Journal articles on the topic 'Committee to Prepare the New Police Bill'

Summary The Civil Service Act, passed in 1918, had never been substantially modified for the 43 years following its adoption. In 1957 however the Government asked the Civil Service Commission to review personnel procedure in the Government Service and to prepare a report. The report produced was entitled Personnal Administration in the Public Service. The following article is an analysis of Bill C-71, which resulted from the Commission's report and from the work of a Special Committee of the House established in 1961.

On January 1, 2021, the autonomous police system was implemented in Korea, and local autonomy was implemented in the field of security following general administration and education administration. In terms of decentralization, it was expected that the essential purpose of local autonomy would be realized by providing customized policing services based on the characteristics of the region and the will of the residents, and the democracy, decentralization and resident orientation of police activities would be strengthened. In the second half of 2020, the unified autonomous police model bill was completely revised and enacted through a sudden policy change in the dualized autonomous police model, which was previously discussed, and the institutional basis was established with the leading role of the National Police Agency in the situation of lack of preparation period. In the meantime, the term of the first autonomous police commissioners, who have played a pivotal role in the settlement and development of the autonomous police system, has expired and is now preparing for the formation of a new second autonomous police committee. At this point, it is expected that it will provide implications for the stable development of the autonomous police system as well as the preparation of the second autonomous police committee to clarify the current status of the autonomous police system and legal and institutional problems and to present concrete suggestions for future improvement directions. In organizing this paper, I basically referred to various literature materials such as publication data, research papers and media reports of the National Police Agency and the municipal autonomous police committee. In order to grasp the reality of the operation of the system and to find out the effective improvement direction of the legal system, I also listened to the vivid opinions and suggestions for improvement through direct interviews with some autonomous police committee members and police related NGOs such as autonomous crime prevention groups. Since the implementation of the autonomous police system, mutual cooperation between the city and provincial offices and the city and provincial police agencies has worked closely in the autonomous police affairs by securing the linkage between local administration and security administration centered on the autonomous police committees in cities and provinces across the country. Various policing policies have been established and implemented to reflect the will and participation of residents in the police administration and to provide policing services suitable for local specificity. The responsibility of the heads of local governments for local security has been increased by cities and provinces across the country, and the budget for projects needed to carry out local police affairs has also been increased. However, despite many developments and achievements, there has been a constant need to supplement the essential limitations of the current autonomous police system, low awareness of the autonomous police, and the promotion of mutual cooperation with the autonomous police committee and the national police. More in-depth discussions are needed in that the introduction of the dualization model of the autonomous police and the financial burden of the state are related to the maintenance of security at the national level and the allocation of the national budget. It is hoped that the police system development committee under the Prime Minister's Office will make systematic and careful decisions based on national consensus and careful financial analysis and diagnosis so that the total amount of national security will not be damaged in the rapidly changing domestic and overseas security environment.

The autonomous police system is based on the premise that the quality of life of the residents can be improved by the police system for the residents, by the residents, and for the residents. Fundamental questions have been raised as to whether Korea's autonomous police system is being operated for the residents, but on the other hand, the current autonomous police system has been implemented after discussion and review of the autonomous police system for a considerable period of time. The autonomous police system is a system that pursues values contrary to the national police system, placing importance on democracy and procedurality rather than efficiency. The autonomous police system is an essential element in the decision-making process of residents aiming for grassroots democracy, and Korea's autonomous police system does not utilize the purpose of the autonomous police system in that it is implemented by determining the model and operation method centrally. In order to operate the autonomous police system, a blueprint to transfer much of the police power to local governments should have been presented, but due to the inefficiency of decentralized systems, confrontation between the two Koreas, and familiarity with the implementation of the national police system, a centralized national police system was maintained, and a formal police organization with limited responsibilities and authority was established in local governments and only some police duties closely related to residents' lives was carried out as an office manager. Despite various problems, the autonomous police system has become an irreversible trend of the times, and although it is insufficient, discussions continue as it contributes to improving the quality of life of residents by improving the problems. The Yoon Suk Yeol government, which was launched in May 2022, launched the “Police System Development Committee” under the Prime Minister in September of the same year and said that it would pilot the dual autonomous police system in Jeju, Sejong, Gangwon and Jeonbuk, but discussions were underway until February 2023 and have been suspended. Given that time is needed to overhaul legislation, implement new models, and improve complementary points, it is not easy to keep its pledge to fully implement the dual autonomous police system by 2026. There are both negative criticisms of the autonomous police system, which has been implemented from 2021 to 2024, as well as positive evaluations of the process of developing the autonomous police system as a transitional period. It is difficult to say that the “double-level” model, in which autonomous police organizations are operated separately from national police, immediately carries out practical autonomous police administration, but it can take on the shape of an autonomous police rather than a unified model. A form of incorporating the national police system centered on the autonomous police system was considered a hard landing plan, and a form of incorporating the autonomous police system centered on the national police system was suggested as a soft landing plan. As a hard landing plan, the full transfer of national police authority to local governments and the introduction of an election system for the chairman of the municipal and provincial autonomous police committees or police officers were proposed. As a soft landing plan, a bill should be enacted or revised to allow the dualization model to operate more efficiently, which should include organizational and operational aspects. The main contents will require the transfer of organization, manpower, and budget to local governments, and accordingly, organizations that can perform autonomous police affairs, such as the autonomous police committee and the autonomous police headquarters, should be reorganized.

Apart from previous partial codifications and system-laws, the first civil code in Hungary was promulgated in 1959. After the beginning of transition in 1989, despite the great number of amendments to the existing Civil code, to issue of recodification of civil law in Hungary became inevitable. This process began in 1998 when the Government appointed a committee with most renowned Hungarian legal scholars as members, which had the task to prepare a draft version of a new civil code. The committee has worked devotedly on the text of the draft for nearly a decade. In 2003 it published the so-called Concept and Syllabus of the new civil code in order to enable the public to get knowledge of the planned subject matter of the draft and, what is even more important, enable it to contribute to the quality of the draft by expressing critical remarks and suggestions. The committee, having taken into account the opinion of the public, continued its work on the draft and published the first full text of the draft in 2006. 2007 marked a turning point in the codification procedure when, to general astonishment, the Ministry of Justice took over the task of drafting a civil code, by which the drafting committee's mandate on the preparation of the new civil code ceased to exist, before it even could have had a chance to process the remarks the public had had on the 2006 draft. The Ministry published its first version of the draft in 2007, and a second one in 2008. In the same year, the committee, whose mandate has ceased to exist in 2007, published its, by then unofficial, version of the draft in order to make the achievements of its nearly decade-long work available to public in authentic form. The Ministry's second draft was adopted in 2008 by the Government and submitted to the Parliament as a bill to be enacted. The Parliament, after it had been in legislative procedure for a year or so, finally adopted the new Civil code of Hungary, though with a very slim majority. However, the President, using his constitutional powers, denied promulgating it, just as the subsequently enacted Law on the Implementation and Entering into Force of the new Civil Code. The President, who is, by the way, one of the most prominent civil law scholars in Hungary, expressed his deepest doubts in respect of the enactment of the new Civil code, both in terms of its substantial flaws and the manner in which the legislative draft and bill have been prepared. Using his right to suspensive veto he could not bring to naught the new Civil code, but he succeeded in postponing its promulgation and entry into force. The aim of this paper is to block in the tempestuous, decade-long work on the text of the new Civil code and its content in short, with special regard to the reasons for which the President denied to promulgate it.

Fiji's National Government has committed to using Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) to protect its marine environment. As Fiji is in the process of reforming its marine law, now is an opportune time to develop statutory mechanisms for establishing and regulating MPAs. This article considers the regulation of MPAs in Fiji's coastal waters—where the intersection of statutory and customary law poses particular challenges. ‘Customary MPAs’ already exist in Fiji's coastal environments, taking the form of tabu areas and ‘Locally Managed Marine Areas’ (LMMAs). Both of these are important mechanisms that any new statutory framework should incorporate and strengthen. In 2010, the draft Inshore Fisheries Decree (draft Inshore Decree) was prepared. Although the draft Inshore Decree appears to have stalled, it may yet be progressed to a final bill. Alternatively, some of the measures in it may be incorporated into another law. This article assesses one mechanism in the draft Inshore Decree that could be used to formalize customary MPAs—Community Fisheries Management and Development Plans (CFMDPs). It finds that CFMDPs demonstrate a number of strengths, in particular by supporting legal recognition of existing marine management measures. However, there are also weaknesses. Nevertheless, with refinement CFMDPs may be a useful tool for regulating Fiji's coastal MPAs.

Legal analysis of bills aimed at improving the mechanism of application of life imprisonment in Ukraine, namely: “On Amendments to Certain Legislative Acts Implementing Decisions of the European Court of Human Rights” № 4048 and “On Amendments to the Code of Ukraine on Administrative Offenses, the Criminal Code of Ukraine and the Criminal Procedural Code of Ukraine on the execution of decisions of the European Court of Human Rights” № 4049 is provided in the article. It is determined that the mechanism of parole in the form of life imprisonment proposed by these bills consists of two stages: the first stage is the replacement of life imprisonment with a milder punishment under the rules of the new version of Article 82 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine; the second stage is conditional early release from serving a sentence in the form of imprisonment, which is assigned to a convict in order to replace life sentence with a milder punishment (imprisonment) under the rules of a new version of Article 81 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine. The legal positions of the Committee on Ukraine’s Integration with the European Union, the Main Scientific and Expert Department of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, and the expert assessment of the Council of Europe are analyzed. The generalized legal analysis of bills 4048, 4049 gave an opportunity to reveal their progressive provisions, as well as shortcomings. Progressive provisions of the bills include: convicts’ drawing up their personal plan for reintegration into society, a temporary restriction on re-applying for the replacement of life sentence with imprisonment for a definite term or a request for a parole. The shortcomings of the bills include: unjustifiably short minimum sentence that a convict must serve in order to be released from life sentence; lack of a mechanism for determining the risk assessment of those sentenced to life imprisonment; lack of legislation to provide for probation in the process of replacing life sentence with a milder sentence and parole in terms of risk assessment, reintegration plan and monitoring compliance with court obligations; lack of criteria for determining the risk of re-offending; implementation of administrative supervision by police bodies over persons released on parole; lack of clear content of the reintegration plan; providing conclusions of the administration of a penal institution on convict’s preparing for release. Key words: bill 4048, bill 4049, life sentence, parole, European standards, implementation.

On the basis of national security and territorial integrity, can the state regulate the use of land and buildings around important defense facilities or on border islands? In response, on June 16, 2021, Japan promulgated ‘Important Land Survey Regulation Act.’ In enacting the Important Land Survey Regulation Act, the Japanese government suggested land acquisition in a specific area by foreign capital as a basis for legislation. Due to the cases of land acquisition in a water source, defense facilities, or border islands, anxiety among Japanese residents and the people is growing. As a background of legislation, the Important Land Survey Regulation Act refers to ‘concerned’ foreign capital and state. It is primarily considering Korea and China as regulatory targets. The Important Land Survey Regulation Act is a regulation law based on the maintenance of the base of national life, maritime sovereignty, and national security. In the future, I think the Important Land Survey Regulation Act will have a direct or indirect effect on Korea. From a national security perspective, laws that regulate direct investment in corporate purchases also exist in the United States and Japan. However, regulations on real estate transactions have recently been introduced from the perspective of national security. In the United States, the Foreign Investment Risk Review Modernization Act (FIRRMA) enacted in August 2018 is a representative law. Real estate transactions are being conducted as a subject of review by the US Foreign Investment Committee (CFIUS). From a national security perspective, Japan is reviewing the case of the United States, which regulates the sale of real estate. However, problems with the bill were pointed out in the process of enacting the Important Land Survey Regulation Act. The issue of unconstitutionality of the Important Land Survey Regulation Act was also raised. In this study, I reviewed the issues and the contents of the law in the legislative process of the Japanese National Assembly : the purpose of legislation and the existence of legislative facts, the subject of regulation and delegation of legislation, forest and water sources, enforcement decree and delegation legislation, resident movement regulation, designation of special zones, and pre-reporting system, etc. The following matters were reviewed on the issue of unconstitutionality inherent in the Important Land Survey Regulation Act : legislative purposes and the absence of legislative facts, violation of the principles of parliamentary legislation, principle of criminal justice, recommendations and orders and criminal penalties, land use investigation and personal information, privacy rights, freedom of thought and conscience, self-denial rights, property rights and compensation systems, etc. The Important Land Survey Regulation Act, like FIRRMA in the United States, is based on national security, Japan primarily aims to protect Japan’s Self-Defense Forces facilities and U.S. military facilities. To this end, ownership and use, and transactions of land and buildings in a specific area are regulated. Second, however, it is a law to prepare for border disputes or maritime disputes between Japan and China, Japan and Russia, Korea and Japan. From the perspective of borders, territories, and maritime sovereignty, the Republic of Korea needs to establish new border protection measures for uninhabited islands and islands.

