Journal articles on the topic 'Child welfare South Australia History'

Young people leaving care are arguably one of the most vulnerable and disadvantaged groups in society. Compared to most young people, they face numerous barriers to accessing educational, employment and other developmental and transitional opportunities.Using information from interviews and a range of documents, this study compares the leaving care supports currently available in two Australian states, Victoria and New South Wales. Attention is drawn to the history of the leaving care debate in both states, the nature of the existing legislative and program supports for care leavers in each state, the key political and policy actors that have either helped or hindered the development of leaving care policies and services in each state, and the principal unmet needs of care leavers in each state.The findings suggest that NSW leads the way in terms of providing effective legislative and program supports to care leavers. The differences between Victoria and NSW are attributed to a number of factors including particularly the different relationships between the respective government bureaucracies and non-government child welfare sectors.

This article traces the history of child welfare in Australia, showing the ways in which policies and practices, deriving primarily from Britain, were adopted and adapted in a nation in which jurisdiction was split between colonies/states and further divided, within states, on the basis of race. It argues that child welfare has always been part of the nation-building project, central to national objectives when children could be constructed as future citizens, marginal, and more punitive, when they were more easily understood as threats to social stability. In this first part it examines the history of welfare provision for non-indigenous children in Australia from 1788 to 1939. The second part, to be published in a subsequent issue, will discuss post-war developments in services for non-indigenous children, indigenous child welfare services and the historiography of child welfare in Australia.

This article traces the history of child welfare in Australia, showing the ways in which policies and practices, deriving primarily from Britain, were adopted and adapted in a nation in which jurisdiction was split between colonies/states and further divided, within states, on the basis of race. It argues that child welfare has always been part of the nation-building project, central to national objectives when children could be constructed as future citizens, marginal, and more punitive, when they were more easily understood as threats to social stability. In this second part, it discusses post-war developments in services for non-indigenous children, and indigenous child welfare services. It concludes with a discussion of the historiography of child welfare in Australia arguing that because, to date, historical writing has concentrated on localised or specialist studies, child welfare professionals have limited access to an understanding of the history of the systems within which they work.

Since 2000, the New South Wales (NSW) Government in Australia has pursued major child welfare reforms. Responding to the ‘crisis in child protection’ and informed by a public health approach, key aims were to prevent child maltreatment and promote child welfare by ‘expanding and enhancing early intervention and family services’. This article critically reviews the aims, approach and main developments in NSW. The article argues that in several respects the reforms extended and enhanced early intervention and family services in cost-effective ways but suffered from implementation problems, limitations in service developments and major reform challenges which inhibited their scope and impacts. These limitations raise critical issues about the reform framework, resource constraints and ideological influences.

This paper investigates the demands on social work resources in the north east region of the Department For Family and Community Services in South Australia, and examines the attitudes of workers to the question of access. Twenty three social workers, working predominantly in Child and Family Teams, were interviewed. A two part questionnaire was devised. The initial data covered information relating to the frequency, duration and supervision of access visits. The second part of the questionnaire used a semi-structured, open-ended format in order to explore social workers' knowledge and values in respect to access. The results of these interviews are presented and the implications for policy and practice in relation to statutory social work are discussed.

ABSTRACTWhilst quantitive and ‘positivist’ modes of comparative social policy can reveal significant structural factors involved in the making of welfare states, they too often ignore the role of human agency, intention and political processes. A critical-historical comparative case study of the introduction of ‘child endowment’ and of ‘family allowances’ respectively in Australia (1941) and in Canada (1944) reminds us of the interplay between structural constraints and human agency in the history of welfare states. Detailed analysis suggests that institutionalised arrangements in Australia after 1905 to resolve capital-labour conflict via arbitral and wage fixation mechanisms put the question of the adequacy of wages in meeting family needs and with it proposals for child endowment onto the public agenda as early as 1920. In Canada the absence of such mechanisms, and alternative welfare arrangements to deal with family welfare, combined to keep such proposals off the public agenda. After 1939 the development of ‘war economies’ in Australia and Canada created common contradictions for governments, trying to maintain both industrial peace and anti-inflation policies, which the introduction of family allowances in both countries were attempts to resolve. Consideration is also given to a range of political problems and contexts in both countries which this particular policy measure attempted to deal with.

This article records briefly the history of the Family Inclusion Network as an organisation that promotes family inclusive child protection practice. Since its inception in Queensland in 2006, Family Inclusion Network organisations have been formed elsewhere and now exist in Western Australia, South Australia, Victoria, Tasmania, Australian Capital Territory and New South Wales. In 2010, developments at a national level saw the formation of the Family Inclusion Network Australia. Most organisations are incorporated and some have achieved charitable status. Each organisation endorses a common set of aims and objectives. There are, however, differences in terms of whether state or territory organisations accept government funding or not, are staffed by professionals or rely entirely on volunteer personnel, and have a capacity or otherwise to provide direct casework services to parents. Some state organisations focus on information and advice services, and legislative and policy reform efforts. All have telephone advice lines and a webpage presence. This article also focuses on a code of ethics for child protection practice and on the contribution parents can make to child protection services, and their rights to do so.

Five hundred concerns about abuse to children cases were followed from the initial report to a child welfare system through the intervention process to criminal prosecution. The sample originated with the Child Protection Services, a unit based in a paediatric hospital in the state of South Australia, and its links to the wider child abuse reporting and intervention system are described. This study showed only 27.4% of cases substantiated at the welfare/health level were prosecuted in criminal courts, and only 17% achieved a conviction, half of those resulting from a guilty plea. The apparent reasons for this are detailed, including the links to the characteristics of the children, the accused and the professional and legal systems. The study suggests non-prosecution does not indicate that cases were too readily substantiated. On the contrary, constraints in the legal system lead to choices being made by all involved about whether to proceed which significantly reduce the likelihood of prosecution.

ObjectivesChildren whose parents have a history of criminal offending may be at risk of higher rates of emergency department (ED) presentation, along with other adverse health outcomes. We used data from a large, population-based record linkage project to examine the association between maternal and paternal criminal offending and the incidence of ED presentations among child offspring.MethodsData for 72 772 children with linked parental records were drawn from the New South Wales Child Development Study. Information on parental criminal offending (spanning 1994–2016) and child ED presentations (spanning 2005–2016; approximately ages 2–12 years) was obtained from linked administrative records. Cox proportional hazards regression analyses were conducted to examine the association between parental offending and the incidence of children’s ED presentations for any reason and for physical injury, while accounting for important covariates.ResultsChild rates of ED presentation, particularly for physical injury, were higher among those with parental history of criminal offending, after adjusting for covariates. The magnitude of the association was higher for paternal criminal offending (ED presentation for any reason: HR=1.44 (95% CI 1.41 to 1.48); physical injury: HR=1.70 (95% CI 1.65 to 1.75)) than maternal criminal offending (any reason: HR=0.99 (95% CI 0.95 to 1.03); physical injury: HR=1.05 (95% CI 1.00 to 1.10)).ConclusionChildren of parents, particularly of fathers, with a history of criminal offending have an increased incidence of ED presentation, including for potentially avoidable physical injury. These findings require replication and further research to understand the mechanisms underlying these associations.

This paper sets the context for a review of family preservation and family reunification research by briefly noting the national and international crisis that currently surrounds foster care. It then presents the recent family preservation and family reunification research from the US and Australia. Some of this material is drawn from the book by Maluccio, Ainsworth and Thoburn (2000), ‘Child welfare outcome research in the United States, the United Kingdom and Australia’. The decision to focus on the US material stems from the fact that these terms originated there in the 1980s and this is where the major research studies are to be found The final comments focus on the re-emphasis on permanency planning and adoption, at least in New South Wales (NSW), and the implications of this for family preservation and reunification services.

The position of single parent families in Australia is examined from a historical perspective, and this is a prelude to a discussion of service provision in maternity hospitals and Baby Health Centres in New South Wales, which are now staffed under the auspices of the Community Health Program. The paper is concerned with issues raised by criteria used to predict child abuse. These criteria are examined from two methodological perspectives; the first applies to the welfare critiques of social control to health service delivery, and the second is an epidemiological critique that notes an extremely high error rate in predicting child abuse at one maternity hospital.Some data from the New South Wales Maternal/Perinatal Statistics Collection on low birthweight and hospital status is used to discuss some implications of this critique related to service delivery and social class of both providers and recipients of health services.

Children in out-of-home care (OOHC) present with high levels of physical, developmental and emotional and behavioural difficulties, yet often fail to receive appropriate services. This article describes a joint health and welfare service specifically developed to provide comprehensive physical, developmental and mental health assessments to a cohort of children entering long-term care in one region of Sydney, New South Wales (NSW), Australia. Paediatric, allied health, dental and psychosocial assessments were co-ordinated from a single referral from the child’s welfare case manager. Follow-up appointments were held 6—12 months later to assess the outcomes of recommendations. Physical, mental health and developmental difficulties in the children are reported, the implications for service requirements are presented and process blocks described. There is a need for a specific co-ordinating service to overcome the inherent fragmentation of this group (related both to transience and change in the welfare sector, and levels of comorbidity and chronicity in health presentations). Health and Welfare services must operate together, with an awareness of the processes and resource constraints in each sector, if they are to deliver sustainable and reliable health care to this vulnerable group.

This is an exploratory study focused on open adoptions from foster care conducted through the public child protection agency in New South Wales, Australia. The results from an online survey completed by 23 respondents indicated that most of the adoptees were reportedly in the normative range of adjustment, had positive relationships with their adoptive parents and had ongoing contact with their birth families. Most of the adoptive parents had received pre-adoption supports to encourage post-adoption contact. These preliminary results are encouraging, but larger and preferably longitudinal studies are needed to guide decision-making regarding adoptions from foster care. The new challenge for the child welfare system is how to collect reliable data about the well-being of children already living in this permanent type of care and how best to support them.

A history of children's welfare services in Australia demonstrates the significant and on-going role of the non-government sector. This is particularly true within New South Wales. Many programmes, frequently under the auspice of mainstream religious institutions, were established early in response to critical social needs. These programmes routinely developed in isolation from each other, often with primary ties only to the auspice body and the local community. Some things are slow to change.Today the non-government sector is an amorphous collective of agencies with highly variable philosophical under pinnings, welfare ideologies, resources and competency levels.We have learned a great deal about the needs of children, the process of change, and competency in service delivery (within a specific statutory umbrella). Our new knowledge is yet to be consistently reflected in practice.

PLAYGROUPS BEGAN IN AUSTRALIA in the early 1970s, at the same time as significant changes in early childhood education and care (ECEC) began taking place. This paper explores how early playgroups were positioned in the ECEC policy, and the experiences of playgroup organisers in New South Wales. Methods used were documentary analysis of Project Care (Social Welfare Commission, 1974) and interviews with key players. Findings were that playgroups grew rapidly in response to grassroots demand from mothers wanting their children to learn through quality play, besides the demand for adult social support. Since Project Care was strongly influenced by feminist lobbying and the objective of enabling women to engage in paid work—and playgroups relied on mothers to deliver the service—playgroups were an uneasy fit in the ECEC policy. Although Project Care integrated playgroups into its recommendations for ECEC services, subsequent funding was at a low level. Today, ECEC services would benefit from a strengthening of the community playgroups model.

