Descartes, Rene. Discourse on Method and the Meditations. Trans. Johnn Veitch. New York: Prometheus Books, 1989.Dovey, Jon. “The Revelation of Unguessed Worlds.” Fractal Dreams: New Media in Social Context. Ed. Jon Dovey. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1996. 109-35. Duffy, Patricia Lynne. Blue Cats and Chartreuse Kittens: How Synesthetes Color Their Worlds. New York: Times Books, 2001.Graham, Beryl. “Playing with Yourself: Pleasure and Interactive Art.” Fractal Dreams: New Media in Social Context. Ed. Jon Dovey. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1996. 154-81.Gromala, Diana. "Pain and Subjectivity in Virtual Reality." Clicking In: Hot Links to a Digital Culture. Ed. Lynn Hershman Leeson. Seattle: Bay Press, 1996. 222-37.Haraway, Donna. “At the Interface of Nature and Culture.” Seminar. European Graduate School. Saas-Fee, Switzerland, 17-19 Jun. 2003.Jay, Martin. Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth Century French Thought. Berkeley: University of California P, 1993.Jay, Martin. "Scopic Regimes of Modernity." Hal Foster, Ed. Vision and Visuality. New York: Dia Art Foundation, 1988. 2-23.MacTavish. Andrew. “Technological Pleasure: The Performance and Narrative of Technology in Half-Life and other High-Tech Computer Games.” ScreenPlay: Cinema/Videogames/Interfaces. Eds. Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska. London: Wallflower P, 2002. Mass, Wendy. A Mango-Shaped Space. Little, Brown and Co., 2003.Maurer, Daphne, and Catherine J. Mondloch. “Neonatal Synaesthesia: A Re-Evaluation.” Eds. Lynn C. Robertson and Noam Sagiv. Synaesthesia: Perspectives from Cognitive Neuroscience. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005.Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Trans. 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Wandering the aisles of my local Woolworths in April this year, I noticed a large number of chocolate bilbies replacing chocolate rabbits. In these harsh economic times it seems that even the Easter bunny is in danger of losing his Easter job. While the changing shape of Easter chocolate may seem to be a harmless affair, the expulsion of the rabbit from Easter celebrations has a darker side. In this paper I look at the campaign to replace the Easter bunny with the Easter bilby, and the implications this mediated conservation move has for living rabbits in the Australian ecosystem. Essential to this discussion is the premise that studies of ecology must take into account the impact of media and culture on environmental issues. Of particular interest is the role of narrative, and the way the stories we tell about rabbits determine how they are treated in real life. While I recognise that the Australian bilby’s struggle for survival is a tale which should be told, I also argue that the vilification of the European-Australian rabbit is part of the native/invasive dualism which has ceased to be helpful, and has instead become a motivator of unproductive violence. In place of this simplified dichotomous narrative, I propose an ethic of "ecological remembrance" to combat the totalising eradication of the European rabbit from the Australian environment and culture. The Bilby vs the Bunny: A Case Study in "Media Selection" Easter Bunny says, ‘Bilby, I want you to have my job.You know about sharing and taking care.I think Australia should have an Easter Bilby.We rabbits have become too greedy and careless.Rabbits must learn from bilbies and other bush creatures’. The lines above are taken from Ali Garnett and Kaye Kessing’s children’s story, Easter Bilby, co-published by the Australian Anti-Rabbit Research Foundation as part of the campaign to replace the Easter bunny with the eco-politically correct Easter bilby. The first chocolate bilbies were made in 1982, but the concept really took off when major chocolate retailer Darrell Lea became involved in 2002. Since this time Haigh’s chocolate, Cadbury, and Pink Lady have also released delicious cocoa natives for consumption, and both Darrell Lea and Haigh’s use their profits to support bilby assistance programs, creating the “pleasant Easter sensation” that “eating a chocolate bilby is helping save the real thing” (Phillips). The Easter bilby campaign is a highly mediated approach to conservation which demonstrates the new biological principle Phil Bagust has recognised as “media selection.” Bagust observes that in our “hybridised global society” it is impossible to separate “the world of genetic selection from the world of human symbolic and material diversity as if they exist in different universes” (8). The Australian rabbit thrives in “natural selection,” having adapted to the Australian environment so successfully it threatens native species and the economic productivity of farmers. But the rabbit loses out in “cultural selection” where it is vilified in the media for its role in environmental degradation. The campaign to conserve the bilby depends, in a large part, on the rabbit’s failures in “media