Hong Kong has seen an upheaval in recent years. From the protests over the extradition law to the protests over the National Security Law, these protests are a response to the ever-encroaching hand of Beijing on political rights in Hong Kong. After the National Security Law was implemented, Hong Kong’s freedom was almost gone. One by one, pro-democracy protesters, opposition parliament members, and opposition media are being targeted and repressed. Despite the numerous protests and riots, the Hong Kong SAR government perseveres with little concession to the protesters. Why does the government of Hong Kong decided not to respect Hong Kong’s unique democratic system in China, arguably the system that has brought Hong Kong to one of the most prominent cities in the world for global interactions, and instead wish to turn it into another normal Chinese city? Why does the Hong Kong SAR government almost completely ignore the voice of the Hong Kong people? Using the framework developed by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita and Alastair Smith in The Dictator’s Handbook, I argue that the small size of Hong Kong’s governing coalition (i.e., the minimum amount of support required for the leader to stay in power) and the ease in which the Chief Executive of Hong Kong rewards her allies play a significant role in this democratic backsliding. Furthermore, while the Western World reacted in outrage over this undemocratic encroachment of Beijing on Hong Kong, I argue that their sanctions on Hong Kong leaders will not play a significant role as the Chief Executive of Hong Kong does not need their support. Keywords: Hong Kong; democracy; protests; governing coalition;sanctions REFERENCES Allison, Graham. Destined for War: Can America and China Escape the Thucydides’s Trap? New York: Houghton Miflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 2017. 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Abstract SYNTHESIS OF THE FIRST INTERNATIONAL SYMPOSIUM FOR RESEARCH IN COMPARATIVE CRIMINOLOGY Introduction At the beginning of the development of the social sciences there was a considerable vogue for comparative research. A long period of empirical studies and almost total preoccupation with methodological problems followed. Once again, however, psychology, political science, sociology, and above all anthropology, have taken up the thread of this tradition, and the bibliography in these fields is becoming ever more abundant. The study of deviance, of various manifestations of criminality, and of social reaction against crime are, however, noticeably missing in the picture, even though there is nothing in the nature of criminology which precludes the development of comparative research. To many research workers in criminology, the time seemed ripe to take up the comparative tradition once again. Two imperatives were considered : the generalization of norms of deviance which are tied to the standard of living set by industrial civilization, thus putting the problem of criminality in a global light ; and, second, the development and standardization of methods of studying these phenomena, drawing on the experience of allied disciplines. The response of the participants in this Symposium and the results of their discussions were not unexpected. A consensus was arrived as to the problems it was thought important to study, and agreement was reached about the strategies of research to be undertaken. Priorities, however, were not established since too much depends on the availability of research teams, funds, etc. But the broad, overall look at the main problems in comparative criminology will, hopefully, open a new chapter in the history of crimino-logical research and in our continuing search for knowledge of man and society. The brief resume which follows should give the reader an idea of the extent of the problems tackled. The detailed proceedings of the Symposium will be published at a later date, in mimeographed form. Sectors of research proposed In a sense, this Symposium was prepared by all the participants. The organizers had requested that each person invited prepare a memorandum setting out the problems in comparative criminology which he considered to be most important. The compilation of their replies, reported to the plenary session at the opening of the Symposium, produced the following results : Summary of suggestions for research activities Note : In all that follows, it should be understood that all of these topics should be studied in a cross-cultural or international context. 1) Definitions and concepts : a) Social vs legal concept of deviance ; b) Distinction between political and criminal crimes ; c) The law : a moral imperative or a simple norm ; d) The concepts used in penal law : how adequate ? e.g. personality of criminal ; e) Who are the sinners in different cultures and at different times. 2) Procedures : a) Working concepts of criminal law and procedure ; b) Differentiating between factors relating to the liability-finding process and the sentencing process ; c) Behavioural manifestations of the administration of criminal justice ; d) Judicial decisions as related to the personality of the judges and of the accused ; e) Sentencing in the cross-national context (2 proposals) ; f) In developing countries, the gap between development of the legal apparatus and social behaviour ; g) Determination of liability ; h) The problem of definition and handling of dangerous offenders ; i) Decision-making by the sentencing judges, etc. (2 proposals) ; ;) Medical vs penal committals ; k) Law-enforcement, policing. 3) Personnel : a) Professionalization in career patterns ; b) Criteria for personnel selection ; c) Greater use of female personnel. 4) Causation. Situations related to criminality : a) How international relations and other external factors affect crime ; 6) Hierarchy of causes of crime ; c) Migrants. Minorities in general ; d) Relation to socio-economic development in different countries ; e) A biological approach to criminal subcultures, constitutional types, twin studies, etc. ; f) Cultural and social approach : norms of moral judgment, ideals presented to the young, etc. ; g) Effect of social change : crime in developing countries, etc. (6 proposals) ; h) Effects of mass media, rapid dissemination of patterns of deviant behaviour (2 proposals). 5) Varieties of crime and criminals : a) Traffic in drugs ; b) Prison riots ; c) Violence particularly in youth (7 proposals) ; d) Dangerousness ; e) Relation to the rights of man (including rights of deviants); f) Female crime (2 proposals) ; g) Prostitution ; i) The mentally ill offender ; ;) Cultural variations in types of crime ; k) Organized crime ; /) Use of firearms ; m) Gambling ; n) Victims and victimology. 6) Treatment : evaluation : a) Social re-adaptation of offenders ; b) Statistical research on corrections, with possible computerization of data ; c) Comparisons between prisons and other closed environments ; d) Extra-legal consequences of deprivation of liberty ; e) Rehabilitation in developing countries ; f ) Criteria for evaluation of programs of correction ; g) Biochemical treatment (2 proposals) ; i) Differential treatment of different types of offense. Evaluation ; /) Prisons as agencies of treatment ; k) Effects of different degrees of restriction of liberty ; /) Environments of correctional institutions ; m) Study of prison societies ; n) Crime as related to the total social system. 7) Research methodology : a) Publication of what is known regarding methodology ; b) Methods of research ; c) Culturally-comparable vs culturally-contrasting situations ; d) Development of a new clearer terminology to facilitate communication ; e) Actual social validity of the penal law. 8) Statistics : epidemiology : a) Need for comparable international statistics ; standardized criteria (3 proposals) ; b) Difficulties. Criminologists must collect the data themselves. 9) Training of research workers : Recruiting and training of « com-paratists ». 10) Machinery : Committee of co-ordination. Discussions The discussions at the Symposium were based on these suggestions, the main concentration falling on problems of manifestations of violence in the world today, the phenomenon of student contestation, and on human rights and the corresponding responsibilities attached thereto. Although the participants did not come to definite conclusions as to the respective merits of the problems submitted for consideration, they did discuss the conditions under which comparative studies of these problems should be approached, the techniques appropriate to obtaining valid results, and the limitations on this type or work. Four workshops were established and studied the various problems. The first tackled the problems of the definition of the criteria of « danger » represented by different type of criminals ; the problem of discovering whether the value system which underlies the Human Rights Declaration corresponds to the value system of today's youth; the problem of the treatment of criminals ; of female criminality ; and, finally, of violence in the form of individual and group manifestations. The second workshop devoted its main consideration to the revolt of youth and to organized crime, also proposing that an international instrument bank of documentation and information be established. The third workshop considered problems of theory : how the police and the public view the criminal ; the opportunity of making trans-cultural comparisons on such subjects as arrest, prison, etc. ; and the role of the media of information in the construction of value systems. The fourth workshop blazed a trail in the matter of methodology appropriate to research in comparative criminology. The period of discussions which followed the report of the four workshops gave rise to a confrontation between two schools of thought within the group of specialists. The question arose as to whether the problem of student contestation falls within the scope of the science of criminology. Several experts expressed the opinion that criminologists ought not to concern themselves with a question which really belongs in the realm of political science. On the other hand, the majority of the participants appeared to feel that the phenomenon of student contestation did indeed belong in the framework of criminological research. One of the experts in particular took it upon himself to be the spokesman of this school of thought. There are those, he said, who feel that criminology should confine itself and its research to known criminality, to hold-ups, rape, etc. However, one should not forget that penal law rests on political foundations, the legality of power, a certain moral consensus of the population. Today, it is exactly this « legitimate » authority that is being contested. Is it not to be expected, therefore, that criminology should show interest in all sociological phenomena which have legal and criminal implications ? Contestation and violence have consequences for the political foundations of penal law, and therefore are fit subjects for the research of the criminologist. International Centre {or Comparative Criminology The First International Symposium for Research in Comparative Criminology situated itself and its discussions within the framework and in the perspectives opened by the founding of the International Centre for Comparative Criminology. The Centre is sponsored jointly by the University of Montreal and the International Society for Criminology, with headquarters at the University of Montreal. As one of the participants emphasized, criminologists need a place to retreat from the daily struggle, to meditate, to seek out and propose instruments of research valid for the study of problems common to several societies. Viewing the facts as scientists, we are looking for operational concepts. Theoreticians and research workers will rough out the material and, hopefully, this will inspire conferences and symposiums of practitioners, jurists, sociologists, penologists, and other specialists. Above all, it will give common access to international experience, something which is lacking at present both at the level of documentation and of action. A bank of instruments of method- ology in the field of comparative criminology does not exist at the present time. The Centre will undertake to compile and analyse research methods used in scientific surveys, and it will establish such an instrument bank. It will also gather and analyse information pertaining to legislative reforms now in progress or being contemplated in the field of criminal justice. Through the use of computers, the Centre will be able to put these two projects into effect and make the results easily accessible to research workers, and to all those concerned in this field. The participants at the Symposium were given a view of the extent of the problems envisaged for research by the future Centre. It is hoped that this initiative will be of concrete use to research workers, private organizations, public services and governments at many levels, and in many countries.

The paper is a continuation of the previous analyses of penal policy pursued by Polish courts. The directions and shape of penal policy are the resultant of many different elements. Analysed in the present paper is the impact on that policy of changes in: penal law; detected crime; and some characteristics of the population of convicted persons. The 1980s abounded in far-reaching changes of penal legislation. In the years 1980-1981, the tremendous “Solidarity” movement failed to bring about a penal law reform despite the fact that its representatives started intensive work toward that aim, preparing and stimulating others to prepare drafts of such reform. The imposition of martial law secured continued power to the communists; its social costs, however, were extremely high. An item on the bill society were forced to pay was the inclusion into penal law of many elements typical of the law of war which aggravated criminal responsibility. Thus (1) the competence of military courts was extended to various categories of civilians; (2) the application of special modes of procedure was introduced or extended, including the single-instance summary proceedings; (3) many statutory penalties were aggravated; (4) many different categories of acts were penalized which had not been punishable before, including in particular pursuit of trade union activities and organization of strikes and protests; (5) internment was introduced as an administrative form of preventive deprivation of liberty. The abrogation of martial law resulted in removal of most but not all of the above aggravations. A new tide of severe provisions came with the acts of May 1985 which in fact created a new “martial law” in penal law. It consisted in: (1) extension of applicability of the existing and introduction of new “simplified” modes of procedure which involved limitation of the defendant’s right to defence; (2) aggravation of the statutory penalties for many acts; (3) vast extension of the application of additional penalties; (4) limitation of the applicability of suspended sentences; (5) exclusion of conditional release of multiple recidivists; (6) extension of the conditions of withdrawal of parole. Therefore, penal policy was shifted twice towards aggravation in the 1980s, the first such shift was made in 1982 and continued with reduced force throughout 1983, and the second one taking place in the years 1985‒1988. Departure from the over-punitive penal law of People’s Republic of Poland started in 1989 with the emergence of the new political order which created the initial conditions for the building of the Third Republic. In 1989, just the first steps were made, followed by few farther in the years 1990‒1991, towards changing the contens of penal law and reforming the most glaring effects of its abuse. Such steps met with immense difficulties. The attachment to former penal law proved strong: to penal law with indefinite statutory features of situences, with severe penalties which could be accumulated and imposed in the conditions of far-reaching limitation of the right to defence or even by default. According to an opinion often expressed in official statements, penal policy was to be determined first and foremost by the state of crime. The extent and trends of crime in general and of the separate offences were to “force” the authorities accordingly to shape penal policy. The incessantly growing threat to public order and citizens’ safety, and to social property in particular, was to justify the need for aggravated and accumulated penalties. Also penal lawyers who noticed the direct relationship between crime and punishment tended ‒ and still tend today for that matter ‒ to suppose that an identical relationship can be found between crime as a mass phenomenon and punishment as a proces of distribution of condemnations through the imposition of penalties by courts. Yet whatever the relations between punishment ‒ its severity in particular ‒ and crime, they are in fact very weak indeed. This is shown by facts: crime comparable as to extent and gravity meets with most different punishment in different countries. A growth in crime sometimes leaves penal policy unchanged, and at other times results in its aggravation or mitigation; similar are the effects of a decrease in crime. Poland is a good example here: in the 1970s, detected crime was on the decrease but penal policy gained in strictness; in the 1980s, crime went up and the aggravation of penal policy continued. In the first of those decades, the decrease in crime was said to have resulted from the particular shape of penal policy pursued then; in the next one, the need forstrict penal policy was argued to follow from the growth in crime. Never mentioned, instead, was a trend of crime which would actually justify a mitigation of penal policy. As we know, the extent and also largely the structure of detected crime, that is of crime recorded by the police, is the resultant of many different organizational, legal, and often also political factors. The real extent and structure of crime can hardly be seen through that screen, and its picture is often distorted. In the former “socialist” states, the