AbstractThe Human Genetics Society of Australasia is a vibrant professional society with more than 900 members that promotes and regulates the practice of human and medical genetics in Australia and New Zealand. The growth of human genetics was stimulated by the development of diagnostic clinical cytogenetics laboratories in the early to mid 1960s. This coincided with the recognition by medical specialists, mainly pediatricians, that genetic disorders, especially inborn errors of metabolism and birth defects, were of clinical interest and potentially challenging areas for their skills. The organization of professionals in human genetics was slow to evolve. There was an early Western Australian Human Genetics Society, and the cytogenetics community had begun to meet annually from about 1966 but was coordinated by a mailing list rather than as a formal organization. In 1976, as part of the celebrations of the Centenary Year of the Adelaide Children's Hospital, a clinical genetics meeting involving several high profile international speakers and most of the senior medical geneticists in Australia and New Zealand along with the annual meeting of the loose-knit cytogeneticists group agreed that a small working group be charged with setting up a Human Genetics Society. The society was formally incorporated in South Australia in 1977.

Extant literature onvocational reformsgives the impression that they, like other educational reforms, resulted from a consensus between northern industrialists and professional educators (e.g., Bowles and Gintis 1976; Cohen 1968; Cremin 1961; Cuban 1982; Fones-Wolf 1983; Kett 1982; Powers 1992; Tyack 1981 [1974]). If national educational reforms reflected national economic interests, we should expect twentieth-century federal vocational legislation to reflect the interests of an increasingly industrialized national economy. By the same token, regionally specific economic interests should find their reflection primarily in local educational practice. This view rests on the assumption that a “national economy” has existed and that federal policies have not reflected sectional economic interests. In reality, southern sectional interests have shaped a variety of economic and social policies, ranging from post-Reconstruction child labor and compulsory education laws to New Deal policies such as the 1933 National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA), the 1935 National Labor Relations (Wagner) Act, welfare policy, and the 1935 Social Security Act establishing old-age security and unemployment compensation (Alston and Ferrie 1985; Bensei 1984; Lieberman 1995; Quadagno 1988, 1994; Shulman 1991; Skocpol 1995).

The Northern Territory Emergency Response (NTER) was a raft of measures introduced by the Commonwealth of Australia in response to allegations of child sexual abuse in Northern Territory Aboriginal communities. The measures included the compulsory acquisition of Aboriginal lands, the quarantining of welfare payments, prohibitions on alcohol, and the vesting of expansive powers in the Commonwealth Minister to intervene in the affairs of Aboriginal organizations. This article aims to provide a brief historical background of Aboriginal people's experiences with the law in Australia, discuss certain provisoins of the NTER, and, finally, examine the consequences three years after the implementation of the NTER. Through this analysis, the author suggests that history remains a powerful influence, resulting in the NTER being based on assumptions of Aboriginal people that are grounded in a racist past. Further, independent studies have shown that the NTER has been largely ineffective at accomplishing its stated objectives.

For the child in residential care who, for whatever reason will not be returning to the natural family, long term foster placement is often seen as a means of providing a suitable alternative family environment. The formation of mutually satisfying emotional ties within a family setting is recognised as being an important ingredient is the healthy psychological development of a child. However, the high rate of foster placement breakdown attests to the fact that these ties are not easily formed.In South Australia, at any one time, approximately 2,300 children are known to be living apart from their parents. Some 1,500 of these children are in foster care. A 1982 Department for Community Welfare survey of a 50% sample of children who had been in continuous foster care for more than three years revealed that, while 60%of the sample had experienced only one foster placement, 24% had experienced three or more foster placements. Figures are similar In the United States where analysis of eleven foster care studies revealed that some 23% of children had three or more placements. (Westman, 1979).

Few studies have explored the socio-economic profile, service utilisation, obstetric history and pregnancy outcomes of ethnic women who utilise ethno-specific obstetric services in Australia. The purpose of this study was to form a profile of women who accessed the Ethnic Obstetric Liaison Services (EOLO) in South Western Sydney Area Health Service (SWSAHS), New South Wales and explore their beliefs about using maternal and infant health services. We found that the prevalence of risks and special needs varied significantly by language groups in this study sample. Our results suggest that equity of access to quality care for this group of mothers and infants can be assured if models similar to the EOLO in SWSAHS are thoroughly planned and developed, and take account of cultural appropriateness for the population served.

Purpose Child and family health (CAFH) services in Australia initially provide at least one nurse-home-visit following the birth of a child. Planning and referral then commences for the on-going provision of appropriate services to families. Unfortunately, services in rural and regional communities in Australia can be fragmented and poorly resourced. Little is known about CAFH nurses’ experiences of working with families in these communities. The purpose of this paper is to examine the way CAFH nurses work within a universal health service model that may be compromised by isolation, discontinuity and fragmentation. Design/methodology/approach Focus groups with 26 CAFH nurses from five rural, two regional and one urban community in New South Wales (NSW), Australia were conducted. A secondary, thematic analysis of the qualitative data were undertaken to reflect on change and continuity in the field of universal CAFH services. Analysis was driven by two key research questions: How do CAFH nurses experience their role in universal home-based CAFH services within rural and regional areas of Australia and, what unique factors are present in rural and regional areas that impact on their CAFH nursing role? Findings The experience of the CAFH nurses as presented by these data revealed a role that was family centred and concerned for the welfare of the family, yet compromised by the need to meet the disproportionately complex needs of families in the absence of a strong network of services. The opportunity to present the findings provides insight into the way in which families engage with available services in isolated communities. CAFH nurses in the study attempted to maintain service integrity by adapting to the unique context of their work. Originality/value It is important to understand the mechanisms through which CAFH nurses operate to work effectively with families referred to their service. This paper describes the way in which CAFH nurses work with families not meeting the threshold for more intensive and targeted home-visiting service delivery in rural and regional communities of NSW, Australia.

The Australian Institute of Health and Welfare (AIHW) has recently released a report on the educational outcomes for children and young people on guardianship or custody orders. This report, four years in the making, represents one of the first comprehensive Australian assessments based on educational performance data from multiple jurisdictions for children on guardianship or custody orders. Developed for the National Child Protection and Support Services data group, the study was funded by the Community and Disability Services Ministers’ Advisory Council (AIHW 2007).This pilot study examines how children on guardianship/custody orders are performing compared with all Australian children in education department-based testing for reading and numeracy in years 3, 5 and 7. Mean test scores were examined in addition to the achievement of national benchmarks for reading and numeracy. These nationally agreed benchmarks are designed to assess whether children have achieved the minimum standards for years 3, 5 and 7 (AIHW 2007). Data on 895 children on guardianship or custody orders were collected from five jurisdictions - Queensland, Victoria, South Australia, Tasmania and the Australian Capital Territory - for August 2003 (AIHW 2007). The data were linked through collaborative efforts by state and territory education and community services departments.

In every state and territory in Australia, child welfare departments, under various names, maintain or, alternatively, fund group homes for children and young people in the non-government sector. Increasingly, these group homes offer only four places with no integrated treatment or educational services. In that respect they can best be viewed as providing care and accommodation only. Since 2010, following the release of a definition of therapeutic residential care by the National Therapeutic Residential Care Work Group, there has been debate about how to make group homes therapeutic. In 2017, as part of a wider reform effort, New South Wales renamed all their out-of-home care (foster care and residential care) as intensive therapeutic care and ceased using the term residential. The net result is that the group homes in New South Wales will from now on be referred to as intensive therapeutic care homes. This article raises questions about the utility of this renaming and explores whether or not group homes can be therapeutic given the characteristics of the population of children and young people they accommodate, their small size, the staffing complement and the limited job satisfaction with high staff turnover as a consequence of this smallness. All of these factors lead to the well-documented, anti-therapeutic instability of the group home life space.

This paper describes caregiver-reported patterns of mental health service use for 347 pre-adolescent children in foster and kinship care in New South Wales (NSW), Australia. Children’s mean time in care and mean time with their present caregivers were 4.3 and 3.3 years respectively. Forty-four percent of children received individual therapy or counselling, 45% received interventions in the form of clinical guidance for their caregivers, and 31% received both forms of service. Among children scoring in the clinical range on any CBCL sub-scale ( N = 191), equivalent rates of mental health service use were 60%, 55% and 41% respectively. Although not directly comparable, these findings describe a higher rate of service use than that reported for children in care elsewhere. While children with more complex and severe difficulties had higher rates of service use, there was no evidence of variable access for treatment of different types of disorder. Predictors of service use are reported and contrasted with previous findings. The paper considers several features of the NSW child welfare, health and education systems that may account for the relatively high rate of service use.

AbstractThe paper examines the impact that a decision making model can have on child placement decisions. Using a pre and post test design with three different conditions, the research investigated the ability to increase the consistency of the placement decision by the use of a decision making model that includes explicit criteria.The study found that consistency of decision making was enhanced by the provision of the decision making model and that consistency could be further enhanced by the provision of training in the model. Implications for training of new workers and reduction of worker stress and burnout are discussed.The incident of child abuse and neglect continues to rise. The National Centre on Child Abuse and Neglect estimates that approximately one million children will be abused or neglected this year in the United States. In the State of Illinois alone, during fiscal year 1981 nearly 80,000 reports of abuse or neglect were received. Almost 50% of those reports were found to be actual cases of abuse or neglect.Whether the incident in Australia of child abuse and neglect is increasing or not is difficult to assess, since currently there is no standardised way of collecting data. However, from all indicators a similar increase is indeed occurring. Boss in his book, “On the Side of the Child”, reports that the number of cases seen by the Western Australian Department of Community Welfare has steadily increased. This is corroborated by statistics compiled by that State’s Advisory and Consultative Committee in Child Abuse (ACCCA). Their Statistical Information Report for July-December 1983 indicates an 86% increase in reports of sexual abuse and 12.5% increase in physical abuse. In Queensland the number of child abuse and/or neglect case investigations went from 1 095 in 1981 to 1 631 in 1982 – an increase of more than one third. In Tasmania between 1980 to 1982 the number of reports increased by nearly one-third, from 228-302. The Montrose Child Protection and Family Crisis Unit of the Department of Youth and Community Services in New South Wales report similar increases.On almost a daily basis, social workers are called upon to make far reaching decisions that have the potential to be a life consequential both for the child who is the victim of abuse and/or neglect and that child’s family. Because these decisions, especially the placement decision, have such great ramifications, social workers should be expected to make decisions with great care, consideration and consistency. This may be due, in part because agencies have been slow to explicate, empirically validate, and systematically apply decision making criteria that assist workers in making case decisions.While research indicates that criteria do exist and are used by child welfare workers, the research also indicates that they are not used in any systematic fashion. The result is that idiosyncratic decisions are invited and the potential spectre of gross inequities in the delivery of social services exists. Unless asystematic, consensually based decision making model is used that explicates both the decisions that need to be made along with a specific set of criteria for making these decisions, it is impossible for the child welfare agency to guarantee a minimum level of service delivery.