selection”. On Good Friday 2012 Sky News Australia quoted Mike Drinkwater of Wild Life Sydney’s support of the Easter bilby campaign: Look, the reason that we want to highlight the bilby as an iconic Easter animal is, number one, rabbits are a pest in Australia. Secondly, the bilby has these lovely endearing rabbit-like qualities. And thirdly, the bilby is a beautiful, iconic, native animal that is struggling. It is endangered so it’s important that we do all we can to support that. Drinkwater’s appeal to the bilby’s “endearing rabbit-like qualities” demonstrates that it is not the Australian rabbit’s individual embodiment which detracts from its charisma in Australian society. In this paper I will argue that the stories we tell about the European-Australian rabbit’s alienation from Indigenous country diminish the species cultural appeal. These stories are told with passionate conviction to save and protect native flora and fauna, but, too often, this promotion of the native relies on the devaluation of non-native life, to the point where individual rabbits are no longer morally considerable. Such a hierarchical approach to conservation is not only ethically problematic, but can also be ineffective because the native/invasive approach to ecology is overly simplistic. A History of Rabbit Stories In the Easter Bilby children’s book the illustrated rabbit offers to make itself disappear from the “Easter job.” The reason for this act of self-destruction is a despairing recognition of its “greedy and careless” nature, and at the same time, its selfless offer to be replaced by the ecologically conscious Bilby. In this sacrificial gesture is the implicit offering of all rabbit life for the salvation of native ecosystems and animal life. This plot line slots into a much larger series of stories we have been telling about the Australian environment. Libby Robin has observed that settler Australians have always had a love-hate relationship with the native flora and fauna of the continent (6), either devaluing native plants, animals, and ecosystems, or launching into an “overcompensating patriotic strut about the Australian biota” (Robin 9). The colonising dynamic of early Australian society was built on the devaluation of animals such as the bilby. This was reflected in the introduction of feral animals by “acclimatisation societies” and the privileging of “pets” such as cats and dogs over native animals (Plumwood). Alfred Crosby has made the persuasive argument that the invasion of Australia, and other “neo-European” countries, was, necessarily, more-than-human. In his work, Ecological Imperialism, Crosby charts the historical partnership between human European colonisers in Indigenous lands and the “grunting, lowing, neighing, crowing, chirping, snarling, buzzing, self-replicating and world-altering avalanche” (194) of introduced life that they brought with them. In response to this “guilt by association” Australians have reversed the values in the dichotomous colonial dynamic to devalue the introduced and so “empower” the colonised native. In this new “anti-colonial” story, rabbits signify a wound of colonisation which has spread across and infected indigenous country. J. M. Arthur’s (130) analysis of language in relation to colonisation highlights some of the important lexical characteristics in the rabbit stories we now tell. He observes that the rabbits’ impact on the county is described using a vocabulary of contamination: “It is a ‘menace’, a ‘problem’, an ‘infestation’, a ‘nuisance’, a ‘plague’” (170). This narrative of disease encourages a redemptive violence against living rabbits to “cure” the rabbit problem in order to atone for human mistakes in a colonial past. Redemptive Violence in Action Rabbits in Australia have been subject to a wide range of eradication measures over the past century including shooting, the destruction of burrows, poisoning, ferreting, trapping, and the well-known rabbit proof fence in Western Australia. Particularly noteworthy in this slaughter has been the introduction of biological control measures with the release of the savage and painful disease Myxomatosis in late December 1950, followed by the release of the Calicivirus (Rabbit Haemorrhage Disease, or RHD) in 1996. As recently as March 2012 the New South Wales Department of Primary Industries announced a 1.5 million dollar program called “RHD Boost” which is attempting to develop a more effective biological control agent for rabbits who have become immune to the Calicivirus. In this perverse narrative, disease becomes a cure for the rabbit’s contamination of Australian environments. Calicivirus is highly infectious, spreads rapidly, and kills rabbits en masse. Following the release of Calicivirus in 1995 it killed 10 million rabbits in eight weeks (Ponsonby Veterinary Centre). While Calicivirus appears to be more humane than the earlier biological control, Myxomatosis, there are indications that it causes rabbits pain and stress. Victims are described as becoming very