extent of crime was a political issue: generally speaking, it shaped the way the authorities expected it to shape. During the 1970s and even in 1980, the number of detected offences ‒ those confirmed in preparatory proceedings ‒ was 320‒350 thousand a year. Starting from 1981, it went up rapidly to 540 thousand in 1984. For the next few years, it was falsely kept at a similar or even somewhat lower level which was to manifest the effectiveness of the drastic statutes of May 1985. Early in the 1990s, the situation was changed radically: the extent of detected crime was no longer perceived as a political issue regulated as the authorities requested. In the years 1990‒1992, the number of detected offences became stabilized at 860‒880 thousand a year. It is believed to have actually gone up, and it no doubt did go up in the economy-related spheres: the real number of offences against foreign currency and customs regulations, tax offences, frauds, embezzlements etc. was indeed greater. III. The above-mentioned growth in the number of detected offences was hardly reflected in the numer of persons found guilty in criminal proceedings. There were about 200 thousand such persons a year, and the numer only went down in years when amnesty laws were passed. Penal legislation provides for different penalties for the separate offences. Therefore, in order to appraise the enhanced or reduced severity of penal policy, it is important to investigate any possible changes in the proportions of those offences throughout the 1980s. In the years 1980‒1991, convictions for crimes (where the statutory penalty is deprivation of liberty for at least 3 years) regularly amounted to 3‒4%, and those for the more serious offences (statutory pelalty of at least 1 or 2 years imprisonment) – to 19‒31%. In the early half of the 1980s, there was a shift towalds a greater proportion of convictions for the less serious offences. The opposite trend could be noticed in the latter half of the decade. Generally speaking, the bulk of convicted persons were guilty of less and less serious offences during the discussed decade, the proportion of convictions for serious crimes remaining rather stable in that period. This trend could be noticed under the statutes of May 1985 which shows how unrelated they were to the real situation in the sphere of crime, and how much they depended on other factors such as e.g. the ruling elites’ desire to have their revenge on society for the events of 1980-1981. The situation changed in the years 1989‒1991 when the proportion of persons convicted for the more serious offences started to go up rapidly. This sole element considered – that is, the structure of crime – were penal policy stable throughout the years l980‒1988, there should have been more and more sentences to penalties not involving deprivation of liberty, and the length of inprisonment should have been reduced. In the years 1989‒1991, instead, a greater number of longer immediate prison sentences could be expected. The most severe, of all penalties provided for by Polish law is capitol puishment. In the years 1981‒1982, there were 3‒4 valid sentences to that pe- nalty a year, the number going up to a dozen or so in the years 1984‒1986. The common courts imposed death penalty for homicide only. Since 1988, not a single valid sentence to death has been imposed by those courts (though it was imposed by invalid sentences in isolated cases). This de facts abolition can be hoped to persist, especially as the new draft penal code does not provide for capital punishment. The death penalty has first of all a symbolic sense; it is difficult to say why the authorities insisted on rejecting all the postulates for its abolition. Instead, the basic instrument that determines the punitiveness of the Polish penal system is unconditional deprivation of liberty. Penal policy of the 1970s had few good points; one of them was a limitation of the use of that penalty, noticeable at the end of the decade. This trend was further intensified in 1981 when 19% of those found guilty were sentenced to immediate imprisonment. Under martial law and in the period of its suspension, there was a slight shift away from that policy (2l‒22%). It was finally abandoned in the years 1984‒1986: in 1986, 30% of those found guilty were sentenced to immediate inprisonment. In 1988, the policy-makers came back to their senses, and re-orientation of penal policy was started: sentenced to immediate imprisonment were 21% of those found guilty. This proportion went further down to 18% in 1989, but then proceeded to rise again in the years 1990‒1991 (19‒20%). The above-mentioned change in the structure of crime in those years considered, this fact cannot possibly be seen as evidencing the aggravation of penal policy. The imposition of unconditional deprivation of liberty evolved in a way that is worth mentioning here. In the latter half of the 1970s, the number of sentences to that penalty became stabilized at 190-200 per 100 thousand of adults, a great improvement compared to the early half of that decade (228‒273 per 100 thousand of adults). In the 1980s, the number of unconditional prison sentences went further down to about 150 per 100 thousand of adults, barring the period of validity of the acts of May 1985 when it again exceeded 200. Thus on the whole, the range of imposition of immediate impressonment was further reduced – a most satisfactory development. As regards the length of that penalty, that is the term to be spent in prison, there has been little improvement. Prison terms of under 1 year, considered short in Poland, still constitute a mere 8‒13% of all sentences to unconditional deprivation of liberty. Thus nearly 180 persons per 100 thousand of adults in the years of validity of the statuts of May 1985, and about 130-140 in the other years were sentenced to prison terms of at least one year, the number only going down to somewhat less than 100 in the years when amnesty laws were passed. Instead, the incidence of sentences to long prison terms of at least 3 years remained relatively stable: sentenced to that penalty were 30‒40 persons per 100 thousand of adults. The length of sentences can also be considered from a different angle, i.e. that of the average length of the discussed penalty. In the years 1980‒1991 the average length of unconditional prison term was practically unchanged and amounted to 24‒25 months (barring the year 1985 when it nearly reached 27 months). Therefore, the following trend emerped: the imposition of immediate imprisonment is gradually limited but its average length remains at a practically unchanged level. It is an extremely high level at that, the fact considered that the bulk of offences for which the Polish offenders were convicted involved the lower statutory penalty of 6 months deprivation of liberty at most. Of the greatest importance among the reactions to an offence which do not involve deprivation of liberty in Poland is the penalty of conditional deprivation of liberty. Its incidence went up rapidly under martial law (from 29% in 1980 to 37% in 1982) and remained at a high level for the next few years. It is only recently that the proportion of such sentences has been reduced to its original level. There is a great variety of shapes this particular penalty can assume: it can be combined with fine, supervision, and various duties imposed on the person sentenced to that penalty, and also with additional penalties and payment to the injured person or for a public purpose. In the years 1980‒1984, it was very often combined with fine (7l‒78% of cases). This proportion went down in the next years (to 55‒60%) which was however accompanied by an unusual growth in the imposition of additional penalties, such as in particular confiscation of property and forfeiture of things, and also of payment to the injured personor for a public purpose. In the years 1989‒1991, that is after abrogation of the states of May 1985, the proportion of cases where fine was imposed together with conditional deprivation of liberty again went up to two thirds of all cases of imposition of that penalty. (The amount of fines will be discussed further on). The penalty of limitation of liberty, introduced by tle 1969 penal code, had some problems fighting its way into the practice of criminal justice. In the latter half of the 1970s, though, its proportion among the bulk of penal measures became stabilized at 12‒14%. The same trend could be noticed in the years 1980‒1981. The aggravation of criminal responsibility under martial law resulted in reduction of sentences to that penalty (to as low a level as 7% in 1984). Instead, the next aggravation introduced by the statutes of May 1985 led to a growth in both the number and proportion of sentences to limitation of liberty. Surprising as it may seem at first sight this development can be explained by the fact that by force of the provisions adopted in 1985, that penalty could be imposed in proceedings by penal order, i.e. in the absence of the defendant. His objection to the decision admittedly rendered the order invalid, but he was not protected by the ban on reformatio in peius. In the years 1989–1991 the proportion of limitation of liberty in the bulk of penal measures imposed went down to the extent of rendering that penalty unimportant. In 1989, it was imposed on 7.4% of those found guilty; in 1990 – on 3.5%; and in l991 – on a mere 2.7%. In the 1990s, the relative incidence of imposition of the separate forms of that penalty started to change rapidly. Deduction from the remmeration for work was imposed on 53% of persons sentenced to limitation of liberty in 1989, on 38% in 1990, and on 21% in 1991. Unpaid supervised work came to the foreground (34, 56, and 78% respectively) while referral of the convicted person to work practically disappeared (l3, 6 and, 1% respectively). Fine as a self-standing penalty has never been extensively imposed in Poland as opposed to the situation in many other penal systems, the West European ones in particular. Late in ten 1970s, the proportion of fines became stabilized at 11–13% and remained unchanged throughout the early half of the 1980s. It then proceeded to go up a little in the years 1986–1988 (15–16%), and stopped at 13–15% in the years 1989–1991. The proportion of fines can be expected to grow in the future, mainly at the sacrifice of conditional deprivation of liberty combined with fine. As important as the length of a prison term is the amount of a fine imposed. The repressiveness of fines can be appraised through reference to the average monthly wages in socialized economy. Compared to them, the average fines under the 1969 code evolved significantly. The use of fines was intensified in two parallel ways. First, their imposition together with deprivation of liberty grew more and more frequent (up to 69% of all persons sentenced to a prison term in 1980). Second, the amount of fine was raised (to 2.5 times the monthly wages in 1980). Important changes in this respect took place in the 1980s. In the early half of the decade, the accumulation of fines with deprivation of liberty was further extended (to 75% of prison terms in 1984). On the other hand, the relative amount of fines went down (to about 1,5 times the monthly wages in socialized economy). This situation changed radically with the introduction of the statues of May 1985 which involved a drastic raise in the amount of fines (in the years 1986–1987, to about 4 times the average monthly wages in the case of fines as additional penalties combined with deprivation of liberty, and to 2.5 times – in the case of self-standing fines). A next far-reaching change took place in the years 1989–1991. The relative amount of fine went down to about 0.5 time the monthly wages – a considerable reduction of repressiveness, even the general impoverishment of society considered. One of the penal measures introduced by the 1969 penal code is conditional discontinuance of criminal proceedings. It can be applied to first offenders guilty of the less serious acts whose guilt is self-evident. The measure was appllied by the public prosecutor in nearly 90% of cases, and by the court in about l0% of cases only. Like unconditional deprivation of liberty, conditional discontinuance of proceedings can be seen as a specific gauge of aggravation or mitigation of penal policy. With growing severity of that policy, the proportion of persons sentenced to unconditional prison terms goes up, and that of conditionally discontinued proceedings goes down. Is penal policy mitigated, the above proportions are reversed. In the years 1981, 1988, and 1989–1991, proceedings were conditionally discontinued in 24–30% of cases where the suspect was found guilty. Under the special martial law legislation, the proportion was 19–20%, and under the acts of May 1985 – 16–19%. The remaining penal measures, that is additional penalty imposed as the main one, application of educational or corrective measures to persons aged 17 and guilty of misdemeanours, and renouncement of carrying out of the sentence, were used extremely seldom in spite of the considerable possibility of their application (the first two in particular). In the days when those in charge of criminal justice aimed at aggravation of responsibility, there was little room for its mitigation with the use of such measures. The years l980–1988 were characterized first and foremost by a tendency to aggravate penalties. After a short break in 1981, that tendency continued until 1989 when the first changes coul be noticed. In both cases, the period of reorientation of penal policy was too short to yield any farther-reaching changes. In the structure of penal measures, the aggravation of responsibility was expressed mainly in the growing proportion of sentendes to immediate imprisonment and the limited use of conditional discontinuance of proceedings and limitation of liberty when no special procedural provisions incited the use of those measures. The penal policy pursued in the years 1989-1991 was deeply rooted in the practices of people’s Republic of Poland; to be more exact, the trends of that period still today if in a mitigated form. The 1989–1991 mitigation took place on different planes: the legal one, through removal of the specially punitive and glaringly unjust provisions, on the plane of application of law through many small mitigations of penalties which add to a significant whole, and also through a radical reform of prison policy. But the actual mitigation does not go beyond the achievements of “Solidarity” of 1981. As a result, too many and too long sentences of immediate imprisonment are still imposed, and penal measures (imprisonment and fine in particular) are too often accumulated. Briefly speaking, Poland still has the style of punishming shaped after the penal code in force and its interpretation made in the 1970s. A radical abolition of this style and mitigatin of penalties still remains to be done, although the first steps have already been made by now (the virtual abolition of the death penalty and reduction of the amount of fines).

In July 2019, the New York State legislature signed the Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act into law. The ambitious act sets targets to establish climate resiliency statewide through initiatives including reducing gas emissions, improving infrastructure, and providing job training. In response, several state senators have called for education reform to accordingly prepare the next generation for the climate crisis. We evaluate three climate education bills (S7341, S6837, and S6877) currently in committee in New York State. S7341, sponsored by Senator Andrew Gounardes and known as the Model Curriculum bill, proposes an environmental education curriculum for K-12 students. S6877, sponsored by Senator Rachel May and called the Regents Climate Amendment, makes recommendations to the Board of Regents on climate science in high school science classes. S6837, a Climate Education Grants Program sponsored by Senator Todd Kaminsky, provides support for teacher training and local climate resiliency projects. We examined these bills with respect to their effectiveness, administrative burden, and efficiency in the delivery of a climate education. We found the Model Curriculum bill to be the most effective way to educate and prepare students for the climate crisis. However, New York State must support educators with proper training and funding to provide quality climate education. We therefore recommend that the New York Senate pass the Model Curriculum bill and the Climate Education Grants Program.