This paper presents a new initiative in the South-Eastern Health Region of Norway to establish a regional resource center focusing on services for children and adolescents aged 2–18 years with prenatal exposure to alcohol or other drugs. In Norway, the prevalence of fetal alcohol spectrum (FAS) is not known but has been estimated to be between 1 and 2 children per 1000 births, while the prevalence of prenatal exposure to illicit drugs is unknown. The resource center is the first of its kind in Scandinavia and will have three main objectives: (1) provide hospital staff, community health and child welfare personnel, and special educators with information, educational courses, and seminars focused on the identification, diagnosis, and treatment of children with a history of prenatal alcohol/drug exposure; (2) provide specialized health services, such as diagnostic services and intervention planning, for children referred from hospitals in the South-Eastern Health Region of Norway; and (3) initiate multicenter studies focusing on the diagnostic process and evaluation of interventions.

Australia has one of the world’s highest life expectancy rates, and there is a rapidly growing need for informal caregivers to support individuals who are ageing, have chronic illness or a lifelong disability. These informal carers themselves face numerous physical and psychological stressors in attempting to balance the provision of care with their personal life, their work commitments and family responsibilities. However, little is known about the specific challenges facing rural carers and the barriers that limit their capacity to provide ongoing support. A cross-sectional survey composed of open-ended responses and demographic/socioeconomic measures used routinely by the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) and the Australian Institute of Health & Welfare (AIHW) was used with a cohort of 225 rurally-based carers within New South Wales, Australia. Demographic questions specified the respondents’ age, gender, employment, caregiving status, condition of and relationship to the care recipient, postcode, residency status, and distance and frequency travelled to provide care. Open-ended comments sections were provided to allow participants to describe any issues and problems associated with caregiving including employment, travel, residency, carer support groups and any other general information. The results show that most rural carers were middle-aged women supporting a spouse or a child. Unpredictability associated with providing care exacerbated demands on carers’ time, with many reporting significant employment consequences associated with inflexibility and limited job options in rural locations. Specific issues associated with travel requirements to assist with care were reported, as were the impacts of care provision on the respondents’ own personal health. The majority of carers were aware of the social supports available in their local rural community, but did not access them, leaving the carers vulnerable to marginalisation. Problems associated with employment were noted as resulting in financial pressures and associated personal stress and anxiety for the caregivers. While this issue is not necessarily limited to rural areas, it would appear that the lack of opportunity and flexibility evident in rural areas would exacerbate this problem for non-metropolitan residents. The participants also identified specific barriers to the provision of care in rural areas, including the significant impact of travel. Access to support services, such as carer groups, were rarely accessed due to a mix of factors including inaccessibility, poor timing and a lack of anonymity. Financially, there was considerable evidence of hardship, and there is an urgent need for a comprehensive review of government and community-based support to better meet the needs of rural carers.

Some communities have peripheral zones inhabited by persons with a different culture than the majority of the general population, such as the Aboriginals in Australia, the Native Americans in the U.S. and Canada, the Eskimos in Lapland, and the Bedouins in Israel. These citizens are not receiving the same medical or rehabilitation services as the citizens of the metropolitan areas due to the fact that health and welfare programs are not adapted to their unique needs. At the Soroka University Medical Center in Beer-Sheva, Israel, the health and rehabilitation services have a very large and heterogeneous catch-up population serving most of the south of Israel. The purpose of this study was to look at the utilization and the number of appointments for child rehabilitation services by the Bedouin population compared to the general population in the south of Israel at the Zusman Child Development Center (CDC).The records of appointments to the CDC between the years 1995–1999 inclusive were studied and we randomly chose to limit the study to January, April, July, and October of each year, and randomly chose the daily records of nine therapists, three from each discipline (occuptional therapy [OT], physical therapy [PT], and speech and language therapy [SLT]). There were 8,504 appointments during these 4 months of the years 1995–1999, 2,255 of which were for Bedouin and 6,249 for Jewish children. Noncompliance with therapy appointments (NCTA) for the same period for both the Bedouins (31%) and Jewish children (26%), with a significant difference between the two populations, was noted. Of all the Jewish childrens’ appointments, the percentage of all three services was similar: 33% to PT, 38% to OT, and 29% to SLT, but for the Bedouin children, the percentage between the three services was significantly different: 62% to PT, 34% to OT, and 3% to SLT. These results seem to indicate that the Bedouin families prefer the PT and OT over the SLT. Our results enhanced the need for planning a model for supplying health services adapted to clients coming from different cultures. According to this model, we need to take into consideration the cultural differences, the accessibility to rehabilitation services, and the economical impact on the family; all in all, to give a better solution to the patient with special needs.

The highly regarded Children's Language series continues in 2001 with two new volumes, 10 and 11 (Nelson, Aksu-Koc, & Johnson, 2001, Vol. 11). Under the able leadership of Keith Nelson (who has edited all but two volumes), each volume since 1978 has represented current topics in research on child language; and the series provides a comprehensive overview of the history and progression of the study of language development over the past two and a half decades. Since Volume 7, the papers included in the series were chosen from the range of presentations at the meetings of the International Association of the Study of Child Language, which bring together researchers from Asia, Europe, the Middle East, Australia, North and South America, and Africa. Prior to Volume 7, articles in each volume also represented an international scope.

There is now convincing evidence that childhood maltreatment is associated with youth offending; however, relatively little is known about the characteristics and needs of those who are involved in both the child protection and youth justice systems, and the extent to which these might differ according to level of child protection involvement. This study reports the characteristics and needs of 2,045 young people who were under supervision in secure custody or detention in South Australia between 1995 and 2012 according to the level of exposure to the child protection system in an Australian jurisdiction. Five groups of young offenders were compared: (a) no known child protection notifications or substantiated experience of abuse and/or neglect, (b) notifications only, (c) substantiated notifications, (d) notifications or substantiations and subsequent placement in out-of-home care (OHC), and (e) placement in OHC only. The results indicate that young people who have a history of child protection system involvement have significantly greater and more complex needs than those who have no child protection experience. It is concluded that different service responses may be required to meet the diverse needs of these groups of young people under youth justice supervision.

Therapeutic residential care is currently seen as an answer to managing the increasing disruption experienced by many young people in care. Yet the history of residential care in Australia is problematic and the international evidence for the efficacy of therapeutic approaches is very poor. The author's own agency's experience of providing residential care also indicates that caution is needed before increasing the numbers of residential ‘beds’. Problems include young people's dislike of residential options and the stressfulness of an environment that involves shift workers and multiple transient relationships. Further, residential care can be a financial drain on child welfare budgets (being tendered to non-government agencies at over seven times the cost of community care), and has the potential danger – when beds are empty – of being used for young people who do not need this level of care. Residential care may appear to be the only option for a handful of adolescents no longer suited to foster care; but before developing therapeutic residential care further, government must be able to guarantee, at a minimum: a safe environment, a nurturing and healing environment, continuity of care, and the capacity to meet young people's developmental and permanency needs. These standards must be met, not just now, but over the long term.

Perinatal distress and depression can have significant impacts on both the mother and baby. The present study investigated psychosocial and obstetric factors associated with perinatal distress and depressive symptoms among culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) Australian women in Sydney, New South Wales. The study used retrospectively linked maternal and child health data from two Local Health Districts in Australia (N = 25,407). Perinatal distress was measured using the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale (EPDS, scores of 10–12) and depressive symptoms, with EPDS scores of 13 or more. Multivariate multinomial logistic regression models were used to investigate the association between psychosocial and obstetric factors with perinatal distress and depressive symptoms. The prevalence of perinatal distress and depressive symptoms among CALD Australian women was 10.1% for antenatal distress; 7.3% for antenatal depressive symptoms; 6.2% for postnatal distress and 3.7% for postnatal depressive symptoms. Antenatal distress and depressive symptoms were associated with a lack of partner support, intimate partner violence, maternal history of childhood abuse and being known to child protection services. Antenatal distress and depressive symptoms were strongly associated with postnatal distress and depressive symptoms. Higher socioeconomic status had a protective effect on antenatal and postnatal depressive symptoms. Our study suggests that current perinatal mental health screening and referral for clinical assessment is essential, and also supports a re-examination of perinatal mental health policy to ensure access to culturally responsive mental health care that meets patients’ needs.

IntroductionResearch highlights the importance of early intervention for children with autism spectrum disorder with better outcomes associated with earlier access to early intensive intervention (EII) programmes. However, there is significant variability in response to EII despite children receiving the same programmes.Methods and analysisA prospective, multisite cohort study using a pre–post design assesses the predictors of early intervention outcomes for children who receive EII through six early intervention services (Autism Specific Early Learning and Care Centres, ASELCCs) across Australia. Child and family characteristics at entry to and exit from ASELCCs are ascertained using measures of autism symptoms (Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule-2; Social Communication Questionnaire); cognitive, language and developmental skills (Mullen Scale of Early Learning); adaptive function (Vineland Adaptive Behaviour Scale—second Edition); behaviours (Child Behaviour Checklist—1.5 to 5 years; Restricted Repetitive Behaviour Scale); parental stress (Parent Stress Index-4 Short Form); quality of life (Quality of Life in Autism Scale) and a semistructured family history questionnaire for sociodemographic, family and psychosocial characteristics. Characteristics at entry are used as predictors of outcome at exit following EII approximately 12 months later. The change in score from baseline to exit will be the primary outcome of interest. The mediating role of family and psychosocial factors will also be considered.Ethics approvalUniversity of New South Wales Human Research Ethics Committee (HC14267).Dissemination of resultsFindings will be published in peer-reviewed journals and presented at conferences. A report summarising data and the interpretation of data will be published.

Sustained health home visiting (SHHV) is a valuable means of implementing early intervention for vulnerable families with infants or young children. This first of a two-part report describes clients and identifies nurses’ activities with or on behalf of clients as part of a pilot SHHV program undertaken within a socioeconomically disadvantaged suburban area of Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. A forthcoming report describes the results of the intervention. Child and family health nurses visited vulnerable clients who were pregnant and/or had an infant aged 36 months or younger. Interventions consisted of direct and indirect (i.e. services involving a third party) client contact. Nurses documented all activities undertaken with or on behalf of clients using pre-determined codes. Over 29 months, the program accepted 136 referrals and 118 (87%) consented to the evaluation. Families had a mean of eight risk factors, which commonly included current mental health symptoms or disorders (49%), a history or current experience of domestic violence (51%) and being known to the Department of Community Services (40%). Nurses’ most frequent interventions addressed the main carer’s emotional and health needs, and infant development. Clients’ level of need required coordinated care from a specialised multidisciplinary team, which was unavailable to program clients and their families.