quiet, refusing to eat, straining for breath, losing coordination, becoming feverish, and excreting bloody nasal discharge (Heishman, 2011). Post-mortem dissection generally reveals a “pale and mottled liver, many small streaks or blotches on the lungs and an enlarged spleen... small thrombi or blood clots” (Coman 173). Public criticism of the cruel methods involved in killing rabbits is often assuaged with appeals to the greater good of the ecosystem. The Anti-Rabbit research foundation state on their Website, Rabbit-Free Australia, that: though killing rabbits may sound inhumane, wild rabbits are affecting the survival of native Australian plants and animals. It is our responsibility to control them. We brought the European rabbit here in the first place — they are an invasive pest. This assumption of personal and communal responsibility for the rabbit “problem” has a fundamental blind-spot. Arthur (130) observes that the progress of rabbits across the continent is often described as though they form a coordinated army: The rabbit extends its ‘dominion’, ‘dispossesses’ the indigenous bilby, causes sheep runs to be ‘abandoned’ and country ‘forfeited’, leaving the land in ‘ecological tatters’. While this language of battle pervades rabbit stories, humans rarely refer to themselves as invaders into Aboriginal lands. Arthur notes that, by taking responsibility for the rabbit’s introduction and eradication, the coloniser assumes an indigenous status as they defend the country against the exotic invader (134). The apprehension of moral responsibility can, in this sense, be understood as the assumption of settler indigeneity. This does not negate the fact that assuming human responsibility for the native environment can be an act of genuine care. In a country scarred by a history of ecocide, movements like the Easter Bilby campaign seek to rectify the negligent mistakes of the past. The problem is that reactive responses to the colonial devaluation of native life can be unproductive because they preserve the basic structure of the native/invasive dichotomy by simplistically reversing its values, and fail to respond to more complex ecological contexts and requirements (Plumwood). This is also socially problematic because the native/invasive divide of nonhuman life overlays more complex human politics of colonisation in Australia. The Native/Invasive Dualism The bilby is currently listed as an “endangered” species in Queensland and as “vulnerable” nationally. Bilbies once inhabited 70% of the Australian landscape, but now inhabit less than 15% of the country (Save the Bilby Fund). This dramatic reduction in bilby numbers has multiple causes, but the European rabbit has played a significant role in threatening the bilby species by competing for burrows and food. Other threats come from the predation of introduced species, such as feral cats and foxes, and the impact of farmed introduced species, such as sheep and cattle, which also destroy bilby habitats. Because the rabbit directly competes with the bilby for food and shelter in the Australian environment, the bilby can be classed as the underdog native, appealing to that larger Australian story about “the fair go”. It seems that the Easter bilby campaign is intended to level out the threat posed by the highly successful and adaptive rabbit through promoting the bilby in the “cultural selection” stakes. This involves encouraging bilby-love, while actively discouraging love and care for the introduced rabbits which threaten the bilby’s survival. On the Rabbit Free Australia Website, the campaign rationale to replace the Easter bunny with the Easter bilby claims that: Very young children are indoctrinated with the concept that bunnies are nice soft fluffy creatures whereas in reality they are Australia’s greatest environmental feral pest and cause enormous damage to the arid zone. In this statement the lived corporeal presence of individual rabbits is denied as the “soft, fluffy” body disappears behind the environmentally problematic species’ behaviour. The assertion that children are “indoctrinated” to find rabbits love-able, and that this conflicts with the “reality” of the rabbit as environmentally destructive, denies the complexity of the living animal and the multiple possible responses to it. That children find rabbits “fluffy” is not the result of pro-rabbit propaganda, but because rabbits are fluffy! That Rabbit Free Australia could construe this to be some kind of elaborate falsehood demonstrates the disappearance of the individual rabbit in the native/invasive tale of colonisation. Rabbit-Free Australia seeks to eradicate the animal not only from Australian ecosystems, but from the hearts and minds of children who are told to replace the rabbit with the more fitting native bilby. There is no acceptance here of the rabbit as a complex animal that evokes ambivalent responses, being both worthy of moral consideration, care and love, and also an introduced and environmentally destructive species. The