Photo by Anna Hecker on Unsplash ABSTRACT All people deserve the legal ability to outline their care decisions in advance and expect their decisions to govern during a pregnancy. However, until advance directives govern without pregnancy exceptions, people will not uniformly retain the ability to formulate autonomous decisions about their health care planning. INTRODUCTION In the last few years, states have passed increasingly restrictive laws regarding abortion and reproductive health care. Recent legislation in Alabama effectively banned the procedure altogether, while more than a dozen states have passed or are currently in the process of enacting so-called “fetal heartbeat laws,” which ban abortion at roughly six weeks post-conception after the detection of electrical activity in what could develop into fetal cardiac tissue.[1] While courts rarely uphold outright bans and broad sweeping legislation, they garner significant media and public attention.[2] In practice, however, often smaller legislative changes that garner the least attention have the most significant impact by steadily chipping away at healthcare rights. Few people realize the ethical impact of the poorly understood legal means by which a pregnant woman has already lost her right to make autonomous healthcare decisions over her body using an advance directive in nearly every state. BACKGROUND Advance directives are one of modern medicine’s most powerful yet underused tools. Most clinicians and patients think of advance directives as being only for the elderly or terminally ill. This association stems from the 1991 Congressional Patient Self-Determination Act that requires hospitals, nursing homes, and hospice agencies receiving federal funding to inform patients of their legal right to prepare an advance directive. The 2015 announcement by the Center for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS) to reimburse for advance directives without requiring a diagnosis code recognizes that all adult patients can benefit from advance directives regardless of illness or life expectancy.[3] Providers should be aware of a small but significant exemption found in most state advance directive laws. This exemption, commonly known as the pregnancy clause, invalidates the advance directive of a pregnant woman, negating autonomy. The pregnancy clause can lead to treatment against medical standards of care and places private interests over public health. Advance directive statutes are frequently amended, but currently, only eight states allow patients to write their pregnancy-related wishes into their advance directive and guarantee that their instructions will be followed. Eleven states automatically invalidate advance directives during pregnancy, while 18 states permit physicians to disregard a pregnant woman’s (or her proxy’s) wishes based on the likelihood of viability, pain, and suffering, or conscientious objector clauses. Thirteen states remain silent on whether an advance directive is binding during pregnancy or have contradictory statutes.[4] Viability has no standard definition for the purposes of the clauses and viability-based pregnancy clauses can lead to the same loss of rights as pregnancy clauses that invalidate advance directives due to pregnancy without any exceptions. Many may wonder about the clinical relevance of pregnancy clauses. The likelihood that a woman will need to effectuate an advance care directive while pregnant is higher than many people would realize. This situation is most commonly assumed to occur in instances of a brain-dead pregnant woman, of which there are a few cases reported each year. But brain death and persistent vegetative states are just two reasons to look to an advance directive. Advance directives more commonly apply to patients with dementia, strong religious objections to medical care, or during cancer treatments, surgery, or acute injury with temporary loss of capacity. In surgery or acute lapses of capacity, a proxy may be asked to make decisions if complications arise. The number of women potentially affected by pregnancy clauses is significant. Each year, 75,000 pregnant women will undergo non-obstetrical surgery;[5] one in 1,500 pregnant women will be diagnosed with cancer;[6] and an estimated 250,000 Americans will exhibit early-onset Alzheimer’s symptoms between the ages of 30 and 50.[7] ANALYSIS Though pregnancy clauses are a seemingly narrow focus, they can nullify an entire advance directive and restrict care not related to the fetus. By negating entire advance directives, the clauses negate proxy appointments, allowing decision-makers other than the intended proxy. Providers and proxies are left with little guidance over who can make decisions on behalf of the patient. Many states will appoint a biological family member as the surrogate decision maker if there is no designated proxy or the directive is invalid. The outdated language and assumptions about nuclear families found in these structures could significantly impact unmarried couples, same-sex partnerships, and relationships that do not meet state-defined partnership standards where the courts may appoint someone other than the woman’s significant other even when she designated them as a proxy.[8] Members of religious groups whose doctrines prohibit certain medical therapies must be informed that if they become pregnant, their autonomous ability to decide about medical care through an advance directive and their right to freely practice religion can be voided entirely. In addition to infringing on patient autonomy, pregnancy clauses also restrict how clinicians might practice medicine by mandating medically inappropriate treatments against the provider’s recommendations. For example, Illinois’s pregnancy clause stipulates that “if you are pregnant and your health care professional thinks you could have a live birth, your living will cannot go into effect.”[9] This clause places providers in a difficult position of sacrificing their therapeutic obligation to their patients. It may require them to use futile therapy against the patient’s best interest and without regard for prolonged pain and suffering. Pregnancy clauses are void of any consideration of the best clinical interest of the patient or the fetus and instead promote conservative rhetoric that all potential fetal life is paramount. Numerous medical and chromosomal conditions are incompatible with life or present significant potential disabilities that may be accompanied by pain and suffering. The same conditions also pose risks to the mother, including death. Accordingly, the medical profession recognizes that there are instances in which it may not be in the best medical interest of the mother or the fetus to continue the pregnancy. Yet providers are seemingly required by pregnancy clauses to violate codes of conduct and subject pregnant patients and their nonviable fetuses to treatments to which other patients would not be subjected. Without evidence of a patient’s clear and convincing intentions, states have an interest in protecting life, preventing suicide, and maintaining the ethical integrity of the medical profession that could interfere with the person’s ability to refuse care.[10] The legal defense of pregnancy clauses is that the state’s interest in fetal life is sufficiently important to override the mother. As established in Planned Parenthood v. Casey (1992), however, the state’s interest only exists for fetal life post-viability.[11] Therefore, to allow the state interest to override the person’s advance directive when the fetus is not yet viable violates Casey. Individuals have a legal and ethical interest in maintaining bodily privacy, integrity, and freedom from unwanted touching. They have the right to appoint a proxy or use a directive to govern care in the case of incapacity. Even when contemplating brain death, organ donation, and whether to be cremated or buried, there is an expectation that personal wishes will govern. Honoring an advance directive allows providers to uphold the integrity of the medical profession by respecting the principles of autonomy and beneficence. Pregnancy clauses are inherently unethical as their creation was not to further the integrity of the medical or legal profession, nor protect a state’s interest in the patient’s life. In 2016, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists issued a committee opinion that pregnancy is not an ethical exemption to the right of capable patients to refuse treatment.[12] The right to direct treatment while pregnant is consistent with modern medical practice, while the legislative promotion of a singular abstract interest in potential fetal life to the exclusion of all other medical and ethical considerations is not in line with the profession’s values.[13] Many pregnancy clauses are politically motivated, reflecting anti-abortion legality lobbying efforts and attempts to win over conservative voters. When Alaskan Attorney General Harold M. Brown argued the state’s pregnancy clause was unconstitutional, Governor Bill Sheffield – a Democrat in a historically red state – enacted the bill anyway. Georgia’s Governor Bill Kemp narrowly won his election, with some crediting his aggressive messaging against immigration and abortion.[14] With either advance directives, proxies, or even friends and relatives who know what the person (if not incapacitated) would have wanted, courts and legislatures should not have leeway to force care that a person, if conscious, would have refused.[15] The ability to harness advance directive law to force invasive and unwanted treatment upon a pregnant patient’s body continues to occur out of the fear of legal uncertainty. The lack of uniformity between states in their pregnancy clauses further adds to the confusion. Many advance directive statutes create a conditional proposition: if a provider acts in accordance with the carefully drawn circumstances of an advance directive, the provider is granted protective immunity from accusations of malpractice or wrongful death for that conduct. It is neither illegal nor unethical to remove a ventilator, for example, from a patient who has directed such a course of action in an advance directive. A pregnancy clause may remove that immunity making the unethical act of ignoring the directive legal, but the ethical act of following it (removing a ventilator, for example) could subject the practitioner to liability.[16] Without a pregnancy clause, providers retain the ability to both follow an advance directive and to act in the best medical interest of their patient. Pregnancy clauses create confusion over the permissibility of medical acts in an attempt to coerce providers into making decisions that violate the rights of their patients and their own ethical codes of conduct. Pregnancy clauses are a fallacy of consequentialist ethics in which the morality of the outcome justifies actions. Under consequentialist reasoning, any violation to the woman is justified if the fetus develops and results in a live birth. This reasoning is further faulty as it incorrectly assumes that mechanically ventilating an unconscious, sick, dying, or dead body will result in a live birth. Consequentialist theories should be limited to situations with predictable ends. Ethical medical providers refute consequentialism in certain contexts because it treats patients as a means to an end to produce benefit for others. In pregnancy, ignoring advance directives to achieve the chance that a fetus might survive is not justified by consequentialism. Pregnancy clauses also fail through the lens of deontological ethics in which an action must be ethical in and of itself and not based on outcomes. The choice to respect autonomy through an advance directive should be followed uniformly absent special circumstances. Proponents of pregnancy clauses may argue that pregnancy is an appropriate exception because a woman “has chosen to lend her body to bring [a] child into the world.”[17] Minnesota and Oklahoma echo this belief in their statutes, which contain an unjustified rebuttable presumption that all female patients would want life-sustaining treatment if they are pregnant.[18] Pregnancy should not abrogate the rights of a person to assign a proxy for access to an abortion or to control her medical treatment. Pregnancy exclusions are not grounded in the ethical “best interest” standards for the mother or the fetus. Instead, they are rooted in outdated expectations of female gender roles, which reaffirm a legislative assumption that a pregnancy is more morally valuable than a woman’s autonomy. CONCLUSION All people deserve the legal ability to outline their care decisions in advance and expect their decisions to govern during a pregnancy. Providers and the government do not have to approve of a person’s care decisions or values, but medical practitioners must respect a person’s right to dictate their own health narratives. With the push for more patients to execute advance directives, providers and patients must be aware that their advance directives may succumb to the authority of pregnancy clauses. Until advance directives govern without pregnancy exceptions, people will not uniformly retain the ability to formulate autonomous decisions about their health care planning. Advance directive law will continue to be hijacked by politically motivated legislators. When seeking to address inequities in healthcare laws and access, it is essential to take a closer look at not only the headline cases but also the clauses and exemptions to laws seemingly designed to benefit patients. [1] For proposed and current abortion legislation and maps, see https://www.guttmacher.org/state-policy# and Anne Godlasky, Nicquel Terry Ellis, and Jim Sergent, “Where is Abortion Legal? Everywhere, but…” USA Today, May 15, 2019, updated April 23, 2020 https://www.usatoday.com/in-depth/news/nation/2019/05/15/abortion-law-map-interactive-roe-v-wade-heartbeat-bills-pro-life-pro-choice-alabama-ohio-georgia/3678225002/ [2] https://www.guttmacher.org/state-policy# (Many bills fail in legislatures and are not enacted.) [3] Department of Health and Human Services Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services; 42 CFR Part 405, 410, 411, 414, 425, and 495; “Medicare Program; Revisions to Payment Policies Under the Physician Fee Schedule and Other Revisions to Part B for CY 2016; Final Rule.” [4] DeMartino, E. S., Sperry, B. P., Doyle, C. K., Chor, J., Kramer, D. B., Dudzinski, D. M., & Mueller, P. S. (2019). US State Regulation of Decisions for Pregnant Women Without Decisional Capacity. JAMA, 321(16), 1629–1631. https://doi.org/10.1001/jama.2019.2587; Villarreal, Elizabeth. “Pregnancy and Living Wills: A Behavioral Economic Analysis.” The Yale Law Journal Forum. Vol. 128 (2019); 1052-1076. [5] “Surgery During Pregnancy.” Intermountain Healthcare: Fact Sheet for Patients and Families, (2018). https://intermountainhealthcare.org/ext/Dcmnt?ncid=520782026 [6] Basta, P. Bak, A. Roszkowski, K. “Cancer Treatment in Pregnant Women”. Contemporary Oncology, 19, no. 5 (2015): 354–360 [7] “31-Year-Old Woman Fights Alzheimer's While Pregnant.” San Francisco Globe. 9 July 2015, sfglobe.com/2015/02/19/31-year-old-woman-fights-alzheimers-while-pregnant. [8] “Health Care Proxies.” Human Rights Campaign, https://www.hrc.org/resources/health-care-proxy. [9] Illinois Department of Public Health website, Statement of Illinois Law on Advance Directives and DNR Orders, http://www.idph.state.il.us/public/books/advdir4.htm. [10] In the Matter of Karen Quinlan, 355 A.2d 647 (1976); Cruzan v. Director, Missouri Department of Health, 497 U.S. 261 (1990); and In re Conroy 486 A.2d 1209 (1985). [11] Planned Parenthood of Southeastern Pennsylvania v. Casey, 505 U.S. 833 (1992). [12] The American College of Obstetricians & Gynecologists Committee on Ethics, Committee Opinion No. 664: Refusal of Medically Recommended Treatment During Pregnancy, (2016). [13] Lederman, Anne D. “A Womb of My Own: A Moral Evaluation of Ohio’s Treatment of Pregnant Patient’s with Living Wills”. Case W. Res. L. Rev. Vol. 45:351 (1995); 351-377. [14] Tavernise, Sabrina. “The Time Is Now: States Are Rushing to Restrict Abortion, or to Protect It.” The New York Times, 15 May 2019. [15] Cruzan. [16] Mayo, T.M. “Brain-Dead and Pregnant in Texas.” The American Journal of Bioethics, Vol. 14, no. 8 (Nov. 2014); 15-18. [17] In re A.C., 573 A. 2nd 1244 (1990). [18] Johnson, Kristeena L. “Forcing Life on the Dead: Why the Pregnancy Exemption Clause of the Kentucky Living Will Directive Act is Unconstitutional.” Kentucky Law Journal. Vol. 100 (2011-12); 209-233.

The story of Barbie is a tapestry woven with threads of cultural significance, societal shifts, and corporate narratives. It’s a tale that encapsulates the evolution of American post-war capitalism, mirroring the changing tides of social norms, aspirations, and identities. Barbie’s journey from Germany to Los Angeles, along the way becoming a global icon, is a testament to the power of Ruth Handler’s vision and Barbie’s marketing. Barbie embodies and reflects the rise of mass consumption and the early days of television advertising, where one doll could become a household name and shape the dreams of children worldwide. The controversies and criticisms surrounding Barbie – from promoting a ‘thin ideal’ to perpetuating gender and racial stereotypes – highlight the complexities of representation in popular culture. Yet, Barbie’s enduring message, “You can be anything”, continues to inspire and empower, even as it evolves to embrace a more inclusive and diverse portrayals of power, beauty, and potential. Barbie’s story is not just about a doll; it’s about the aspirations she represents, the societal changes she’s witnessed, and the ongoing conversation about her impact on gender roles, body image, and consumer culture. It’s a narrative that continues to unfold, as Barbie adapts to the times and remains a symbol of possibility. Barbie: A Popular Culture Icon “It is impossible to conceive of the toy industry as being anything other than dependent on a popular culture which shapes and structures the meanings carried by toys” (Fleming 40). The relationship between toys and popular culture is symbiotic. While popular culture influences the creation of toys, toys also contribute to the spread and longevity of cultural icons and narratives. Today, one of the most influential, popular, and contested toys of the twentieth century is Mattel’s Barbie doll. Her launch at the New York Toy Fair on 9 March 1959 by Mattel co-founder Ruth Handler was a game-changer in the toy industry. Her adult appearance, symbolised by her fashionable swimsuit and ponytail, was a bold move by Mattel. Despite the doubts from the toy industry which thought nobody would want to play with a doll that had breasts (Tamkin) and Mattel’s skepticism of its commercial success (Westenhouser 14), Barbie was a success, selling over 350,000 units in her first year, and she quickly became an iconic figure, paving the way for other male and female adult dolls. For the first time in mid-century America, Barbie meant children could play with a doll that looked like a woman, not a little girl or a baby. In a 1965 interview, Ruth Handler argued that American girls needed a doll with a “teen-age figure and a lot of glorious, imaginative, high-fashion clothes” (cited in Giacomin and Lubinski 3). In a 1993 interview, Handler said it was “important that Barbie allowed play situations that little girls could project themselves into … to imagine, pretend and to fantasize”. Hence Ruth Handler’s Barbie could be an “avatar for girls to project their dreams onto” (Southwell). Barbie hit the market with a “sassy ponytail, heavy eyeliner, a healthy dose of side-eye and a distinctly adult body” (Blackmore). Her arched eyebrows were matched with a coy sideways glance reflecting her sexual origins (Thong). Mattel did not reveal