Abstract People with congenital or acquired immune deficiency have rates of non-Hodgkin lymphoma (NHL) that are raised 50 fold or more above population rates, but it is unknown whether risk of NHL is associated with other forms of immune dysregulation. We performed a population based case-control study of risk factors for NHL in adults aged 20–74 years in New South Wales and the Australian Capital Territory, Australia. We investigated the association of NHL risk with atopy, which is associated with a Th2 dominant immune response. In addition, we investigated the association of NHL with birth order and childhood crowding, which are known to predict atopy. Cases with NHL were selected from a cancer register (n=704), and controls (n=694) were randomly selected from state electoral rolls and frequency-matched to cases by age, sex and area. Cases with clinically apparent immune deficiency were excluded. Birth order, childhood crowding and history of atopic conditions (hayfever, asthma, eczema, and specific allergies) were assessed by questionnaire and by interview. Logistic regression models of NHL risk included the three matching variables as covariates. Being an only child or first born child of a larger family was strongly inversely associated with risk of NHL. Compared to a fourth or later born child, the odds ratios (OR) for development of NHL were 0.52 (95% CI 0.32–0.84) for an only child, 0.55 (95% CI 0.40–0.75) for a first-born child, and 0.70 (95% CI 0.51–0.96) and 0.81 (95 % CI 0.57–1.14) respectively for second and third born children (p trend < 0.0001). Indicators of crowding in later childhood, such as ever sharing a bed or bedroom, and number of years of sharing, were not associated with NHL risk. Diagnosis of atopic conditions was also inversely associated with NHL risk. Self-reported histories of hayfever, asthma, eczema and food allergies were each associated with reduced NHL risk; this reduction was significant for hayfever (OR 0.65, 95% CI 0.52–0.82) and food allergies (OR 0.29, 95% CI 0.20–0.42), but not significant for asthma (OR 0.88, 95% CI 0.67–1.17) and eczema (OR 0.79, 95% CI 0.57–1.10). In summary, being an only or other first born child and reporting a history of atopic conditions were associated with reduced NHL risk. Taken together, these data suggest a hypothesis that late exposure to infections in early life and atopic conditions, both of which are associated with a predominant Th2 response, are associated with a reduced risk of NHL.

This study aimed to explore the perceived barriers to physical activity among college students Study Design: Qualitative research design Eight focus group discussions on 67 college students aged 18-24 years (48 females, 19 males) was conducted on College premises. Data were analysed using inductive approach. Participants identified a number of obstacles to physical activity. Perceived barriers emerged from the analysis of the data addressed the different dimensions of the socio-ecological framework. The result indicated that the young adults perceived substantial amount of personal, social and environmental factors as barriers such as time constraint, tiredness, stress, family control, safety issues and much more. Understanding the barriers and overcoming the barriers at this stage will be valuable. Health professionals and researchers can use this information to design and implement interventions, strategies and policies to promote the participation in physical activity. This further can help the students to deal with those barriers and can help to instil the habit of regular physical activity in the later adult years.

Illegitimacy is a multifaceted concept, powerful because it has the ability to define both itself and its antithesis; what it is not. The first three definitions of the word “illegitimate” in the Oxford English Dictionary – to use an illegitimate academic source – begin with that negative: “illegitimate” is “not legitimate’, ‘not in accordance with or authorised by law”, “not born in lawful wedlock”. In fact, the OED offers eight different usages of the term “illegitimate”, all of which rely on the negation or absence of the legitimate counterpart to provide a definition. In other words, something can only be illegitimate in the sense of being outside the law, if a law exists. A child can only be considered illegitimate, “not born in lawful wedlock” if the concept of “lawful wedlock” exists.Not only individual but national identity can be constructed by defining what – or who – has a legitimate reason to be a part of that collective identity, and who does not. The extent to which the early years of Australian colonial history was defined by its punitive function can be mapped by an early usage of the term “illegitimate” as a means of defining the free settlers of Australia. In an odd reversal of conventional associations of “illegitimate”, the “illegitimates” of Australia were not convicts. They were people who had not been sent there for legitimate – (legal) reasons and who therefore did not fit into the depiction of Australia as a penal colony. The definition invites us to consider the relationship between Australia and Britain in those early years, when Australia provided Britain with a means of constructing itself as a “legitimate” society by functioning as a location where undesirable elements could be identified and excluded. The “illegitimates” of Australia challenged Australia’s function of rendering Britain a “legitimate” society. As a sense of what is “illegitimate” in a particular context is codified and disseminated, a corresponding sense of what is “legitimate” is also created, whether in the context of the family, the law, academia, or the nation. As individuals and groups label and marginalise what is considered unwanted, dangerous, superfluous or in other ways unsatisfactory in a society, the norms that are implicitly accepted become visible. Rather as the medical practice of diagnosis by exclusion enables a particular condition to be identified because other potential conditions have been ruled out, attempts to “rule out” forms of procreation, immigration, physical types, even forms of performance as illegitimate enable a legitimate counterpart to be formed and identified. Borrowing a thought from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, legitimates are all alike and formed within the rules; the illegitimates are illegitimate in a variety of ways. The OED lists “illegitimate” as a noun or adjective; the word’s primary function is to define a status or to describe something. Less commonly, it can be used as a verb; to “illegitimate” someone is to bastardise them, to render them no longer legitimate, to confer and confirm their illegitimate status. Although this has most commonly been used in terms of a change in parents’ marital status (for example Queen Elizabeth I of England was bastardised by having her parents’ marriage declared invalid; as had been also the case with her older half-sister, Mary) illegitimisation as a means of marginalising and excluding continues. In October 2014, Australian Immigration Minister Scott Morrison introduced legislation designed to retrospectively declare that children born in Australia to parents that have been designated “unlawful maritime arrivals” should inherit that marginalised status (Mosendz, Brooke). The denial of “birthright citizenship”, as it is sometimes called, to these infants illegitimises them in terms of their nationality, cutting them away from the national “family”. Likewise the calls to remove Australian nationality from individuals engaging in prohibited terrorist activities uses a strategy of illegitimisation to exclude them from the Australian community. No longer Australian, such people become “national bastards”.The punitive elements associated with illegitimacy are not the only part of the story, however. Rather than being simply a one-way process of identification and exclusion, the illegitimate can also be a vital source of generating new forms of cultural production. The bastard has a way of pushing back, resisting efforts at marginalisation. The papers in this issue of M/C consider the multifarious ways in which the illegitimate refuses to conform to its normative role of defining and obeying boundaries, fighting back from where it has been placed as being beyond the law. As previously mentioned, the OED lists eight possible usages of “illegitimate”. Serendipitously, the contributions to this issue of M/C address each one of them, in different ways. The feature article for this issue, by Katie Ellis, addresses the illegitimisation inherent in how we perceive disability. With a profusion of bastards to choose from in the Game of Thrones narratives, Ellis has chosen to focus on the elements of physical abnormality that confer illegitimate status. From the other characters’ treatment of the dwarf Tyrion Lannister, and other disabled figures within the story, Ellis is able to explore the marginalisation of disability, both as depicted by George R. R. Martin and experienced within the contemporary Australian community. Several contributions address the concept of the illegitimate from its meaning of outside the law, unauthorised or unwarranted. Anne Aly’s paper “Illegitimate: When Moderate Muslims Speak Out” sensitively addresses the illegitimate position to which many Muslims in Australia feel themselves relegated. As she argues, attempting to avoid being regarded as “apologists for Islam” yet simultaneously expected to act as a unifying voice for what is in fact a highly fragmented cultural mix, places such individuals in an insupportable, “illegitimate” position. Anne Aly also joins Lelia Green in exploring the rhetorical strategies used by various Australian governments to illegitimate specific cohorts of would-be Australian migrants. “Bastard immigrants: asylum seekers who arrive by boat and the illegitimate fear of the other” discusses attempts to designate certain asylum seekers as illegitimate intruders into the national family of Australia in the context of the ending of the White Australia policy and the growth of multicultural Australia. Both papers highlight the punitive impact of illegitimisation on particular segments of society and invite recognition of the unlawfulness, or illegitimacy, of the processes themselves that have been used to create such illegitimacy.Illegitimate processes and incorrect inferences, and the illegitimisation of an organisation through media representation which ignores a range of legitimate perspectives are the subject of Ashley Donkin’s work on the National School Chaplaincy and Student Welfare Program (NSCSWP). As Donkin notes, this has been a highly controversial topic in Australia, and her research identifies the inadequacies and prejudices that, she argues, contributed to an illegitimate representation of the programme in the Australian media. Without arguing for or against the NSCSWP, Donkin’s research exposes the extent of prejudiced reporting in the Australian media and its capacity to illegitimise programmes (or, indeed, individuals). Interesting here, and not entirely irrelevant (although not directly addressed in Donkin’s paper), is the notion of prejudice as being an opinion formed or promulgated prior to considering the equitable, just or judicial/judged position. Analogous to the way in which the illegitimate is outside the law, the prejudiced only falls within the law through luck, rather than judgement, since ill-advised opinion has guided its formation. Helen Vella Bonavita explores why illegitimacy is perceived as evil or threatening, looking to anthropologists Mary Douglas and Edmund Leach. Using Shakespeare’s Henry V as a case study, Vella Bonavita argues that illegitimacy is one of the preeminent metaphors used in literature and in current political discourses to articulate fears of loss of national as well as personal identity. As Vella Bonavita notes, as well as being a pollutant that the centre attempts to cast to the margins, the illegitimate can also be a potent threat, a powerful figure occupying an undeniable position, threatening the overturning of the established order. The OED’s definition of illegitimate as “one whose position is viewed in some way as illegitimate” is the perspective taken by Crystal Abidin and Herawaty Abbas. In her work “I also Melayu OK”, Abidin explores the difficult world of the bi-racial person in multi-ethnic Singapore. Through a series of interviews, Abbas describes the strategies by which individuals, particularly Malay-Chinese individuals, emphasise or de-emphasise particular linguistic or cultural behaviours in order to overcome their ambivalent cultural position and construct their own desired socially legitimate identity. Abidin’s positive perspective nonetheless evokes its shadow side, the spectre of the anti-miscegenation laws of a range of racist times and societies (but particularly Apartheid South Africa), and those societies’ attempts to outlaw any legitimisation of relationships, and children, that the law-makers wished to prohibit. The paper also resonates with the experience of relationships across sectarian divides and the parlous circumstances of Protestant –Catholic marriages and families during the 1970s in the north of Ireland, or of previously-acceptable Serbo-Croatian unions during the disintegration of the former Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in the 1990s. Herawaty Abbas and Brooke Collins-Gearing reflect on the process of academic self-determination and self-construction in “Dancing with an illegitimate feminism: a female Buginese scholar's voice in Australian Academia”. Abbas and Collins-Gearing address the research journey from the point of view of a female Buginese PhD candidate and an Indigenous Australian supervisor. With both candidate and supervisor coming from traditionally marginalised backgrounds in the context of Western academia, Abbas and Collins-Gearing chart a story of empowerment, of finding a new legitimacy in dialogue with conventional academic norms rather than conforming to them. Three contributions address the illegitimate in the context of the illegitimate child, moving from traditional associations of shame and unmarried pregnancy, to two creative pieces which, like Abidin, Abbas and Collins-Gearing, chart the transformative process that re-constructs the illegitimate space into an opportunity to form a new identity and the acceptance, and even embrace, of the previously de-legitimising authorities. Gardiner’s work, “It is almost as if there were a written script: child murder, concealment of birth and the unmarried mother in Western Australia” references two women whose stories, although situated almost two hundred years apart in time, follow a similarly-structured tale of pregnancy, shame and infant death. Kim Coull and Sue Bond in “Secret Fatalities and Liminalities” and “Heavy Baggage and the Adoptee” respectively, provide their own stories of illuminative engagement with an illegitimate position and the process of self-fashioning, while also revisiting the argument of the illegitimate as the liminal, a perspective previously advanced by Vella Bonavita’s piece. The creative potential of the illegitimate condition is the focus of the final three pieces of this issue. Bruno Starrs’s “Hyperlinking History and the Illegitimate Imagination” discusses forms of creative writing only made possible by the new media. Historic metafiction, the phrase coined by Linda Hutcheon to reflect the practice of inserting fictional characters into historical situations, is hardly a new phenomenon, but Starrs notes how the possibilities offered by e-publishing enable the creation of a new level of metafiction. Hyperlinks to external sources enable the author to engage the reader in viewing the book both as a work of fiction and as self-conscious commentary on its own fictionality. Renata Morais’ work on different media terminologies in “I say nanomedia, You say nano-media: il/legitimacy, interdisciplinarity and the anthropocene” also considers the creative possibilities engendered by interdisciplinary connections between science and culture. Her choice of the word “anthropocene,” denoting the geological period when humanity began to have a significant impact on the world’s ecosystems, itself reflects the process whereby an idea that began in the margins gains force and legitimacy. From an informal and descriptive term, the International Commission on Stratigraphy have recently formed a working group to investigate whether the “Anthropocene” should be formally adopted as the name for the new epoch (Sample).The final piece in this issue, Katie Lavers’ “Illegitimate Circus”, again traces the evolution of a theatrical form, satisfyingly returning in spirit if not in the written word to some of the experiences imagined by George R. R. Martin for his character Tyrion Lannister. “Illegitimate drama” was originally theatre which relied more on spectacle than on literary quality, according to the OED. Looking at the evolution of modern circus from Astley’s Amphitheatre through to the Cirque du Soleil spectaculars, Lavers’ article demonstrates that the relationship between legitimate and illegitimate is not one whereby the illegitimate conforms to the norms of the legitimate and thereby becomes legitimate itself, but rather where the initial space created by the designation of illegitimate offers the opportunity for a new form of art. Like Starrs’ hyperlinked fiction, or the illegitimate narrators of Coull or Bond’s work, the illegitimate art form does not need to reject those elements that originally constituted it as “illegitimate” in order to win approval or establish itself. The “illegitimate”, then, is not a fixed condition. Rather, it is a status defined according to a particular time and place, and which is frequently transitional and transformative; a condition in which concepts (and indeed, people) can evolve independently of established norms and practices. Whereas the term “illegitimate” has traditionally carried with it shameful, dark and indeed punitive overtones, the papers collected in this issue demonstrate that this need not be so, and that the illegitimate, possibly more than the legitimate, enlightens and has much to offer.ReferencesMosendz, Polly. “When a Baby Born in Australia Isn’t Australian”. The Atlantic 16 Oct. 2014. 25 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2014/10/when-a-baby-born-in-australia-isnt-australian/381549/›Baskin, Brooke. “Asylum Seeker Baby Ferouz Born in Australia Denied Refugee Status by Court”. The Courier Mail 15 Oct. 2014. 25 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/asylum-seeker-baby-ferouz-born-in-australia-denied-refugee-status-by-court/story-fnihsrf2-1227091626528›.Sample, Ian. “Anthropocene: Is This the New Epoch of Humans?” The Guardian 16 Oct. 2014. 25 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.theguardian.com/science/2014/oct/16/-sp-scientists-gather-talks-rename-human-age-anthropocene-holocene›.