native/invasive dualism is a subject of sustained critique in environmental philosophy because it depends on a disjunctive temporal division drawn at the point of European settlement—1788. Environmental philosopher Thom van Dooren points out that the divide between animals who belong and animals who should be eradicated is “fundamentally premised on the reification of a specific historical moment that ignores the changing and dynamic nature of ecologies” (11). Mark Davis et al. explain that the practical value of the native/invasive dichotomy in conservation programs is seriously diminished and in some cases is becoming counterproductive (153). They note that “classifying biota according to their adherence to cultural standards of belonging, citizenship, fair play and morality does not advance our understanding of ecology” (153). Instead, they promote a more inclusive approach to conservation which accepts non-native species as part of Australia’s “new nature” (Low). Recent research into wildlife conservation indicates a striking lack of evidence for the case that pest control protects native diversity (see Bergstromn et al., Davis et al., Ewel & Putz, Reddiex & Forsyth). The problematic justification of “killing for conservation” becomes untenable when conservation outcomes are fundamentally uncertain. The mass slaughter which rabbits have been subjected to in Australia has been enacted with the goal of fostering life. This pursuit of creation through destruction, of re-birth through violent death, enacts a disturbing twist where death comes to signal the presence of life. This means, perversely, that a rabbit’s dead body becomes a valuable sign of environmental health. Conservation researchers Ben Reddiex and David M. Forsyth observe that this leads to a situation where environmental managers are “more interested in estimating how many pests they killed rather than the status of biodiversity they claimed to be able to protect” (715). What Other Stories Can We Tell about the Rabbit? With an ecological narrative that is failing, producing damage and death instead of fostering love and life, we are left with the question—what other stories can we tell about the place of the European rabbit in the Australian environment? How can the meaning ecologies of media and culture work in harmony with an ecological consciousness that promotes compassion for nonhuman life? Ignoring the native/invasive distinction entirely is deeply problematic because it registers the ecological history of Australia as continuity, and fails to acknowledge the colonising impact of European settlement on the environment. At the same time, continually reinforcing that divide through pro-invasive or pro-native stories drastically simplifies complex and interconnected ecological systems. Instead of the unproductive native/invasive dualism, ecologists and philosophers alike are suggesting “reconciliatory” approaches to the inhabitants of our shared environments which emphasise ecology as relational rather than classificatory. Evolutionary ecologist Scott P. Carroll uses the term “conciliation biology” as an alternative to invasion biology which focuses on the eradication of invasive species. “Conciliation biology recognises that many non-native species are permanent, that outcomes of native-nonnative interactions will vary depending on the scale of assessment and the values assigned to the biotic system, and that many non-native species will perform positive functions in one or more contexts” (186). This hospitable approach aligns with what Michael Rosensweig has termed “reconciliation ecology”—the modification and diversification of anthropogenic habitats to harbour a wider variety of species (201). Professor of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology Mark Bekoff encourages a “compassionate conservation” which avoids the “numbers game” of species thinking where certain taxonomies are valued above others and promotes approaches which “respect all life; treat individuals with respect and dignity; and tread lightly when stepping into the lives of animals”(24). In a similar vein environmental philosopher Deborah Bird Rose offers the term “Eco-reconciliation”, to describe a mode of “living generously with others, singing up relationships so that we all flourish” (Wild Dog 59). It may be that the rabbit cannot live in harmony with the bilby, and in this situation I am unsure of what a conciliation approach to ecology might look like in terms of managing both of these competing species. But I am sure what it should not look like if we are to promote approaches to ecology and conservation which avoid the simplistic dualism of native/invasive. The devaluation of rabbit life to the point of moral inconsiderability is fundamentally unethical. By classifying certain lives as “inappropriate,” and therefore expendable, the process of rabbit slaughter is simply too easy. The idea that the rabbit should disappear is disturbing in its abstract approach to these living, sentient creatures who