that Ruth Handler’s Barbie was inspired by a German novelty men’s toy, Bild Lilli, which Handler had purchased on a European holiday in 1955. Mattel fought several lawsuits and eventually secured the rights to Bild Lilli in 1964, which required the German maker of the Bild Lilli doll to not make her again. Barbie dolls, both blonde and brunette, changed little until 1967, when Mattel launch the ‘new’ Barbie doll which is the foundation for today’s Stereotypical Barbie. The same size as the original, thanks to Mattel engineer Jack Ryan she could twist and turn at the waist. Her facial features were softened, she had ‘real’ eyelashes’ and took on an ‘outdoor look’. The new 1967 version of Barbie originally retailed for US$3.00. Mattel, assuming consumers may not want to buy a new Barbie when they already had one, offered buyers the new Barbie at US$1.50 if they traded in their old 1950s Barbie. The television advertising campaign for the new Barbie featured Maureen McMormick (who would go on to play Marcia Brady in the TV series The Brady Bunch from 1969 to 1974). The original #1 Barbie today sells for over US$25,000 (Reinhard). The most expensive Barbie sold to date was a Stefano Canturi-designed Barbie that sold in 2010 for US$302,500 at Christies in New York (Clarendon). Barbie has been described as “the most successful doll in history”, “the most popular toy in history”, the “empress of fashion dolls” (Rogers 86), the “most famous doll in the world” (Ferorelli), the biggest-selling fashion doll in history (Green and Gellene), and is one if the world’s “most commercially successful toys” (Fleming 41). Barbie is both “idealistic and materialistic” and characterises an “American fantasy” (Tamkin). More so, she is a popular culture icon and “a unique indicator of women’s history” (Vander Bent). The inclusion of Barbie in America’s twentieth-century Time Capsule “cemented her status as a true American icon” (Ford), as did Andy Warhol when he iconised Barbie in his 1968 painting of her (Moore). During the 1950s and 1960s, Barbie’s name was licenced to over 100 companies; while a strategic move that expanded Barbie’s brand presence, it also provided Mattel with substantial royalty payments for decades. This approach helped solidify Barbie’s status as a cultural icon and enabled her to become a lucrative asset for Mattel (Rogers). Sixty-five years later, Barbie has 99% global brand awareness. In 2021, Mattel shipped more than 86 million Barbies globally, manufacturing 164 Barbies a minute (Tomkins). In 2022, Barbie generated gross sales of US$1.49 billion (Statista 2023). With this fiscal longevity and brand recognition, the success of the Barbie film is not surprising. The 2023 film, directed by Greta Gerwig and starring Australian Margot Robbie as Barbie and Canadian Ryan Gosling as Ken, as of March 2024 has a global box office revenue of US$1.45 billion, making it the 14th most successful movie of all time and the most successful movie directed by a woman (Statista 2024). Contested Barbie Despite her popularity, Barbie has been the subject of controversy. Original Barbie’s proportions have been criticised for promoting an unrealistic body image (Thong). Barbie’s appearance has received numerous critiques for “representing an unrealistic beauty standard through its former limited skin tone and hair combination” (Lopez). The original Barbie’s measurements, if scaled to life-size, would mean Barbie is unusually tall and has a slim figure, with a height of 5 feet 9 inches, a waist of just 18 inches, and hips of approximately 33 inches. Her bust would measure around 32 inches with an under-bust of 22 inches, and her shoulder width would be approximately 28 inches. Original Barbie’s legs, which are proportionally longer than an average human’s, would make up more than half her height (Thong). A 1996 Australian study scaled Barbie and Ken to adult sizes and compared this with the physical proportions of a range of women and men. They found that the likelihood of finding a man of comparable shape to Ken was 1 in 50. Barbie was more problematic. The chance of a woman being the same proportion as Barbie was 1 in 100,000 (Norton et al. 287). In 2011, The Huffington Post’s Galia Slayen built a life-sized Barbie based on Barbie’s body measurements for National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Slayen concluded that “if Barbie was a real woman, she’d have to walk on all fours due to her proportions”. One report found that if Barbie’s measurements were those of a real woman her “bones would be so frail, it would be impossible for her to walk, and she would only have half a liver” (Golgowski). A 2006 study found that Barbie is a “possible cause” for young girls’ “body dissatisfaction”. In this study, 162 girls from age 5 to 8 were exposed to images of a thin doll (Barbie), a plus-size doll (US doll Emme, size 16), or no doll, and then completed assessments of body image. Girls exposed to Barbie reported “lower body esteem and greater desire for a thinner body shape than girls in the other exposure conditions”. The study concluded that “early exposure to dolls epitomizing an unrealistically thin body ideal may damage girls' body image, which would contribute to an increased risk of disordered eating and weight cycling” (Dittman and Halliwell 283). Another study in 2016 found that “exposure to Barbie” led to “higher thin-ideal internalization”, but found that Barbie had no “impact on body esteem or body dissatisfaction” (Rice et al. 142). In response to such criticism, Mattel slowly introduced a variety of Barbie dolls with more diverse body types, including tall, petite, and curvy models (Tamkin). These changes aim to reflect a broader range of beauty standards and promote a more positive body image. Barbie has always had to accommodate social norms. For this reason, Barbie always must have underpants, and has no nipples. One of the reasons why Ruth Handler’s husband Elliott (also a co-founder of Mattel) was initially against producing the Barbie doll was that she had breasts, reportedly saying mothers would not buy their daughters a doll with breasts (Gerber). Margot Robbie, on playing Barbie, told one news outlet that while Barbie is “sexualized”, she “should never be sexy” (Aguirre). Early prototypes of Barbie made in Japan in the 1950s sexualised her body, leaving her to look like a prostitute. In response, Mattel hired film make-up artist Bud Westmore to redo Barbie’s face and hair with a softer look. Mattel also removed the nipples from the prototypes (Gerber). Barbie’s body and fashion have always seemed to “replicate history and show what was what was happening at the time” (Mowbray), and they also reflect how the female body is continually surveilled. Feminists have had a long history of criticism of Barbie, particularly her projection of the thin ideal. At the 1970 New York Women’s Strike for Equality, feminists shouted “I am not a Barbie doll!” Such debates exemplify the role and impact of toys in shaping and reforming societal norms and expectations. Even the more recent debates regarding the 2023 Barbie film show that Barbie is still a “lightning rod for the messy, knotty contradictions of feminism, sexism, misogyny and body image” (Chappet). Decades of criticism about Barbie, her meaning and influence, have left some to ask “Is Barbie a feminist icon, or a doll which props up the patriarchy?” Of course, she’s both, because “like all real women, Barbie has always been expected to conform to impossible standards” (Chappet). Diversifying Barbie Over the decades Mattel has slowly changed Barbie’s body, including early versions of a black Barbie-like dolls in the 1960s and 1970s such as Francie, Christie, Julia, and Cara. However, it was not until 1980 that Mattel introduced the first black Barbie. African American fashion designer Kitty Black-Perkins, who worked for Mattel from 1971, was the principal designer for black Barbie, saying that “there was a need for the little Black girl to really have something she could play with that looked like her” (cited in Lafond). Black Barbie was marketed as She’s black! She’s beautiful! She’s dynamite! The following year, Asian Barbie was introduced. She was criticised for her nondescript country of origin and dressed in an “outfit that was a mishmash of Chinese, Korean and Japanese ethnic costumes” (Wong). More recently, the Asian Barbies were again criticised for portraying stereotypes, with a recent Asian Barbie dressed as a veterinarian caring for pandas, and Asian violinist Barbie with accompanying violin props, reflecting typical stereotypes of Asians in the US (Wong). In 2016, Mattel introduced a range of Barbie and Ken dolls with seven body types, including more curvy body shapes, 11 skin tones and 28 hairstyles (Siazon). In 2019, other Barbie body types appeared, with smaller busts, less defined waist, and more defined arms. The 2019 range also included Barbies with permanent physical disabilities, one using a wheelchair and one with a prosthetic leg (Siazon). Wheelchair Barbie comes with a wheelchair, and her body has 22 joints for body movement while sitting in the wheelchair. The Prosthetic Barbie comes with a prosthetic leg which can be removed, and was made in collaboration with Jordan Reeve, a 13-year-old disability activist born without a left forearm. In 2020, a No Hair Barbie and a Barbie with the skin condition vitiligo were introduced, and in 2022, Hearing Aid Barbie was also launched. In 2022 other changes were made to Barbie’s and Ken’s bodies, with bodies that became fuller figured and Kens with smaller chests and less masculine body shapes (Dolan). Down Syndrome Barbie was released in 2023, designed in collaboration with the US National Down Syndrome Society to ensure accurate representation. By 2024, Barbie dolls come in 35 skin tones, 97 hairstyles, and nine body types (Mattel 2024). Spanning hundreds of iterations, today the Barbie doll is no longer a homogenous, blond-haired, blue-eyed toy, but rather an evolving social phenomenon, adapting with the times and the markets Mattel expands into. With dolls of numerous ethnicities and body types, Barbie has also embraced inclusivity, catering to the plethora of different consumers across the world (Green and Gellene 1989). Career Barbie While not dismissing Barbie’s problematic place in feminist, gender and racial critiques, Barbie has always been a social influencer. Her early years were marked by a variety of makeovers and modernisations, as have recent changes to Barbie’s body, reflecting the changing social norms of the times. Stereotypical Barbie had her first major makeover in 1961, with her ponytail swapped for a short ‘Bubble Bob’ hairstyle inspired by Jackie Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, reflecting women’s emerging social independence (Foreman). In the early 1970s, Barbie’s original demure face with averted eyes was replaced by a new one that “depicted confidence and a forward-facing gaze” (Vander Bent). Her “soft look” was a departure from the mature image of the original 1959 Barbie (Lafond). The ‘soft look’ on Malibu Barbie with her newly sculpted face featured an open smile for the first time, as well as sun-tanned, make-up free skin and sun-kissed blonde hair. The disappearance of Barbie’s coy, sideways glance and the introduction of forward-looking eyes was a development “welcomed by feminists” (Ford). Barbie’s early makeovers, along with her fashion and accessories, including her homes, cars, and pets, contributed to shaping her image as a fashionable and independent woman. Barbie’s various careers and roles have been used to promote ideas of female empowerment. From astronaut to presidential candidate, Barbie has broken barriers in traditionally male-dominated fields. However, the effectiveness of these efforts in promoting female empowerment is a topic of debate. The post-war period in America saw a significant shift in the pattern of living, with a move from urban areas to the suburbs. This was facilitated by a robust post-war economy, favourable government policies like the GI Bill, and increasing urbanisation. The GI Bill played a crucial role by providing low-interest home loans to veterans, making home ownership accessible to a large segment of the population. It was a significant transformation of the American lifestyle and shaped the country’s socio-economic landscape. It is in this context that Barbie’s first Dreamhouse was introduced in the early 1960s, with its mid-century modern décor, hi-fi stereo, and slim-line furniture. This was at a time when most American women could not get a mortgage. Barbie got her first car in 1962, a peach-colored Austin-Healey 3000 MKII convertible, followed short afterwards by a Porsche 911. She has also owned a pink Jaguar XJS, a pink Mustang, a red Ferrari, and a Corvette. Barbie’s car choices of luxurious convertibles spoke to Barbie’s social and economic success. In 1998, Barbie became a NASCAR driver and also signed up to race in a Ferrari in the Formula 1. Barbie’s ‘I Can Be Anything’ range from 2008 was designed to draw kids playing with the dolls toward ambitious careers; one of those careers was as a race car driver (Southwell). While Barbie’s first job as a baby-sitter was not as glamourous or well-paying as her most of her other over 250 careers, it does reflect the cultural landscape Barbie was living in in the 1960s. Babysitter Barbie (1963) featured Barbie wearing a long, pink-striped skirt with ‘babysitter’ emblasoned along the hem and thick-framed glasses. She came with a baby in a crib, a telephone, bottles of soda, and a book. The book was called How to Lose Weight and had only two words of advice, ‘Don’t Eat’. Even though there was a backlash to the extreme dieting advice, Mattel included the book in the 1965 Slumber Party Barbie. Barbie wore pink silk pajamas with a matching robe and came prepared for her sleepover with toiletries, a mirror, the controversial diet book, and a set of scales permanently set at 110 pounds (approx. 50kg), which caused further backlash (Ford). Barbie’s early careers were those either acceptable or accessible to women of the era, such as the Fashion Designer Barbie (1960), Flight Attendant Barbie (1961), and Nurse Barbie (1962). However, in 1965 Barbie went into space, two years after cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova became the first woman in space, and four years before the American moon landing. Barbie’s career stagnated in the 1970s, and she spends the decade being sports Barbie, perhaps as a response to her unpopularity among vocal second wave feminists and reflecting the economic downturn of the era. America’s shift to the right in the 1980s saw in the introduction of the Yuppie, the young urban professional who lived in the city, had a high-powered career, and was consumption-driven. More women were entering the workforce than ever before. Barbie also entered the workforce, spending less time doing the passive leisure of her earlier self (Ford). It also signals the beginning of neoliberalism in America, and a shift to individualism and the rise of the free market ethos. In 1985, Day-to-Night Barbie was sold as the first CEO Barbie who “could go from running the boardroom in her pink power suit to a fun night out on the town”. For Mattel she “celebrated the workplace evolution of the era and showed girls they could have it all”. But despite Barbie’s early careers, the focus was on her "emphasized femininity”, meaning that while she was now a career woman, her appearance and demeanor did not reflect her job. Astronaut Barbie (1985) is a good example of Barbie’s ‘emphasised femininity’ in how career Barbies were designed and dressed. Astronaut Barbie is clearly reflecting the fashion and culture trends of the 1980s by going into space in a “shiny, hot pink spacesuit”, comes with a second space outfit, a shiny “peplum miniskirt worn over silver leggings and knee-high pink boots” (Bertschi), and her hair is too big to fit into the helmet. A dark-skinned US Astronaut Barbie was released in 1994, which coincided with the start of the Shuttle-Mir Program, a collaboration between the US and Russia which between 1994 and 1998 would see seven American astronauts spend almost 1,000 days living in orbit with Russian cosmonauts on the Mir space station. Throughout the 1990s, Barbie increasingly takes on careers more typically considered to be male careers. But again, her femininity in design, dressing and packaging takes precedence over her career. Police Officer Barbie (1993), for example, has no gun or handcuffs. Instead, she comes with a "glittery evening dress" to wear to the awards dance where she will get the "Best Police Officer Award for her courageous acts in the community”. Police Office Barbie is pictured on the box "lov[ing] to teach safety tips to children". Barbie thus “feminizes, even maternalises, law enforcement” (Rogers 14). In 1992, Teen Talk Barbie was released. She had a voice box programmed to speak four distinct phrases out of a possible 270. She sold for US$25, and Mattel produced 350,000, expecting its popularity. The phrases included ‘I Love Shopping’ and ‘Math class is tough’. The phrase ‘Math class is tough’ was seen by many as reinforcing harmful stereotypes about girls and math. The National Council of American Teachers of Maths objected, as did the American Association of University Women (NYT 1992). In response to criticisms of the gendered representations of Barbie’s careers, Mattel have more recently featured Barbie in science and technology fields including Paleontologist Barbie (1996 and 2012), Computer Engineer Barbie (2010), Robotics Engineer Barbie (2018), Astrophysicist Barbie (2019), Wildlife Conservationist Barbie, Entomologist Barbie (2019), and Polar Marine Biologist Barbie (all in collaboration with National Geographic), Robotics Engineer Barbie (2018), Zoologist Barbie (2021), and Renewable Energy Barbie (2022), which go some way to providing representations that at least encompass the ideal that ‘Girls Can Do Anything’. Barbie over her lifetime has also taken on swimming, track and field, and has been a gymnast. Barbie was an Olympic gold medallist in the 1970s, with Mattel releasing four Barbie Olympians between 1975 and 1976, arguably cashing in on