IntroductionTasmania hangs from the map of Australia like a drop in freefall from the substance of the mainland. Often the whole state is mislaid from Australian maps and logos (Reddit). Tasmania has, at least since federation, been considered peripheral—a region seen as isolated, a ‘problem’ economically, politically, and culturally. However, Tasmania not only cleaves to the ‘north island’ of Australia but is also subject to the gravitational pull of an even greater land mass—Antarctica. In this article, we upturn the political conventions of map-making that place both Antarctica and Tasmania in obscure positions at the base of the globe. We show how a changing global climate re-frames Antarctica and the Southern Ocean as key drivers of worldwide environmental shifts. The liquid and solid water between Tasmania and Antarctica is revealed not as a homogenous barrier, but as a dynamic and relational medium linking the Tasmanian archipelago with Antarctica. When Antarctica becomes the focus, the script is flipped: Tasmania is no longer on the edge, but core to a network of gateways into the southern land. The state’s capital of Hobart can from this perspective be understood as an “Antarctic city”, central to the geopolitics, economy, and culture of the frozen continent (Salazar et al.). Viewed from the south, we argue, Tasmania is not a problem, but an opportunity for a form of ecological, cultural, economic, and political sustainability that opens up the southern continent to science, discovery, and imagination.A Centre at the End of the Earth? Tasmania as ParadoxThe islands of Tasmania owe their existence to climate change: a period of warming at the end of the last ice age melted the vast sheets of ice covering the polar regions, causing sea levels to rise by more than one hundred metres (Tasmanian Climate Change Office 8). Eleven thousand years ago, Aboriginal people would have witnessed the rise of what is now called Bass Strait, turning what had been a peninsula into an archipelago, with the large island of Tasmania at its heart. The heterogeneous practices and narratives of Tasmanian regional identity have been shaped by the geography of these islands, and their connection to the Southern Ocean and Antarctica. Regions, understood as “centres of collective consciousness and sociospatial identities” (Paasi 241) are constantly reproduced and reimagined through place-based social practices and communications over time. As we will show, diverse and contradictory narratives of Tasmanian regionality often co-exist, interacting in complex and sometimes complementary ways. Ecocritical literary scholar C.A. Cranston considers duality to be embedded in the textual construction of Tasmania, writing “it was hell, it was heaven, it was penal, it was paradise” (29). Tasmania is multiply polarised: it is both isolated and connected; close and far away; rich in resources and poor in capital; the socially conservative birthplace of radical green politics (Hay 60). The weather, as if sensing the fine balance of these paradoxes, blows hot and cold at a moment’s notice.Tasmania has wielded extraordinary political influence at times in its history—notably during the settlement of Melbourne in 1835 (Boyce), and during protests against damming the Franklin River in the early 1980s (Mercer). However, twentieth-century historical and political narratives of Tasmania portray the Bass Strait as a barrier, isolating Tasmanians from the mainland (Harwood 61). Sir Bede Callaghan, who headed one of a long line of federal government inquiries into “the Tasmanian problem” (Harwood 106), was clear that Tasmania was a victim of its own geography:the major disability facing the people of Tasmania (although some residents may consider it an advantage) is that Tasmania is an island. Separation from the mainland adversely affects the economy of the State and the general welfare of the people in many ways. (Callaghan 3)This perspective may stem from the fact that Tasmania has maintained the lowest Gross Domestic Product per capita of all states since federation (Bureau of Infrastructure Transport and Regional Economics 9). Socially, economically, and culturally, Tasmania consistently ranks among the worst regions of Australia. Statistical comparisons with other parts of Australia reveal the population’s high unemployment, low wages, poor educational outcomes, and bad health (West 31). The state’s remoteness and isolation from the mainland states and its reliance on federal income have contributed to the whole of Tasmania, including Hobart, being classified as ‘regional’ by the Australian government, in an attempt to promote immigration and economic growth (Department of Infrastructure and Regional Development 1). Tasmania is indeed both regional and remote. However, in this article we argue that, while regionality may be cast as a disadvantage, the island’s remote location is also an asset, particularly when viewed from a far southern perspective (Image 1).Image 1: Antarctica (Orthographic Projection). Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons, Modified Shading of Tasmania and Addition of Captions by H. Nielsen.Connecting Oceans/Collapsing DistanceTasmania and Antarctica have been closely linked in the past—the future archipelago formed a land bridge between Antarctica and northern land masses until the opening of the Tasman Seaway some 32 million years ago (Barker et al.). The far south was tangible to the Indigenous people of the island in the weather blowing in from the Southern Ocean, while the southern lights, or “nuyina”, formed a visible connection (Australia’s new icebreaker vessel is named RSV Nuyina in recognition of these links). In the contemporary Australian imagination, Tasmania tends to be defined by its marine boundaries, the sea around the islands represented as flat, empty space against which to highlight the topography of its landscape and the isolation of its position (Davies et al.). A more relational geographic perspective illuminates the “power of cross-currents and connections” (Stratford et al. 273) across these seascapes. The sea country of Tasmania is multiple and heterogeneous: the rough, shallow waters of the island-scattered Bass Strait flow into the Tasman Sea, where the continental shelf descends toward an abyssal plain studded with volcanic seamounts. To the south, the Southern Ocean provides nutrient-rich upwellings that attract fish and cetacean populations. Tasmania’s coast is a dynamic, liminal space, moving and changing in response to the global currents that are driven by the shifting, calving and melting ice shelves and sheets in Antarctica.Oceans have long been a medium of connection between Tasmania and Antarctica. In the early colonial period, when the seas were the major thoroughfares of the world and inland travel was treacherous and slow, Tasmania’s connection with the Southern Ocean made it a valuable hub for exploration and exploitation of the south. Between 1642 and 1900, early European explorers were followed by British penal colonists, convicts, sealers, and whalers (Kriwoken and Williamson 93). Tasmania was well known to polar explorers, with expeditions led by Jules Dumont d’Urville, James Clark Ross, Roald Amundsen, and Douglas Mawson all transiting through the port of Hobart. Now that the city is no longer a whaling hub, growing populations of cetaceans continue to migrate past the islands on their annual journeys from the tropics, across the Sub-Antarctic Front and Antarctic circumpolar current, and into the south polar region, while southern species such as leopard seals are occasionally seen around Tasmania (Tasmania Parks and Wildlife). Although the water surrounding Tasmania and Antarctica is at times homogenised as a ‘barrier’, rendering these places isolated, the bodies of water that surround both are in fact permeable, and regularly crossed by both humans and marine species. The waters are diverse in their physical characteristics, underlying topography, sea life, and relationships, and serve to connect many different ocean regions, ecosystems, and weather patterns.Views from the Far SouthWhen considered in terms of its relative proximity to Antarctic, rather than its distance from Australia’s political and economic centres, Tasmania’s identity undergoes a significant shift. A sign at Cockle Creek, in the state’s far south, reminds visitors that they are closer to Antarctica than to Cairns, invoking a discourse of connectedness that collapses the standard ten-day ship voyage to Australia’s closest Antarctic station into a unit comparable with the routinely scheduled 5.5 hour flight to North Queensland. Hobart is the logistical hub for the Australian Antarctic Division and the French Institut Polaire Francais (IPEV), and has hosted Antarctic vessels belonging to the USA, South Korea, and Japan in recent years. From a far southern perspective, Hobart is not a regional Australian capital but a global polar hub. This alters the city’s geographic imaginary not only in a latitudinal sense—from “top down” to “bottom up”—but also a longitudinal one. Via its southward connection to Antarctica, Hobart is also connected east and west to four other recognized gateways: Cape Town in South Africa, Christchurch in New Zealand; Punta Arenas in Chile; and Ushuaia in Argentina (Image 2). The latter cities are considered small by international standards, but play an outsized role in relation to Antarctica.Image 2: H. Nielsen with a Sign Announcing Distances between Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities and Antarctica, Ushuaia, Argentina, 2018. Image Credit: Nicki D'Souza.These five cities form what might be called—to adapt geographer Klaus Dodds’ term—a ‘Southern Rim’ around the South Polar region (Dodds Geopolitics). They exist in ambiguous relationship to each other. Although the five cities signed a Statement of Intent in 2009 committing them to collaboration, they continue to compete vigorously for northern hemisphere traffic and the brand identity of the most prominent global gateway. A state government brochure spruiks Hobart, for example, as the “perfect Antarctic Gateway” emphasising its uniqueness and “natural advantages” in this regard (Tasmanian Government, 2016). In practice, the cities are automatically differentiated by their geographic position with respect to Antarctica. Although the ‘ice continent’ is often conceived as one entity, it too has regions, in both scientific and geographical senses (Terauds and Lee; Antonello). Hobart provides access to parts of East Antarctica, where the Australian, French, Japanese, and Chinese programs (among others) have bases; Cape Town is a useful access point for Europeans going to Dronning Maud Land; Christchurch is closest to the Ross Sea region, site of the largest US base; and Punta Arenas and Ushuaia neighbour the Antarctic Peninsula, home to numerous bases as well as a thriving tourist industry.The Antarctic sector is important to the Tasmanian economy, contributing $186 million (AUD) in 2017/18 (Wells; Gutwein; Tasmanian Polar Network). Unsurprisingly, Tasmania’s gateway brand has been actively promoted, with the 2016 Australian Antarctic Strategy and 20 Year Action Plan foregrounding the need to “Build Tasmania’s status as the premier East Antarctic Gateway for science and operations” and the state government releasing a “Tasmanian Antarctic Gateway Strategy” in 2017. The Chinese Antarctic program has been a particular focus: a Memorandum of Understanding focussed on Australia and China’s Antarctic relations includes a “commitment to utilise Australia, including Tasmania, as an Antarctic ‘gateway’.” (Australian Antarctic Division). These efforts towards a closer relationship with China have more recently come under attack as part of a questioning of China’s interests in the region (without, it should be noted, a concomitant questioning of Australia’s own considerable interests) (Baker 9). In these exchanges, a global power and a state of Australia generally classed as regional and peripheral are brought into direct contact via the even more remote Antarctic region. This connection was particularly visible when Chinese President