share with us both place and history. A dynamic understanding of ecology dissipates the notion of a whole or static “nature.” This means that there can be no simple or comprehensive directives for how humans should interact with their environments. One of the most insidious aspects of the native/invasive divide is the way it makes violent death appear inevitable, as though rabbits must be culled. This obscures the many complex and contingent choices which determine the fate of nonhuman life. Understanding the dynamism of ecology requires an acceptance that nature does not provide simple prescriptive responses to problems, and instead “people are forced to choose the kind of environment they want” (189) and then take actions to engender it. This involves difficult decisions, one of which is culling to maintain rabbit numbers and facilitate environmental resilience. Living within a world of “discordant harmonies”, as Daniel Botkin evocatively describes it, environmental decisions are necessarily complex. The entanglement of ecological systems demands that we reject simplistic dualisms which offer illusory absolution from the consequences of the difficult choices humans make about life, ecologies, and how to manage them. Ecological Remembrance The vision of a rabbit-free Australia is unrealistic. As organisation like the Anti-Rabbit Research Foundation pursue this future ideal, they eradicate rabbits from the present, and seek to remove them from the past by replacing them culturally with the more suitable bilby. Culled rabbits lie rotting en masse in fields, food for no one, and even their cultural impact in human society is sought to be annihilated and replaced with more appropriate native creatures. The rabbits’ deaths do not turn back to life in transformative and regenerative processes that are ecological and cultural, but rather that death becomes “an event with no future” (Rose, Wild Dog 25). This is true oblivion, as the rabbit is entirely removed from the world. In this paper I have made a case for the importance of stories in ecology. I have argued that the kinds of stories we tell about rabbits determines how we treat them, and so have positioned stories as an essential part of an ecological system which takes “cultural selection” seriously. In keeping with this emphasis on story I offer to the conciliation push in ecological thinking the term “ecological remembrance” to capture an ethic of sharing time while sharing space. This spatio-temporal hospitality is focused on maintaining heterogeneous memories and histories of all beings who have impacted on the environment. In Deborah Bird Rose’s terms this is a “recuperative work” which commits to direct dialogical engagement with the past that is embedded in the present (Wild Country 23). In this sense it is a form of recuperation that promotes temporal and ecological continuity. Eco-remembrance aligns with dynamic understandings of ecology because it is counter-linear. Instead of approaching the past as a static idyll, preserved and archived, ecological remembrance celebrates the past as an ongoing, affective presence which is lived and performed. Ecological remembrance, applied to the European rabbit in Australia, would involve rejecting attempts to extricate the rabbit from Australian environments and cultures. It would seek acceptance of the rabbit as part of Australia’s “new nature” (Low), and aim for recognition of the rabbit’s impact on human society as part of dynamic multi-species ecologies. In this sense ecological remembrance of the rabbit directly opposes the goal of the Foundation for Rabbit Free Australia to eradicate the European rabbit from Australian environment and culture. On the Rabbit Free Australia website, the section on biological controls states that “the point is not how many rabbits are killed, but how many are left behind”. The implication is that the millions upon millions of rabbit lives extinguished have vanished from the earth, and need not be remembered or considered. However, as Deborah Rose argues, “all deaths matter” (Wild Dog 21) and “no death is a mere death” (Wild Dog 22). Every single rabbit is an individual being with its own unique life. To deny this is tantamount to claiming that each rabbit that dies from shooting or poisoning is the same rabbit dying again and again. Rose has written that “death makes claims upon all of us” (Wild Dog 19). These are claims of ethics and compassion, a claim that “we look into the eyes of the dying and not flinch, that we reach out to hold and to help” (Wild Dog 20). This claim is a duty of remembrance, a duty to “bear witness” (Wiesel 160) to life and death. The Nobel Peace Prize winning author, Elie Wiesel, argued that memory is a reconciliatory force that creates bonds as mass annihilation seeks to destroy them. Memory ensures that no life becomes truly life-less as it wrests the victims of mass slaughter from “oblivion” and allows the dead to “vanquish death” (21). 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