the 1976 Montreal Olympics. Gold Medal Barbie Doll Skier was dressed in a red, white, and blue ski suit completed with her gold medal. Gold Medal Barbie Doll is an Olympic swimmer wearing a red, white, and blue tricot swimsuit, and again wears an Olympic gold medal around her neck. The doll was also produced as a Canadian Olympian wearing a red and white swimsuit. Gold Medal Barbie Skater looks like Barbie Malibu and is dressed in a long-sleeved, pleated dress in red, white, and blue. The outfit included white ice skates and her gold medal. Mattel also made a Gold Medal P.J. Gymnast Doll who vaulted and somersaulted in a leotard of red, white, and blue tricot. She had a warm-up jacket with white sleeves, red cuffs, white slippers, and a gold medal. Mattel, as part of a licencing agreement with the International Olympic Committee, produced a range of toys for the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. The collection of five Barbies represented the new sports added to the 2020 Olympics: baseball and softball, sport climbing, karate, skateboarding, and surfing. Each Barbie was dressed in a sport-specific uniform and had a gold medal. Barbie Olympic Games Tokyo 2020 Surfer, for example, was dressed in a pink wetsuit top, with an orange surfboard and a Tokyo 2020 jacket. For the 2022 Winter Olympics and Paralympics, Mattel released a new collection of Barbie dolls featuring among others a para-skiing Barbie who sits on adaptive skis and comes with a championship medal (Douglas). As part of Mattel’s 2023 Barbie Career of the Year doll, the Women in Sports Barbie range shows Barbie in leadership roles in the sports industry, as manager, coach, referee, and sport reporter. General Manager Barbie wears a blue-and-white pinstripe suit accessorised with her staff pass and a smartphone. Coach Barbie has a pink megaphone, playbook, and wears a two-piece pink jacket and athletic shorts. Referee Barbie wears a headset and has a whistle. Sports Reporter Barbie wears a purple, geometric-patterned dress and carries a pink tablet and microphone (Jones). Political Barbie Barbie has run for president in every election year since 1992. The first President Barbie came with an American-themed dress for an inaugural ball and a red suit for her duties in the Oval Office. In 2016, Barbie released an all-female presidential ticket campaign set with a president and vice-president doll. The 2000 President Barbie doll wore a blue pantsuit and featured a short bob cut, red lipstick pearl necklace, and a red gown to change into, “presumably for President Barbie’s inaugural ball” (Lafond). This followed the introduction of UNICEF Ambassador Barbie in 1989. She is packaged as a member of the United States Committee for UNICEF (United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund), which is mandated to provide humanitarian and development aid to children worldwide. Rather problematically, and again with a focus on her femininity rather than the importance of the organisation she represents, she wears a glittery white and blue full length ball gown with star patterning and a red sash. While some proceeds did go to the US Committee for UNICEF, the dressing and packaging featuring an American flag overshadows the career and its philanthropic message. The period signalled the end of the Cold War and was also the year the United States invaded Panama, resulting in a humanitarian disaster when US military forces attacked urban areas in order to overthrow the Noriega administration. Military Barbie Barbie has served in every US military branch (Sicard). Barbie joined the US army in 1989, wearing a female officer’s evening uniform, though with no sense of what she did. While it may be thought Barbie would increase female in interest in a military career, at the time more women were already enlisting that in any other period from the early 1970s to 2012 (Stillwell). Barbie rejoined the army for the 1990-1991 Gulf War, wearing a Desert Combat Uniform and the 101st Airborne "Screaming Eagle" patch, and serving as a medic. Barbie also joined the Air Force in 1990, three years before Jeannie Leavitt became the first female Air Force fighter pilot. Barbie wore a green flight suit and leather jacket, and gold-trimmed flight cap. She was a fighter pilot and in 1994, she joined the USAF aerial demonstration team, The Thunderbirds. Busy in the 1990s, she also enlisted in the US Navy wearing women's Navy whites. Marine Corps Barbie appeared in 1992, wearing service and conduct medals (Stillwell). All of Barbie’s uniforms were approved by the Pentagon (Military Women’s Memorial). The 2000 Paratrooper Barbie Special Edition was released with the packaging declaring “let’s make a support drop with first aid and food boxes”. She was dressed in undefined military attire which includes a helmet, dog tags, parachute, boots, and hairbrush. Barbie’s Influence In 2014, Barbie became a social media influencer with the launch of the @barbiestyle Instagram account, and in 2015, Barbie launched a vlog on YouTube to talk directly to girls about issues they face. The animated series features Barbie discussing a range of topics including depression, bullying, the health benefits of meditation, and how girls have a habit of apologising when they don’t have anything to be sorry about. The Official @Barbie YouTube channel has over eleven million global subscribers and 23 billion minutes of content watched, making Barbie the #1 girls’ brand on YouTube. Barbie apps average more than 7 million monthly active users and the Instagram count boasts over 2 million followers. The 2023 Barbie film really does attest to Barbie’s influence 70 years after her debut. Barbie, as this article has shown, is more than an influencer and more than a doll, if she ever really was only a doll. She is a popular culture icon, regardless of whether we love her or not. Barbie has sometimes been ahead of the game, and sometimes has been problematically represented, but she has always been influential. Her body, race, ability, careers, independence, and political aspirations have spoken different things to those who play with her. She is fiercely defended, strongly criticised, and shirks from neither. She is also liberating, empowering, straight, and queer. As the articles in this issue reflect, Barbie, it seems, really can be anything. Imagining and Interrogating Barbie in Popular Culture The feature article in this issue outlines how Australian Barbie fans in the 1960s expressed their creativity through the designing and making of their own wardrobes for the doll. Through examining articles from the Australian Women’s Weekly, Donna Lee Brien reveals this rich cultural engagement that was partly driven by thrift, and mostly by enjoyment. Eva Boesenberg examines the social and environmental effects of a plastic doll that is positioned as an ecological ambassador. While there is no doubt that climate change is one of our most pressing social issues, Boesenberg questions the motivations behind Barbie’s eco-crusade: is she an apt role-model to teach children the importance of environmental issues, or is this just a case of corporate greenwashing? Emma Caroll Hudson shifts the focus to entertainment, with an exploration of the marketing of the 2023 blockbuster film Barbie. Here she argues that the marketing campaign was highly successful, utilising a multi-faceted approach centred on fan participation. She highlights key components of the campaign to reveal valuable insights into how marketing can foster a cultural phenomenon. Revna Altiok’s article zooms in on the depiction of Ken in the 2023 film, revealing his characterisation to be that of a ‘manic pixie dream boy’ whose lack of identity propels him on a journey to self-discovery. This positioning, argues Altiok, pulls into focus social questions around gender dynamics and how progress can be truly achieved. Rachel Wang turns the spotlight to Asian identity within the Barbie world, revealing how from early iterations a vague ‘Oriental’ Barbie was accompanied by cultural stereotyping. Despite later, more nuanced interpretations of country-specific Asian dolls, problematic features remained embedded. This, Wang argues, positions Asian Barbies as the racial ‘other’. Kaela Joseph, Tanya Cook, and Alena Karkanias’s article examines how the 2023 Barbie film reflects different forms of fandom. Firstly, Joseph interrogates how the Kens’ patriarchal identity is expressed through acts of collective affirmational fandom. Here, individual fans legitimise their positions within the group by mastering and demonstrating their knowledge of popular culture phenomena. Joseph contrasts this with transformational fandom, which is based upon reimagining the source material to create new forms. The transformation of the titular character of the Barbie movie forms the basis of Eli S’s analysis. S examines how the metaphor of ‘unboxing’ the doll provides an avenue through which to understand Barbie’s metamorphosis from constrained doll to aware human as she journeys from the pink plastic Barbie Land to the Real World. Anna Temel turns her critical gaze to how the 2023 film attempts to reposition Barbie’s image away from gender stereotypes to a symbol of feminist empowerment. Director Greta Gerwig, Temel argues, critiques the ‘ideal woman’ and positions Barbie as a vehicle through which contemporary feminism and womanhood can be interrogated. Temel finds that this is not always successfully articulated in the depiction of Barbie in the film. The reading of the Barbie movie’s Barbie Land as an Asexual Utopia is the focus of Anna Maria Broussard’s article. Here Broussard draws the focus to the harmonious community of dolls who live without social expectations of sexuality. Barbie provides a popular culture reflection of the Asexual experience, expressed through Barbie’s rejection of a heteronormative relationship both in Barbie Land and the Real World. Completing this collection is Daisy McManaman’s article interrogating the multiple iterations of the doll’s embodied femininity. Incorporating an ethnographic study of the author’s relationship with the doll, McManaman uncovers that Barbie serves as a site of queer joy and a role model through which to enjoy and explore femininity and gender. These articles have been both intellectually stimulating to edit, and a joy. We hope you enjoy this collection that brings a new academic lens to the popular cultural phenomenon that is Barbie. References Aguirre, Abby. “Barbiemania! Margot Robbie Opens Up about the Movie Everyone’s Waiting For.” Vogue, 24 May 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.vogue.com/article/margot-robbie-barbie-summer-cover-2023-interview>. Bertschi, Jenna. “Barbie: An Astronaut for the Ages.” Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, 18 Jul. 2023. 11 Mar. 2024 <https://airandspace.si.edu/stories/editorial/barbie-astronaut-ages>. Blackmore, Erin. “Barbie’s Secret Sister Was a German Novelty Doll.” History.com, 14 Jul. 2023. 11 mar. 2024 <https://www.history.com/news/barbie-inspiration-bild-lilli>. Chappet, Marie-Claire. “Why Is Barbie So Controversial? How Ever-Changing Standards for Women Have Affected the Famous Doll.” Harpers Bazaar, 18 Jul. 2023. 11 Mar. 2024 <https://www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/culture/culture-news/a44516323/barbie-controversial-figure/>. Clarendon, Dan. “The Most Valuable Barbie Doll Auctioned for $302,500 — Which Others Carry Value?” Market Realist, 14 Apr. 2023. 15 Mar. 2o24 <https://marketrealist.com/fast-money/most-valuable-barbies/>. Dittman, Helga, and Emma Halliwell. “Does Barbie Make Girls Want to Be Thin? The Effect of Experimental Exposure to Images of Dolls on the Body Image of 5- to 8-Year Old Girls.” Developmental Psychology 42.2 (2006): 283-292. DOI: 10.1037/0012-1649.42.2.283. Dolan, Leah. “Barbie Unveils Its First-Ever Doll with Hearing Aids.” CNN, 11 May 2022. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/barbie-hearing-aid-ken-vitiligo/index.html>. Douglas, Kelly. “Why the New Para Skiing Barbie Is Groundbreaking for Disability Representation.” The Mighty, 21 Oct. 2023. 25 Mar. 2024 <https://themighty.com/topic/disability/para-skiing-barbie-disability-representation/>. Ferorelli, Enrico. “Barbie Turns 21.” Life, Nov. 1979. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://chnm.gmu.edu/cyh/primary-sources/310.html>. Fleming, Dan. Powerplay: Toys as Popular Culture. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1996. Ford, Toni Marie. “The History of the Barbie Doll.” Culture Trip, 6 Oct. 2016. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://theculturetrip.com/north-america/usa/articles/the-history-of-the-barbie-doll>. Foreman, Katya. “The Changing Faces of Barbie.” BBC, 11 May 2016. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20160511-the-changing-faces-of-barbie>. Gerber, Ruth. Barbie and Ruth: The Story of the World's Most Famous Doll and the Woman Who Created Her. HarperCollins, 2009. Giacomin, Valeria, and Christina Lubinski. 2023. “Entrepreneurship as Emancipation: Ruth Handler and the Entrepreneurial Process ‘in Time’ and ‘over Time’, 1930s–1980s.” Business History Online. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://doi.org/10.1080/00076791.2023.2215193>. Golgowski, Nina. “Bones So Frail It Would Be Impossible to Walk and Room for Only Half a Liver: Shocking Research Reveals What Life Would Be Like If a REAL Woman Had Barbie's body.” Daily Mirror, 14 Apr. 2013. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html>. Green, Michelle, and Denise Gellene. “As a Tiny Plastic Star Turns 30, the Real Barbie and Ken Reflect on Life in the Shadow of the Dolls.” People, 6 Mar. 1989. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://people.com/archive/as-a-tiny-plastic-star-turns-30-the-real-barbie-and-ken-reflect-on-life-in-the-shadow-of-the-dolls-vol-31-no-9/>. Jones, Alexis. “Barbie's New 'Women in Sports' Dolls Are a Major Win For Athletes and Fans.” Popsugar, 9 Aug. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://www.popsugar.com/family/mattel-women-in-sports-barbie-49268194>. Lafond, Hannah. “How Barbies Have Changed over the Years.” The List, 7 Jul. 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.thelist.com/1333916/barbies-changed-over-the-years/>. Lopez, Sandra. “10 Barbie Dolls Inspired by Real-Life Iconic Latinas.” Remezcla, 19 Jul. 2023. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://remezcla.com/lists/culture/barbie-dolls-inspired-by-real-life-iconic-latinas/>. Military Women’s Memorial. “Barbie Enlists.” 15 Mar. 2024 <https://womensmemorial.org/curators-corner/barbie-enlists/>. Moore, Hannah. “Why Warhol Painted Barbie.” BBC, 1 Oct. 2015. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-34407991>. Mowbray, Nicole. “Dressing Barbie: Meet the Designer Who Created a Miniature Fashion Icon.” CNN, 14 Jul. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://edition.cnn.com/style/dressing-barbie-iconic-fashion-looks>. New York Times. “Mattel Says It Erred; Teen Talk Barbie Turns Silent on Math." 21 Oct. 1992. 20 Mar. 2024 <https://www.nytimes.com/1992/10/21/business/company-news-mattel-says-it-erred-teen-talk-barbie-turns-silent-on-math.html>. Norton, Kevin, et al. “Ken and Barbie at Life Size.” Sex Roles 34 (1996): 287-294. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01544300. Reinhard, Abby. “Here's How Much Your Childhood Barbies Are Really Worth Now, New Data Shows.” Best Life, 14 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://bestlifeonline.com/how-much-are-barbies-worth-now-news/>. Rice, Karlie, et al. “Exposure to Barbie: Effects on Thin-Ideal Internalisation, Body Esteem, and Body Dissatisfaction among Young Girls.” Body Image 19 (2016): 142-149. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bodyim.2016.09.005. Rogers, Mary, F. Barbie Culture. Sage, 1999. Siazon, Kevin John. “The New 2019 Barbie Fashionistas Are More Diverse than Ever.” Today’s Parents, 12 Feb. 2019. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.todaysparent.com/blogs/trending/the-new-2019-barbie-fashionistas-are-more-diverse-than-ever/>. Sicard. Sarah. “A Few Good Dolls: Barbie Has Served in Every Military Branch.” Military Times, 28 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.militarytimes.com/off-duty/military-culture/2023/07/27/a-few-good-dolls-barbie-has-served-in-every-military-branch/>. Slayen, Galia. “The Scary Reality of a Real-Life Barbie Doll.” Huffington Post, 8 Apr. 2011. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-scary-reality-of-a-re_b_845239>. Southwell, Haxel. “Plastic on Track: Barbie's History in Motorsport”. Road and Track, 21 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.roadandtrack.com/car-culture/a44588941/plastic-on-track-barbie-history-in-motorsport/>. Statista. “Gross Sales of Mattel's Barbie Brand Worldwide from 2012 to 2022.” 2023. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.statista.com/statistics/370361/gross-sales-of-mattel-s-barbie-brand/>. ———. “Highest-Grossing Movies of All Time as of 2024.” 2024. 31 May 2024 <https://www.statista.com/statistics/262926/box-office-revenue-of-the-most-successful-movies-of-all-time/>. Stillwell, Blake. “Barbie and Ken Went to War Long before the 'Barbie' Movie.” Military.com, 26 Jul. 2023. 15 Mar. 2024 <https://www.military.com/off-duty/movies/2023/07/26/barbie-and-ken-went-war-long-barbie-movie.html>. Tamkin, Emily. Cultural History of Barbie.” Smithsonian, 23 Jun. 2023. 17 Mar. 2024 <https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/cultural-history-barbie-180982115/>. Thong, Hang. “Barbie’s Doll Dimensions.” OmniSize, 29 Nov. 2023. 19 Mar. 2024 <https://omnisizes.com/hobbies/barbie-doll/>. Vander Bent, Emily. “The Evolution of Barbie: A Marker for Women’s History.” Girl Museum, 12 Apr. 2021. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.girlmuseum.org/the-evolution-of-barbie-a-marker-for-womens-history/>. Westenhouser, Kitturah B. The Story of Barbie. Collector Books, 1994. Wong, Bryan. “Daniel Wu Slams Barbie Maker Mattel for Stereotyping Asians as ‘Panda Doctors’ and ‘Violinists.’” Today Online, 24 Jan. 2024. 16 Mar. 2024 <https://www.todayonline.com/8days/daniel-wu-slams-barbie-maker-mattel-stereotyping-asians-panda-doctors-and-violinists-2347786>.