Xi Jinping travelled to Hobart in 2014, in a visit described as both “strategic” and “incongruous” (Burden). There can be differences in how this relationship is narrated to domestic and international audiences, with issues of sovereignty and international cooperation variously foregrounded, laying the ground for what Dodds terms “awkward Antarctic nationalism” (1).Territory and ConnectionsThe awkwardness comes to a head in Tasmania, where domestic and international views of connections with the far south collide. Australia claims sovereignty over almost 6 million km2 of the Antarctic continent—a claim that in area is “roughly the size of mainland Australia minus Queensland” (Bergin). This geopolitical context elevates the importance of a regional part of Australia: the claims to Antarctic territory (which are recognised only by four other claimant nations) are performed not only in Antarctic localities, where they are made visible “with paraphernalia such as maps, flags, and plaques” (Salazar 55), but also in Tasmania, particularly in Hobart and surrounds. A replica of Mawson’s Huts in central Hobart makes Australia’s historic territorial interests in Antarctica visible an urban setting, foregrounding the figure of Douglas Mawson, the well-known Australian scientist and explorer who led the expeditions that proclaimed Australia’s sovereignty in the region of the continent roughly to its south (Leane et al.). Tasmania is caught in a balancing act, as it fosters international Antarctic connections (such hosting vessels from other national programs), while also playing a key role in administering what is domestically referred to as the Australian Antarctic Territory. The rhetoric of protection can offer common ground: island studies scholar Godfrey Baldacchino notes that as island narratives have moved “away from the perspective of the ‘explorer-discoverer-colonist’” they have been replaced by “the perspective of the ‘custodian-steward-environmentalist’” (49), but reminds readers that a colonising disposition still lurks beneath the surface. It must be remembered that terms such as “stewardship” and “leadership” can undertake sovereignty labour (Dodds “Awkward”), and that Tasmania’s Antarctic connections can be mobilised for a range of purposes. When Environment Minister Greg Hunt proclaimed at a press conference that: “Hobart is the gateway to the Antarctic for the future” (26 Apr. 2016), the remark had meaning within discourses of both sovereignty and economics. Tasmania’s capital was leveraged as a way to position Australia as a leader in the Antarctic arena.From ‘Gateway’ to ‘Antarctic City’While discussion of Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities often focuses on the economic and logistical benefit of their Antarctic connections, Hobart’s “gateway” identity, like those of its counterparts, stretches well beyond this, encompassing geological, climatic, historical, political, cultural and scientific links. Even the southerly wind, according to cartoonist Jon Kudelka, “has penguins in it” (Image 3). Hobart residents feel a high level of connection to Antarctica. In 2018, a survey of 300 randomly selected residents of Greater Hobart was conducted under the umbrella of the “Antarctic Cities” Australian Research Council Linkage Project led by Assoc. Prof. Juan Francisco Salazar (and involving all three present authors). Fourteen percent of respondents reported having been involved in an economic activity related to Antarctica, and 36% had attended a cultural event about Antarctica. Connections between the southern continent and Hobart were recognised as important: 71.9% agreed that “people in my city can influence the cultural meanings that shape our relationship to Antarctica”, while 90% agreed or strongly agreed that Hobart should play a significant role as a custodian of Antarctica’s future, and 88.4% agreed or strongly agreed that: “How we treat Antarctica is a test of our approach to ecological sustainability.” Image 3: “The Southerly” Demonstrates How Weather Connects Hobart and Antarctica. Image Credit: Jon Kudelka, Reproduced with Permission.Hobart, like the other gateways, activates these connections in its conscious place-branding. The city is particularly strong as a centre of Antarctic research: signs at the cruise-ship terminal on the waterfront claim that “There are more Antarctic scientists based in Hobart […] than at any other one place on earth, making Hobart a globally significant contributor to our understanding of Antarctica and the Southern Ocean.” Researchers are based at the Institute for Marine and Antarctic Studies (IMAS), the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO), and the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD), with several working between institutions. Many Antarctic researchers located elsewhere in the world also have a connection with the place through affiliations and collaborations, leading journalist Jo Chandler to assert that “the breadth and depth of Hobart’s knowledge of ice, water, and the life forms they nurture […] is arguably unrivalled anywhere in the world” (86).Hobart also plays a significant role in Antarctica’s governance, as the site of the secretariats for the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) and the Agreement on the Conservation of Albatrosses and Petrels (ACAP), and as host of the Antarctic Consultative Treaty Meetings on more than one occasion (1986, 2012). The cultural domain is active, with Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG) featuring a permanent exhibit, “Islands to Ice”, emphasising the ocean as connecting the two places; the Mawson’s Huts Replica Museum aiming (among other things) to “highlight Hobart as the gateway to the Antarctic continent for the Asia Pacific region”; and a biennial Australian Antarctic Festival drawing over twenty thousand visitors, about a sixth of them from interstate or overseas (Hingley). Antarctic links are evident in the city’s natural and built environment: the dolerite columns of Mt Wellington, the statue of the Tasmanian Antarctic explorer Louis Bernacchi on the waterfront, and the wharfs that regularly accommodate icebreakers such as the Aurora Australis and the Astrolabe. Antarctica is figured as a southern neighbour; as historian Tom Griffiths puts it, Tasmanians “grow up with Antarctica breathing down their necks” (5). As an Antarctic City, Hobart mediates access to Antarctica both physically and in the cultural imaginary.Perhaps in recognition of the diverse ways in which a region or a city might be connected to Antarctica, researchers have recently been suggesting critical approaches to the ‘gateway’ label. C. Michael Hall points to a fuzziness in the way the term is applied, noting that it has drifted from its initial definition (drawn from economic geography) as denoting an access and supply point to a hinterland that produces a certain level of economic benefits. While Hall looks to keep the term robustly defined to avoid empty “local boosterism” (272–73), Gabriela Roldan aims to move the concept “beyond its function as an entry and exit door”, arguing that, among other things, the local community should be actively engaged in the Antarctic region (57). Leane, examining the representation of Hobart as a gateway in historical travel texts, concurs that “ingress and egress” are insufficient descriptors of Tasmania’s relationship with Antarctica, suggesting that at least discursively the island is positioned as “part of an Antarctic rim, itself sharing qualities of the polar region” (45). The ARC Linkage Project described above, supported by the Hobart City Council, the State Government and the University of Tasmania, as well as other national and international partners, aims to foster the idea of the Hobart and its counterparts as ‘Antarctic cities’ whose citizens act as custodians for the South Polar region, with a genuine concern for and investment in its future.Near and Far: Local Perspectives A changing climate may once again herald a shift in the identity of the Tasmanian islands. Recognition of the central role of Antarctica in regulating the global climate has generated scientific and political re-evaluation of the region. Antarctica is not only the planet’s largest heat sink but is the engine of global water currents and wind patterns that drive weather patterns and biodiversity across the world (Convey et al. 543). For example, Tas van Ommen’s research into Antarctic glaciology shows the tangible connection between increased snowfall in coastal East Antarctica and patterns of drought southwest Western Australia (van Ommen and Morgan). Hobart has become a global centre of marine and Antarctic science, bringing investment and development to the city. As the global climate heats up, Tasmania—thanks to its low latitude and southerly weather patterns—is one of the few regions in Australia likely to remain temperate. This is already leading to migration from the mainland that is impacting house prices and rental availability (Johnston; Landers 1). The region’s future is therefore closely entangled with its proximity to the far south. Salazar writes that “we cannot continue to think of Antarctica as the end of the Earth” (67). Shifting Antarctica into focus also brings Tasmania in from the margins. As an Antarctic city, Hobart assumes a privileged positioned on the global stage. This allows the city to present itself as central to international research efforts—in contrast to domestic views of the place as a small regional capital. The city inhabits dual identities; it is both on the periphery of Australian concerns and at the centre of Antarctic activity. Tasmania, then, is not in freefall, but rather at the forefront of a push to recognise Antarctica as entangled with its neighbours to the north.AcknowledgementsThis work was supported by the Australian Research Council under LP160100210.ReferencesAntonello, Alessandro. “Finding Place in Antarctica.” Antarctica and the Humanities. Eds. Peder Roberts, Lize-Marie van der Watt, and Adrian Howkins. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 181–204.Australian Government. 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Special Care Notice This paper discusses trauma and violence inflicted upon the Indigenous peoples of Tasmania through the process of colonisation. Content within this paper may be distressing to some readers. Introduction The decimation of the First Peoples of Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania) was systematic and swift. First Contact was an emotionally, intellectually, physically, and spiritually confronting series of encounters for the Indigenous inhabitants. There were, according to some early records, a few examples of peaceful interactions (Morris 84). Yet, the inevitable competition over resources, and the intensity with which colonists pursued their “claims” for food, land, and water, quickly transformed amicable relationships into hostile rivalries. Jennifer Gall has written that, as “European settlement expanded in the late 1820s, violent exchanges between settlers and Aboriginal people were frequent, brutal and unchecked” (58). Indeed, the near-annihilation of the original custodians of the land was, if viewed through the lens of time, a process that could be described as one that was especially efficient. As John Morris notes: in 1803, when the first settlers arrived in Van Diemen’s Land, the Aborigines had already inhabited the island for some 25,000 years and the population has been estimated at 4,000. Seventy-three years later, Truganinni, [often cited as] the last Tasmanian of full Aboriginal descent, was dead. (84) Against a backdrop of extreme violence, often referred to as the Black War (Clements 1), there were some, admittedly dubious, efforts to contain the bloodshed. One such effort, in the late 1820s, was the production, and subsequent distribution, of a set of Proclamation Boards. Approximately 100 Proclamation Boards (the Board) were introduced by the Lieutenant Governor of the day, George Arthur (after whom Port Arthur on the Tasman Peninsula is named). The purpose of these Boards was to communicate, via a four-strip pictogram, to the Indigenous peoples of the island colony that all people—black and white—were considered equal under the law. “British Justice would protect” everyone (Morris 84). This is reflected in the narrative of the Boards. The first image presents Indigenous peoples and colonists living peacefully together. The second, and central, image shows “a conciliatory handshake between the British governor and an Aboriginal ‘chief’, highly reminiscent of images found in North America on treaty medals and anti-slavery tokens” (Darian-Smith and Edmonds 4). The third and fourth images depict the repercussions for committing murder, with an Indigenous man hanged for spearing a colonist and a European man also hanged for shooting an Aborigine. Both men executed under “gubernatorial supervision” (Turnbull 53). Image 1: Governor Davey's [sic - actually Governor Arthur's] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic - actually c. 1828-30]. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (Call Number: SAFE / R 247). The Board is an interesting re-imagining of one of the traditional methods of communication for Indigenous peoples; the leaving of images on the bark of trees. Such trees, often referred to as scarred trees, are rare in modern-day Tasmania as “the expansion of settlements, and the impact of bush fires and other environmental factors” resulted in many of these trees being destroyed (Aboriginal Heritage Tasmania online). Similarly, only a few of the Boards, inspired by these trees, survive today. The Proclamation Board was, in the 1860s, re-imagined as the output of a different Governor: Lieutenant Governor Davey (after whom Port Davey, on the south-west coast of Tasmania is named). This re-imagining of the Board’s creator was so effective that the Board, today, is popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines. This paper outlines several other re-imaginings of this Board. In addition, this paper offers another, new, re-imagining of the Board, positing that this is an early “pamphlet” on crime, justice and punishment which actually presents as a pre-cursor to the modern Australian true crime tale. In doing so this work connects the Proclamation Board to the larger genre of crime fiction. One Proclamation Board: Two Governors Labelled Van Diemen’s Land and settled as a colony of New South Wales in 1803, this island state would secede from the administration of mainland Australia in 1825. Another change would follow in 1856 when Van Diemen’s Land was, in another process of re-imagining, officially re-named Tasmania. This change in nomenclature was an initiative to, symbolically at least, separate the contemporary state from a criminal and violent past (Newman online). Tasmania’s violent history was, perhaps, inevitable. The island was claimed by Philip Gidley King, the Governor of New South Wales, in the name of His Majesty, not for the purpose of building a community, but to “prevent the French from gaining a footing on the east side of that island” and also to procure “timber and other natural products, as well as to raise grain and to promote the seal industry” (Clark 36). Another rationale for this land claim was to “divide the convicts” (Clark 36) which re-fashioned the island into a gaol. It was this penal element of the British colonisation of Australia that saw the worst of the British Empire forced upon the Aboriginal peoples. As historian Clive Turnbull explains: the brutish state of England was reproduced in the English colonies, and that in many ways its brutishness was increased, for now there came to Australia not the humanitarians or the indifferent, but the men who had vested interests in the systems of restraint; among those who suffered restraint were not only a vast number who were merely unfortunate and poverty-stricken—the victims of a ‘depression’—but brutalised persons, child-slaughterers and even potential cannibals. (Turnbull 25) As noted above the Black War of Tasmania saw unprecedented aggression against the rightful occupants of the land. Yet, the Aboriginal peoples were “promised the white man’s justice, the people [were] exhorted to live in amity with them, the wrongs which they suffer [were] deplored” (Turnbull 23). The administrators purported an egalitarian society, one of integration and peace but Van Diemen’s Land was colonised as a prison and as a place of profit. So, “like many apologists whose material benefit is bound up with the systems which they defend” (Turnbull 23), assertions of care for the health and welfare of the Aboriginal peoples were made but were not supported by sufficient policies, or sufficient will, and the Black War continued. Colonel Thomas Davey (1758-1823) was the second person to serve as Lieutenant Governor of Van Diemen’s Land; a term of office that began in 1813 and concluded in 1817. The fourth Lieutenant Governor of the island was Colonel Sir George Arthur (1784-1854); his term of office, significantly longer than Davey’s, being from 1824 to 1836. The two men were very different but are connected through this intriguing artefact, the Proclamation Board. One of the efforts made to assert the principle of equality under the law in Van Diemen’s Land was an outcome of work undertaken by Surveyor General George Frankland (1800-1838). Frankland wrote to Arthur in early 1829 and suggested the Proclamation Board (Morris 84), sometimes referred to as a Picture Board or the Tasmanian Hieroglyphics, as a tool to support Arthur’s various Proclamations. The Proclamation, signed on 15 April 1828 and promulgated in the The Hobart Town Courier on 19 April 1828 (Arthur 1), was one of several notices attempting to reduce the increasing levels of violence between Indigenous peoples and colonists. The date on Frankland’s correspondence clearly situates the Proclamation Board within Arthur’s tenure as Lieutenant Governor. The Board was, however, in the 1860s, re-imagined as the output of Davey. The Clerk of the Tasmanian House of Assembly, Hugh M. Hull, asserted that the Board was the work of Davey and not Arthur. Hull’s rationale for this, despite archival evidence connecting the Board to Frankland and, by extension, to Arthur, is predominantly anecdotal. In a letter to the editor of The Hobart Mercury, published 26 November 1874, Hull wrote: this curiosity was shown by me to the late Mrs Bateman, neé Pitt, a lady who arrived here in 1804, and with whom I went to school in 1822. She at once recognised it as one of a number prepared in 1816, under Governor Davey’s orders; and said she had seen one hanging on a gum tree at Cottage Green—now Battery Point. (3) Hull went on to assert that “if any old gentleman will look at the picture and remember the style of military and civil dress of 1810-15, he will find that Mrs Bateman was right” (3). Interestingly, Hull relies upon the recollections of a deceased school friend and the dress codes depicted by the artist to date the Proclamation Board as a product of 1816, in lieu of documentary evidence dating the Board as a product of 1828-1830. Curiously, the citation of dress can serve to undermine Hull’s argument. An early 1840s watercolour by Thomas Bock, of Mathinna, an Aboriginal child of Flinders Island adopted by Lieutenant Governor John Franklin (Felton online), features the young girl wearing a brightly coloured, high-waisted dress. This dress is very similar to the dresses worn by the children on the Proclamation Board (the difference being that Mathinna wears a red dress with a contrasting waistband, the children on the Board wear plain yellow dresses) (Bock). Acknowledging the simplicity of children's clothing during the colonial era, it could still be argued that it would have been unlikely the Governor of the day would have placed a child, enjoying at that time a life of privilege, in a situation where she sat for a portrait wearing an old-fashioned garment. So effective was Hull’s re-imagining of the Board’s creator that the Board was, for many years, popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines with even the date modified, to 1816, to fit Davey’s term of office. Further, it is worth noting that catalogue records acknowledge the error of attribution and list both Davey and Arthur as men connected to the creation of the Proclamation Board. A Surviving Board: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales One of the surviving Proclamation Boards is held by the Mitchell Library. The Boards, oil on Huon pine, were painted by “convict artists incarcerated in the island penal colony” (Carroll 73). The work was mass produced (by the standards of mass production of the day) by pouncing, “a technique [of the Italian Renaissance] of pricking the contours of a drawing with a pin. Charcoal was then dusted on to the drawing” (Carroll 75-76). The images, once outlined, were painted in oil. Of approximately 100 Boards made, several survive today. There are seven known Boards within public collections (Gall 58): five in Australia (Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Sydney; Museum Victoria, Melbourne; National Library of Australia, Canberra; Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, Hobart; and Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, Launceston); and two overseas (The Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University and the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, University of Cambridge). The catalogue record, for the Board held by the Mitchell Library, offers the following details:Paintings: 1 oil painting on Huon pine board, rectangular in shape with rounded corners and hole at top centre for suspension ; 35.7 x 22.6 x 1 cm. 4 scenes are depicted:Aborigines and white settlers in European dress mingling harmoniouslyAboriginal men and women, and an Aboriginal child approach Governor Arthur to shake hands while peaceful soldiers look onA hostile Aboriginal man spears a male white settler and is hanged by the military as Governor Arthur looks onA hostile white settler shoots an Aboriginal man and is hanged by the military as Governor Arthur looks on. (SAFE / R 247) The Mitchell Library Board was purchased from J.W. Beattie in May 1919 for £30 (Morris 86), which is approximately $2,200 today. Importantly, the title of the record notes both the popular attribution of the Board and the man who actually instigated the Board’s production: “Governor Davey’s [sic – actually Governor Arthur] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic – actually c. 1828-30].” The date of the Board is still a cause of some speculation. The earlier date, 1828, marks the declaration of martial law (Turnbull 94) and 1830 marks the Black Line (Edmonds 215); the attempt to form a human line of white men to force many Tasmanian Aboriginals, four of the nine nations, onto the Tasman Peninsula (Ryan 3). Frankland’s suggestion for the Board was put forward on 4 February 1829, with Arthur’s official Conciliator to the Aborigines, G.A. Robinson, recording his first sighting of a Board on 24 December 1829 (Morris 84-85). Thus, the conception of the Board may have been in 1828 but the Proclamation project was not fully realised until 1830. Indeed, a news item on the Proclamation Board did appear in the popular press, but not until 5 March 1830: We are informed that the Government have given directions for the painting of a large number of pictures to be placed in the bush for the contemplation of the Aboriginal Inhabitants. […] However […] the causes of their hostility must be more deeply probed, or their taste as connoisseurs in paintings more clearly established, ere we can look for any beneficial result from this measure. (Colonial Times 2) The remark made in relation to becoming a connoisseur of painting, though intended to be derogatory, makes some sense. There was an assumption that the Indigenous peoples could easily translate a European-styled execution by hanging, as a visual metaphor for all forms of punishment. It has long been understood that Indigenous “social organisation and religious and ceremonial life were often as complex as those of the white invaders” (McCulloch 261). However, the Proclamation Board was, in every sense, Eurocentric