IntroductionAccounts of criminals, their victims, and their pursuers have become entrenched within the sphere of popular culture; most obviously in the genres of true crime and crime fiction. The centrality of the pursuer in the form of the detective, within these stories, dates back to the nineteenth century. This, often highly-stylised and regularly humanised protagonist, is now a firm feature of both factual and fictional accounts of crime narratives that, today, regularly focus on the energies of the detective in solving a variety of cases. So familiar is the figure of the detective, it seems that these men and women—amateurs and professionals—have always had an important role to play in the pursuit and punishment of the wrongdoer. Yet, the first detectives were forced to overcome significant resistance from a suspicious public. Some early efforts to reimagine punishment and to laud the detective include articles written by Charles Dickens; pieces on public hangings and policing that reflect the great Victorian novelist’s commitment to shed light on, through written commentaries, a range of important social issues. This article explores some of Dickens’s lesser-known pieces, that—appearing in daily newspapers and in one of his own publications Household Words—helped to change some common perceptions of punishment and policing. Image 1: Harper's Magazine 7 December 1867 (Charles Dickens Reading, by Charles A. Barry). Image credit: United States Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division. A Reliance on the Scaffold: Early Law Enforcement in EnglandCrime control in 1720s England was dependent upon an inconsistent, and by extension ineffective, network of constables and night watchmen. It would be almost another three decades before Henry Fielding established the Bow Street Foot Patrol, or Bow Street Runners, in 1749, “six men in blue coats, patrolling the area within six miles of Charing Cross” (Worsley 35). A large-scale, formalised police force was attempted by Pitt the Younger in 1785 with his “Bill for the Further prevention of Crime and for the more Speedy Detection and Punishment of Offenders against the Peace” (Lyman 144). The proposed legislation was withdrawn due to fierce opposition that was underpinned by fears, held by officials, of a divestment of power to a new body of law enforcers (Lyman 144).The type of force offered in 1785 would not be realised until the next century, when the work of Robert Peel saw the passing of the Metropolitan Police Act 1829. The Police Act, which “constituted a revolution in traditional methods of law enforcement” (Lyman 141), was focused on the prevention of crime, “to reassure the lawful and discourage the wrongdoer” (Hitchens 51). Until these changes were implemented violent punishment, through the Waltham Black Act 1723, remained firmly in place (Cruickshanks and Erskine-Hill 359) as part of the state’s arsenal against crime (Pepper 473).The Black Act, legislation often referred to as the ‘Bloody Code’ as it took the number of capital felonies to over 350 (Pepper 473), served in lieu of consistency and cooperation, across the country, in relation to the safekeeping of the citizenry. This situation inevitably led to anxieties about crime and crime control. In 1797 Patrick Colquhoun, a magistrate, published A Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis in which he estimated that, out of a city population of just under 1 million, 115,000 men and women supported themselves “in and near the Metropolis by pursuits either criminal-illegal-or immoral” (Lyman 144). Andrew Pepper highlights tensions between “crime, governance and economics” as well as “rampant petty criminality [… and] widespread political corruption” (474). He also notes a range of critical responses to crime and how, “a particular kind of writing about crime in the 1720s demonstrated, perhaps for the first time, an awareness of, or self-consciousness about, this tension between competing visions of the state and state power” (Pepper 474), a tension that remains visible today in modern works of true crime and crime fiction. In Dickens’s day, crime and its consequences were serious legal, moral, and social issues (as, indeed, they are today). An increase in the crime rate, an aggressive state, the lack of formal policing, the growth of the printing industry, and writers offering diverse opinions—from the sympathetic to the retributive—on crime changed crime writing. The public wanted to know about the criminal who had disturbed society and wanted to engage with opinions on how the criminal should be stopped and punished. The public also wanted to be updated on changes to the judicial system such as the passing of the Judgement of Death Act 1823 which drastically reduced the number of capital crimes (Worsley 122) and how the Gaols Act, also of 1823, “moved tentatively towards national prison reform” (Gattrell 579). Crimes continued to be committed and alongside the wrongdoers were readers that wanted to be diverted from everyday events by, but also had a genuine need to be informed about, crime. A demand for true crime tales demonstrating a broader social need for crimes, even the most minor infractions, to be publicly punished: first on the scaffold and then in print. Some cases were presented as sensationalised true crime tales; others would be fictionalised in short stories and novels. Standing Witness: Dickens at the ScaffoldIt is interesting to note that Dickens witnessed at least four executions in his lifetime (Simpson 126). The first was the hanging of a counterfeiter, more specifically a coiner, which in the 1800s was still a form of high treason. The last person executed for coining in England was in early 1829; as Dickens arrived in London at the end of 1822, aged just 10-years-old (Simpson 126-27) he would have been a boy when he joined the crowds around the scaffold. Many journalists and writers who have documented executions have been “criticised for using this spectacle as a source for generating sensational copy” (Simpson 127). Dickens also wrote about public hangings. His most significant commentaries on the issue being two sets of letters: one set published in The Daily News (1846) and a second set published in The Times (1849) (Brandwood 3). Yet, he was immune from the criticism directed at so many other writers, in large part, due to his reputation as a liberal, “social reformer moved by compassion, but also by an antipathy toward waste, bureaucratic incompetence, and above all toward exploitation and injustice” (Simpson 127). As Anthony Simpson points out, Dickens did not sympathise with the condemned: “He wrote as a realist and not a moralist and his lack of sympathy for the criminal was clear, explicit and stated often” (128). Simpson also notes that Dickens’s letters on execution written in 1846 were “strongly supportive of total abolition” while later letters, written in 1849, presented arguments against public executions rather than the practice of execution. In 1859 Dickens argued against pardoning a poisoner. While in 1864 he supported the execution of the railway carriage murderer Franz Müller, explaining he would be glad to abolish both public executions and capital punishment, “if I knew what to do with the Savages of civilisation. As I do not, I would rid Society of them, when they shed blood, in a very solemn manner” (in Simpson 138-39) that is, executions should proceed but should take place in private.Importantly, Dickens was consistently concerned about society’s fascination with the scaffold. In his second letter to The Daily News, Dickens asks: round what other punishment does the like interest gather? We read of the trials of persons who have rendered themselves liable to transportation for life, and we read of their sentences, and, in some few notorious instances, of their departure from this country, and arrival beyond the sea; but they are never followed into their cells, and tracked from day to day, and night to night; they are never reproduced in their false letters, flippant conversations, theological disquisitions with visitors, lay and clerical […]. They are tried, found guilty, punished; and there an end. (“To the Editors of The Daily News” 6)In this passage, Dickens describes an overt curiosity with those criminals destined for the most awful of punishments. A curiosity that was put on vile display when a mob gathered on the concourse to watch a hanging; a sight which Dickens readily admitted “made [his] blood run cold” (“Letter to the Editor” 4).Dickens’s novels are grand stories, many of which feature criminals and criminal sub-plots. There are, for example, numerous criminals, including the infamous Fagin in Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy’s Progress (1838); several rioters are condemned to hang in Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of Eighty (1841); there is murder in The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit (1844); and murder, too, in Bleak House (1853). Yet, Dickens never wavered in his revulsion for the public display of the execution as revealed in his “refusal to portray the scene at the scaffold [which] was principled and heartfelt. He came, reluctantly to support capital punishment, but he would never use its application for dramatic effect” (Simpson 141).The Police Detective: A Public Relations ExerciseBy the mid-1700s the crime story was one of “sin to crime and then the gallows” (Rawlings online): “Crimes of every defcription (sic) have their origin in the vicious and immoral habits of the people” (Colquhoun 32). As Philip Rawlings notes, “once sin had been embarked upon, capture and punishment followed” (online). The origins of this can be found in the formula relied upon by Samuel Smith in the seventeenth century. Smith was the Ordinary of Newgate, or prison chaplain (1676–1698), who published Accounts of criminals and their gruesome ends. The outputs swelled the ranks of the already burgeoning market of broadsides, handbills and pamphlets. Accounts included: 1) the sermon delivered as the prisoner awaited execution; 2) a brief overview of the crimes for which the prisoner was being punished; and 3) a reporting of the events that surrounded the execution (Gladfelder 52–53), including the prisoner’s behaviour upon the scaffold and any last words spoken. For modern readers, the detective and the investigation is conspicuously absent. These popular Accounts (1676–1772)—over 400 editions offering over 2,500 criminal biographies—were only a few pence a copy. With print runs in the thousands, the Ordinary earnt up to £200 per year for his efforts (Emsley, Hitchcock, and Shoemaker online). For:penitence and profit made comfortable bedfellows, ensuring true crime writing became a firm feature of the business of publishing. That victims and villains suffered was regrettable but no horror was so terrible anyone forgot there was money to be made. (Franks, “Stealing Stories” 7)As the changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution were having their full impact, many were looking for answers, and certainty, in a period of radical social transformation. Sin as a central motif in crime stories was insufficient: the detective was becoming essential (Franks, “True Crime” 239). “In the nineteenth century, the role of the newly-fashioned detective as an agent of consolation or security is both commercially and ideologically central to the subsequent project of popular crime writing” (Bell 8). This was supported by an “increasing professionalism and proficiency of policemen, detectives, and prosecutors, new understandings about psychology, and advances in forensic science and detection techniques” (Murley 10). Elements now included in most crime narratives. Dickens insisted that the detective was a crucial component of the justice system—a figure to be celebrated, one to take centre stage in the crime story—reflecting his staunch support “of the London Metropolitan Police” (Simpson 140). Indeed, while Dickens is known principally for exposing wretched poverty, he was also interested in a range of legal issues as can be evinced from his writings for Household Words. Image 2: Household Words 27 July 1850 (Front Page). Image credit: Dickens Journals Online. W.H. Wills argued for the acceptance of the superiority of the detective when, in 1850, he outlined the “difference between a regular and a detective policeman” (368). The detective must, he wrote: “counteract every sort of rascal whose only means of existence it avowed rascality, but to clear up mysteries, the investigation of which demands the utmost delicacy and tact” (368). The detective is also extraordinarily efficient; cases are solved quickly, in one example a matter is settled in just “ten minutes” (369).Dickens’s pro-police pieces, included a blatantly promotional, two-part work “A Detective Police Party” (1850). The narrative begins with open criticism of the Bow Street Runners contrasting these “men of very indifferent character” to the Detective Force which is “so well chosen and trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business in such a workman-like manner, and is always so calmly and steadily engaged in the service of the public” (“Police Party, Part I” 409). The “party” is just that: a gathering of detectives and editorial staff. Men in a “magnificent chamber”, seated at “a round table […] with some glasses and cigars arranged upon it; and the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in between that stately piece of furniture and the wall” (“Police Party, Part I” 409). Two inspectors and five sergeants are present. Each man prepared to share some of their experiences in the service of Londoners:they are, [Dickens tells us] one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen observation, and quick perception when addressed; and generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually leading lives of strong mental excitement. (“Police Party, Part I” 410) Dickens goes to great lengths to reinforce the superiority of the police detective. These men, “in a glance, immediately takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate sketch of the editorial presence” and speak “very concisely, and in well-chosen language” and who present as an “amicable brotherhood” (“Police Party, Part I” 410). They are also adaptable and constantly working to refine their craft, through apeculiar ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself to every new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for which this important social branch of the public service is remarkable! (“Police Party, Part II” 459)These detectives are also, in some ways, familiar. Dickens’s offerings include: a “shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman – in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster”; a man “with a ruddy face and a high sun-burnt forehead, [who] has the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army” (“Police Party, Part I” 409-10); and another man who slips easily into the role of the “greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed, un-suspicious, and confiding young butcher” (“Police Party, Part II” 457). These descriptions are more than just attempts to flesh out a story; words on a page reminding us that the author is not just another journalist but one of the great voices of the Victorian era. These profiles are, it is argued here, a deliberate strategy to reassure readers.In summary, police detectives are only to be feared by those residing on the wrong side of the law. For those without criminal intent; detectives are, in some ways, like us. They are people we already know and trust. The stern but well-meaning, intelligent school teacher; the brave and loyal soldier defending the Empire; and the local merchant, a person we see every day. Dickens provides, too, concrete examples for how everyone can contribute to a safer society by assisting these detectives. This, is perfect public relations. Thus, almost singlehandedly, he builds a professional profile for a new type of police officer. The problem (crime) and its solution (the detective) neatly packaged, with step-by-step instructions for citizens to openly support this new-style of constabulary and so achieve a better, less crime-ridden community. This is a theme pursued in “Three Detective Anecdotes” (1850) where Dickens continued to successfully merge “solid lower-middle-class respectability with an intimate knowledge of the criminal world” (Priestman 177); so, proffering the ideal police detective. A threat to the criminal but not to the hard-working and honest men, women, and children of the city.The Detective: As Fact and as FictionThese writings are also a precursor to one of the greatest fictional detectives of the English-speaking world. Dickens observes that, for these new-style police detectives: “Nothing is so common or deceptive as such appearances at first” (“Police Party, Part I” 410). In 1891, Arthur Conan Doyle would write that: “There is nothing so deceptive as an obvious fact” (78). Dickens had prepared readers for the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes: who was smarter, more observant and who had more determination to take on criminals than the average person. The readers of Dickens were, in many respects, positioned as prototypes of Dr John Watson: a hardworking, loyal Englishman. Smart. But not as smart as those who would seek to do harm. Watson needed Holmes to make the world a better place; the subscriber to Household Words needed the police detective.Another article, “On Duty with Inspector Field” (1851), profiled the “well-known hand” responsible for bringing numerous offenders to justice and sending them, “inexorably, to New South Wales” (Dickens 266). Critically this true crime narrative would be converted into a crime fiction story as Inspector Field is transformed (it is widely believed) into the imagined Inspector Bucket. The 1860s have been identified as “a period of awakening for the detective novel” (Ashley x), a predictor of which is the significant sub-plot of murder in Dickens’s Bleak House. In this novel, a murder is committed with the case taken on, and competently solved by, Bucket who is a man of “skill and integrity” a man presented as an “ideal servant” though one working for a “flawed legal system” (Walton 458). Mr Snagsby, of Bleak House, observes Bucket as a man whoseems in some indefinable manner to lurk and lounge; also, that whenever he is going to turn to the right or left, he pretends to have a fixed purpose in his mind of going straight ahead, and wheels off, sharply at the very last moment [… He] notices things in general, with a face as unchanging as the great mourning ring on his little finger, or the brooch, composed of not much diamond and a good deal of setting, which he wears in his shirt. (278) This passage, it is argued here, places Bucket alongside the men at the detective police party in Household Words. He is simultaneously superhuman in mind and manner, though rather ordinary in dress. Like the real-life detectives of Dickens’s articles; he is a man committed to keeping the city safe while posing no threat to law-abiding citizens. ConclusionThis article has explored, briefly, the contributions of the highly-regarded Victorian author, Charles Dickens, to factual and fictional crime writing. The story of Dickens as a social commentator is one that is familiar to many; what is less well-known is the connection of Dickens to important conversations around capital punishment and the rise of the detective in crime-focused narratives; particularly how he assisted in building the professional profile of the police detective. In this way, through fact and fiction, Dickens performed great (if under-acknowledged) public services around punishment and law enforcement: he contributed to debates on the death penalty and he helped to build trust in the radical social project that established modern-day policing.AcknowledgementsThe author offers her sincere thanks to the New South Wales Dickens Society, Simon Dwyer, and Peter Kirkpatrick. The author is also grateful to the reviewers of this article for their thoughtful comments and valuable suggestions. ReferencesAshley, Mike. “Introduction: Seeking the Evidence.” The Notting Hill Mystery. Author. Charles Warren Adams. London: The British Library, 2012. xxi-iv. Bell, Ian A. “Eighteenth-Century Crime Writing.” The Cambridge Companion to Crime Fiction. Ed. Martin Priestman. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2003/2006. 7-17.Brandwood, Katherine. “The Dark and Dreadful Interest”: Charles Dickens, Public Death and the Amusements of the People. MA Thesis. Washington, DC: Georgetown University, 2013. 19 Feb. 2017 <https://repository.library.georgetown.edu/bitstream/handle/10822/558266/Brandwood_georgetown_0076M_12287.pdf;sequence=1>.Collins, Philip. Dickens and Crime. London: Macmillan & Co, 1964.Cruickshanks, Eveline, and Howard Erskine-Hill. “The Waltham Black Act and Jacobitism.” Journal of British Studies 24.3 (1985): 358-65.Dickens, Charles. 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London: Bradbury and Evans, 1853/n.d.Doyle, Arthur Conan. “The Boscombe Valley Mystery.” The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. London: Penguin, 1892/1981. 74–99.Emsley, Clive, Tim Hitchcock, and Robert Shoemaker. “The Proceedings: Ordinary of Newgate’s Accounts.” Old Bailey Proceedings Online, n.d. 4 Feb. 2017 <https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/static/Ordinarys-accounts.jsp>. Franks, Rachel. “True Crime: The Regular Reinvention of a Genre.” Journal of Asia-Pacific Pop Culture 1.2 (2016): 239-54. ———. “Stealing Stories: Punishment, Profit and the Ordinary of Newgate.” Refereed Proceedings of the 21st Conference of the Australasian Association of Writing Programs: Authorised Theft. Eds. Niloofar Fanaiyan, Rachel Franks, and Jessica Seymour. 2016. 1-11. 20 Mar. 2017 <http://www.aawp.org.au/publications/the-authorised-theft-papers/>.Gatrell, V.A.C. The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People, 1770-1868. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996.Gladfelder, Hal. 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London: British Society of Criminology (1998). 4 Feb. 2017 <http://www.britsoccrim.org/volume1/010.pdf>.Simpson, Antony E. Witnesses to the Scaffold: English Literary Figures as Observers of Public Executions. Lambertville: True Bill P, 2008.Walton, James. “Conrad, Dickens, and the Detective Novel.” Nineteenth-Century Fiction 23.4 (1969): 446-62.Wills, William Henry. “The Modern Science of Thief-Taking.” Household Words 1.16 (1850): 368-72.Worsley, Lucy. A Very British Murder: The Curious Story of How Crime Was Turned into Art. London: BBC Books, 2013/2014.