and made no attempt to acknowledge the complexities of Aboriginal culture. It was, quite simply, never going to be an effective tool of communication, nor achieve its socio-legal aims. The Board Re-imagined: Popular Media The re-imagining of the Proclamation Board as a construct of Governor Davey, instead of Governor Arthur, is just one of many re-imaginings of this curious object. There are, of course, the various imaginings of the purpose of the Board. On the surface these images are a tool for reconciliation but as “the story of these paintings unfolds […] it becomes clear that the proclamations were in effect envoys sent back to Britain to exhibit the ingenious attempts being applied to civilise Australia” (Carroll 76). In this way the Board was re-imagined by the Administration that funded the exercise, even before the project was completed, from a mechanism to assist in the bringing about of peace into an object that would impress colonial superiors. Khadija von Zinnenburg Carroll has recently written about the Boards in the context of their “transnational circulation” and how “objects become subjects and speak of their past through the ventriloquism of contemporary art history” (75). Carroll argues the Board is an item that couples “military strategy with a fine arts propaganda campaign” (Carroll 78). Critically the Boards never achieved their advertised purpose for, as Carroll explains, there were “elaborate rituals Aboriginal Australians had for the dead” and, therefore, “the display of a dead, hanging body is unthinkable. […] being exposed to the sight of a hanged man must have been experienced as an unimaginable act of disrespect” (92). The Proclamation Board would, in sharp contrast to feelings of unimaginable disrespect, inspire feelings of pride across the colonial population. An example of this pride being revealed in the selection of the Board as an object worthy of reproduction, as a lithograph, for an Intercolonial Exhibition, held in Melbourne in 1866 (Morris 84). The lithograph, which identifies the Board as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines and dated 1816, was listed as item 572, of 738 items submitted by Tasmania, for the event (The Commissioners 69-85). This type of reproduction, or re-imagining, of the Board would not be an isolated event. Penelope Edmonds has described the Board as producing a “visual vernacular” through a range of derivatives including lantern slides, lithographs, and postcards. These types of tourist ephemera are in addition to efforts to produce unique re-workings of the Board as seen in Violet Mace’s Proclamation glazed earthernware, which includes a jug (1928) and a pottery cup (1934) (Edmonds online). The Board Re-imagined: A True Crime Tale The Proclamation Board offers numerous narratives. There is the story that the Board was designed and deployed to communicate. There is the story behind the Board. There is also the story of the credit for the initiative which was transferred from Governor Arthur to Governor Davey and subsequently returned to Arthur. There are, too, the provenance stories of individual Boards. There is another story the Proclamation Board offers. The story of true crime in colonial Australia. The Board, as noted, presents through a four-strip pictogram an idea that all are equal under the rule of law (Arthur 1). Advocating for a society of equals was a duplicitous practice, for while Aborigines were hanged for allegedly murdering settlers, “there is no record of whites being charged, let alone punished, for murdering Aborigines” (Morris 84). It would not be until 1838 that white men would be punished for the murder of Aboriginal people (on the mainland) in the wake of the Myall Creek Massacre, in northern New South Wales. There were other examples of attempts to bring about a greater equity under the rule of law but, as Amanda Nettelbeck explains, there was wide-spread resistance to the investigation and charging of colonists for crimes against the Indigenous population with cases regularly not going to trial, or, if making a courtroom, resulting in an acquittal (355-59). That such cases rested on “legally inadmissible Aboriginal testimony” (Reece in Nettelbeck 358) propped up a justice system that was, inherently, unjust in the nineteenth century. It is important to note that commentators at the time did allude to the crime narrative of the Board: when in the most civilized country in the world it has been found ineffective as example to hang murderers in chains, it is not to be expected a savage race will be influenced by the milder exhibition of effigy and caricature. (Colonial Times 2) It is argued here that the Board was much more than an offering of effigy and caricature. The Proclamation Board presents, in striking detail, the formula for the modern true crime tale: a peace disturbed by the act of murder; and the ensuing search for, and delivery of, justice. Reinforcing this point, are the ideas of justice seen within crime fiction, a genre that focuses on the restoration of order out of chaos (James 174), are made visible here as aspirational. The true crime tale does not, consistently, offer the reassurances found within crime fiction. In the real world, particularly one as violent as colonial Australia, we are forced to acknowledge that, below the surface of the official rhetoric on justice and crime, the guilty often go free and the innocent are sometimes hanged. Another point of note is that, if the latter date offered here, of 1830, is taken as the official date of the production of these Boards, then the significance of the Proclamation Board as a true crime tale is even more pronounced through a connection to crime fiction (both genres sharing a common literary heritage). The year 1830 marks the release of Australia’s first novel, Quintus Servinton written by convicted forger Henry Savery, a crime novel (produced in three volumes) published by Henry Melville of Hobart Town. Thus, this paper suggests, 1830 can be posited as a year that witnessed the production of two significant cultural artefacts, the Proclamation Board and the nation’s first full-length literary work, as also being the year that established the, now indomitable, traditions of true crime and crime fiction in Australia. Conclusion During the late 1820s in Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania) a set of approximately 100 Proclamation Boards were produced by the Lieutenant Governor of the day, George Arthur. The official purpose of these items was to communicate, to the Indigenous peoples of the island colony, that all—black and white—were equal under the law. Murderers, be they Aboriginal or colonist, would be punished. The Board is a re-imagining of one of the traditional methods of communication for Indigenous peoples; the leaving of drawings on the bark of trees. The Board was, in the 1860s, in time for an Intercolonial Exhibition, re-imagined as the output of Lieutenant Governor Davey. This re-imagining of the Board was so effective that surviving artefacts, today, are popularly known as Governor Davey’s Proclamation to the Aborigines with the date modified, to 1816, to fit the new narrative. The Proclamation Board was also reimagined, by its creators and consumers, in a variety of ways: as peace offering; military propaganda; exhibition object; tourism ephemera; and contemporary art. This paper has also, briefly, offered another re-imagining of the Board, positing that this early “pamphlet” on justice and punishment actually presents a pre-cursor to the modern Australian true crime tale. The Proclamation Board tells many stories but, at the core of this curious object, is a crime story: the story of mass murder. Acknowledgements The author acknowledges the Palawa peoples: the traditional custodians of the lands known today as Tasmania. The author acknowledges, too, the Gadigal people of the Eora nation upon whose lands this paper was researched and written. The author extends thanks to Richard Neville, Margot Riley, Kirsten Thorpe, and Justine Wilson of the State Library of New South Wales for sharing their knowledge and offering their support. The author is also grateful to the reviewers for their careful reading of the manuscript and for making valuable suggestions. ReferencesAboriginal Heritage Tasmania. “Scarred Trees.” Aboriginal Cultural Heritage, 2012. 12 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.aboriginalheritage.tas.gov.au/aboriginal-cultural-heritage/archaeological-site-types/scarred-trees›.Arthur, George. “Proclamation.” The Hobart Town Courier 19 Apr. 1828: 1.———. Governor Davey’s [sic – actually Governor Arthur’s] Proclamation to the Aborigines, 1816 [sic – actually c. 1828-30]. Graphic Materials. Sydney: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, c. 1828-30.Bock, Thomas. Mathinna. Watercolour and Gouache on Paper. 23 x 19 cm (oval), c. 1840.Carroll, Khadija von Zinnenburg. 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Edmonds, Penelope. “‘Failing in Every Endeavour to Conciliate’: Governor Arthur’s Proclamation Boards to the Aborigines, Australian Conciliation Narratives and Their Transnational Connections.” Journal of Australian Studies 35.2 (2011): 201–18.———. “The Proclamation Cup: Tasmanian Potter Violet Mace and Colonial Quotations.” reCollections 5.2 (2010). 20 May 2015 ‹http://recollections.nma.gov.au/issues/vol_5_no_2/papers/the_proclamation_cup_›.Felton, Heather. “Mathinna.” Companion to Tasmanian History. Hobart: Centre for Tasmanian Historical Studies, University of Tasmania, 2006. 29 Sep. 2015 ‹http://www.utas.edu.au/library/companion_to_tasmanian_history/M/Mathinna.htm›.Gall, Jennifer. Library of Dreams: Treasures from the National Library of Australia. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2011.Hull, Hugh M. “Tasmanian Hieroglyphics.” The Hobart Mercury 26 Nov. 1874: 3.James, P.D. Talking about Detective Fiction. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.Mace, Violet. 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Guest editor Stephen J. Ramos introduces the special issue, themed “The Body Politic: Planning History, Design, and Public Health.” The issue has five contributions from Australia, South Africa, Northern Europe, and the United States. Throughout its history, planning is continually tasked with both modernization and reflexive modernization simultaneously. The duality serves as an instrument of the state in the broader governance negotiation of private capital accumulation and public welfare. The contemporary COVID-19 pandemic provides the opportunity to reconsider relationships between planning, design, and public health, and the politics and policies that constitute and mediate these relationships. The hope is for the special issue to inspire empathy for a more civic, international body politic.

Abstract Just as a friend is often defined as somebody we like, friendship is thought of as a social, moral, and emotional good. The aura of friendship is in its virtue. But the meaning of friendship depends on who claims it and who the person appears to be whom they describe as their friend. This essay investigates the meaning of friendship in the lives of single mothers in South Africa between the two world wars. The context is Cape Town, where single mothers classified as “white” or “European” attracted the attention of the state. In case records pertaining to the 1913 Children’s Welfare Act, the meaning of friendship was contested between magistrates, police detectives, welfare workers, and single mothers themselves. The struggle over how a case should be resolved was to a great extent a struggle over the meaning of friendship. To the authorities, “friends” were a disturbing presence in the lives of single mothers. While the image of healthy, secure, and stable colonial family units was articulated around the relationship between a mother and a child, it was underwritten by the taken-for-granted presence of a male provider. Analyzing cases where men were in various ways absent forces our emphasis away from the normative standards that guided child welfare work and into the messier social realities against which those standards were applied.