In PilsenTwenty-six Station Road,She climbed to the third floorUp stairs which were all that was leftOf the whole house,She opened her doorFull on to the sky,Stood gaping over the edge.For this was the placeThe world ended.Thenshe locked up carefullylest someone stealSiriusor Aldebaranfrom her kitchen,went back downstairsand settled herselfto waitfor the house to rise againand for her husband to rise from the ashesand for her children’s hands and feet to be stuck back in placeIn the morning they found herstill as stone, sparrows pecking her hands.Five Minutes after the Air Raidby Miroslav Holub(Calder 287) Holding Still Detonation. Affect. During the Second World War, London and other European cities were subjected to the terrors of aerial bombardment, rendered through nightmarish anticipations of the bomber (Gollin 7) and the material storm of the real air-raid. The fall of bombs plagued cities and their citizens with the terrible rain of explosives and incendiary weapons. A volatile landscape was formed as the urban environment was ‘unmade’ and urged into violent motion. Flying projectiles of shrapnel, debris and people; avalanches of collapsing factories and houses; the inhale and exhale of compressed air and firestorms; the scream of the explosion. All these composed an incredibly fluid urban traumatic, as atmospheres fell over the cities that was thick with smoke, dust, and ventilated only by terror (see for instance Sebald 10 and Mendieta’s 3 recent commentary). Vast craters were imprinted onto the charred morphologies of London and Berlin as well as Coventry, Hamburg and Dresden. Just as the punctuations of the bombing saw the psychic as well as the material give way, writers portraying Britain as an ‘volcano island’ (Spaight 5) witnessed eruptive projections – the volleys of the material air-war; the emotional signature of charged and bitter reprisals; pain, anguish and vengeance - counter-strikes of affect. In the midst of all of this molten violence and emotion it seems impossible that a simultaneous sense of quiescence could be at all possible. More than mere physical fixity or geographical stasis, a rather different sort of experience could take place. Preceding, during and following the excessive mobilisation of an air raid, ‘stillness’ was often used to describe certain plateuing stretches of time-space which were slowed and even stopped (Anderson 740). Between the eruptions appeared hollows of calm and even boredom. People’s nervous flinching under the reverberation of high-explosive blasts formed part of what Jordan Crandall might call a ‘bodily-inclination’ position. Slackened and taut feelings condensed around people listening out for the oncoming bomber. People found that they prepared for the dreadful wail of the siren, or relaxed in the aftermath of the attack. In these instances, states of tension and apprehension as well as calm and relief formed though stillness. The peculiar experiences of ‘stillness’ articulated in these events open out, I suggest, distinctive ways-of-being which undo our assumptions of perpetually fluid subjectivities and the primacy of the ‘body in motion’ even within the context of unparalleled movement and uncertainty (see Harrison 423 and also Rose and Wylie 477 for theoretical critique). The sorts of “musics of stillness and silence able to be discovered in a world of movement” (Thrift, Still 50), add to our understandings of the material geographies of war and terror (see for instance Graham 63; Gregory and Pred 3), whilst they gesture towards complex material-affective experiences of bodies and spaces. Stillness in this sense, denotes apprehending and anticipating spaces and events in ways that sees the body enveloped within the movement of the environment around it; bobbing along intensities that course their way through it; positioned towards pasts and futures that make themselves felt, and becoming capable of intense forms of experience and thought. These examples illustrate not a shutting down of the body to an inwardly focused position – albeit composed by complex relations and connections – but bodies finely attuned to their exteriors (see Bissell, Animating 277 and Conradson 33). In this paper I draw from a range of oral and written testimony archived at the Imperial War Museum and the Mass Observation wartime regular reports. Edited publications from these collections were also consulted. Detailing the experience of aerial bombing during the Blitz, particularly on London between September 1940 to May 1941, forms part of a wider project concerning the calculative and affective dimensions of the aeroplane’s relationship with the human body, especially through the spaces it has worked to construct (infrastructures such as airports) and destroy. While appearing extraordinary, the examples I use are actually fairly typical of the patternings of experience and the depth and clarity with which they are told. They could be taken to be representative of the population as a whole or coincidentally similar testimonials. Either way, they are couched within a specific cultural historical context of urgency, threat and unparalleled violence.Anticipations The complex material geographies of an air raid reveal the ecological interdependencies of populations and their often urban environments and metabolisms (Coward 419; Davis 3; Graham 63; Gregory The Colonial 19; Hewitt Place 257). Aerial warfare was an address of populations conceived at the register of their bio-rhythmical and metabolic relationship to their milieu (Adey). The Blitz and the subsequent Allied bombing campaign constituted Churchill’s ‘great experiment’ for governments attempting to assess the damage an air raid could inflict upon a population’s nerves and morale (Brittain 77; Gregory In Another 88). An anxious and uncertain landscape constructed before the war, perpetuated by public officials, commentators and members of parliament, saw background affects (Ngai 5) of urgency creating an atmosphere that pressurised and squeezed the population to prepare for the ‘gathering storm’. Attacks upon the atmosphere itself had been readily predicted in the form of threatening gas attacks ready to poison the medium upon which human and animal life depended (Haldane 111; Sloterdijk 41-57). One of the most talked of moments of the Blitz is not necessarily the action but the times of stillness that preceded it. Before and in-between an air raid stillness appears to describe a state rendered somewhere between the lulls and silences of the action and the warnings and the anticipatory feelings of what might happen. In the awaiting bodies, the materialites of silence could be felt as a kind-of-sound and as an atmospheric sense of imminence. At the onset of the first air-raids sound became a signifier of what was on the way (MO 408). Waiting – as both practice and sensation – imparted considerable inertia that went back and forth through time (Jeffrey 956; Massumi, Parables 3). For Geographer Kenneth Hewitt, sound “told of the coming raiders, the nearness of bombs, the plight of loved ones” (When the 16). The enormous social survey of Mass Observation concluded that “fear seems to be linked above all with noise” (original emphasis). As one report found, “It is the siren or the whistle or the explosion or the drone – these are the things that terrify. Fear seems to come to us most of all through our sense of hearing” (MO 378). Yet the power of the siren came not only from its capacity to propagate sound and to alert, but the warning held in its voice of ‘keeping silent’. “Prefacing in a dire prolepsis the post-apocalyptic event before the event”, as Bishop and Phillips (97) put it, the stillness of silence was incredibly virtual in its affects, disclosing - in its lack of life – the lives that would be later taken. Devastation was expected and rehearsed by civilians. Stillness formed a space and body ready to spring into movement – an ‘imminent mobility’ as John Armitage (204) has described it. Perched on the edge of devastation, space-times were felt through a sense of impending doom. Fatalistic yet composed expectations of a bomb heading straight down pervaded the thoughts and feelings of shelter dwellers (MO 253; MO 217). Waves of sound disrupted fragile tempers as they passed through the waiting bodies in the physical language of tensed muscles and gritted teeth (Gaskin 36). Silence helped form bodies inclined-to-attention, particularly sensitive to aural disturbances and vibrations from all around. Walls, floors and objects carried an urban bass-line of warning (Goodman). Stillness was forged through a body readied in advance of the violence these materialities signified. A calm and composed body was not necessarily an immobile body. Civilians who had prepared for the attacks were ready to snap into action - to dutifully wear their gas-mask or escape to shelter. ‘Backgrounds of expectation’ (Thrift, Still 36) were forged through non-too-subtle procedural and sequential movements which opened-out new modes of thinking and feeling. Folding one’s clothes and placing them on the dresser in-readiness; pillows and sheets prepared for a spell in the shelter, these were some of many orderly examples (IWM 14595). In the event of a gas attack air raid precautions instructions advised how to put on a gas mask (ARPD 90-92),i) Hold the breath. ii) Remove headgear and place between the knees. iii) Lift the flap of the haversack [ …] iv) Bring the face-piece towards the face’[…](v) Breathe out and continue to breathe in a normal manner The rational technologies of drill, dressage and operational research enabled poise in the face of an eventual air-raid. Through this ‘logistical-life’ (Reid 17), thought was directed towards simple tasks by minutely described instructions. Stilled LifeThe end of stillness was usually marked by a reactionary ‘flinch’, ‘start’ or ‘jump’. Such reactionary ‘urgent analogs’ (Ngai 94; Tomkins 96) often occurred as a response to sounds and movements that merely broke the tension rather than accurately mimicking an air raid. These atmospheres were brittle and easily disrupted. Cars back-firing and changing gear were often complained about (MO 371), just as bringing people out of the quiescence of sleep was a common effect of air-raids (Kraftl and Horton 509). Disorientation was usually fostered in this process while people found it very difficult to carry out the most simple of tasks. Putting one’s clothes on or even making their way out of the bedroom door became enormously problematic. Sirens awoke a ‘conditioned reflex’ to take cover (MO 364). Long periods of sleep deprivation brought on considerable fatigue and anxiety. ‘Sleep we Must’ wrote journalist Ritchie Calder (252) noticing the invigorating powers of sleep for both urban morale and the bare existence of survival. For other more traumatized members of the population, psychological studies found that the sustained concentration of shelling caused what was named ‘apathy-retreat’ (Harrisson, Living 65). This extreme form of acquiescence saw especially susceptible and vulnerable civilians suffer an overwhelming urge to sleep and to be cared-for ‘as if chronically ill’ (Janis 90). A class and racial politics of quiescent affect was enacted as several members of the population were believed far more liable to ‘give way’ to defeat and dangerous emotions (Brittain 77; Committee of Imperial Defence).In other cases it was only once an air-raid had started that sleep could be found (MO 253). The boredom of waiting could gather in its intensity deforming bodies with “the doom of depression” (Anderson 749). The stopped time-spaces in advance of a raid could be soaked with so much tension that the commencement of sirens, vibrations and explosions would allow a person overwhelming relief (MO 253). Quoting from a boy recalling his experiences in Hannover during 1943, Hewitt illustrates:I lie in bed. I am afraid. I strain my ears to hear something but still all is quiet. I hardly dare breathe, as if something horrible is knocking at the door, at the windows. Is it the beating of my heart? ... Suddenly there seems relief, the sirens howl into the night ... (Heimatbund Niedersachsen 1953: 185). (Cited in Hewitt, When 16)Once a state of still was lost getting it back required some effort (Bissell, Comfortable 1697). Cautious of preventing mass panic and public hysteria by allowing the body to erupt outwards into dangerous vectors of mobility, the British government’s schooling in the theories of panicology (Orr 12) and contagious affect (Le Bon 17; Tarde 278; Thrift, Intensities 57; Trotter 140), made air raid precautions (ARP) officers, police and civil defence teams enforce ‘stay put’ and ‘hold firm’ orders to protect the population (Jones et al, Civilian Morale 463, Public Panic 63-64; Thomas 16). Such orders were meant to shield against precisely the kinds of volatile bodies they were trying to compel with their own bombing strategies. Reactions to the Blitz were moralised and racialised. Becoming stilled required self-conscious work by a public anxious not to be seen to ‘panic’. This took the form of self-disciplination. People exhausted considerable energy to ‘settle’ themselves down. It required ‘holding’ themselves still and ‘together’ in order to accomplish this state, and to avoid going the same way as the buildings falling apart around them, as some people observed (MO 408). In Britain a cup of tea was often made as a spontaneous response in the event of the conclusion of a raid (Brown 686). As well as destroying bombing created spaces too – making space for stillness (Conradson 33). Many people found that they could recall their experiences in vivid detail, allocating a significant proportion of their memories to the recollection of the self and an awareness of their surroundings (IWM 19103). In this mode of stillness, contemplation did not turn-inwards but unfolded out towards the environment. The material processual movement of the shell-blast literally evacuated all sound and materials from its centre to leave a vacuum of negative pressure. Diaries and oral testimonies stretch out these millisecond events into discernable times and spaces of sensation, thought and the experience of experience (Massumi, Parables 2). Extraordinarily, survivors mention serene feelings of quiet within the eye of the blast (see Mortimer 239); they had, literally, ‘no time to be frightened’ (Crighton-Miller 6150). A shell explosion could create such intensities of stillness that a sudden and distinctive lessening of the person and world are expressed, constituting ‘stilling-slowing diminishments’ (Anderson 744). As if the blast-vacuum had sucked all the animation from their agency, recollections convey passivity and, paradoxically, a much more heightened and contemplative sense of the moment (Bourke 121; Thrift, Still 41). More lucid accounts describe a multitude of thoughts and an attention to minute detail. Alternatively, the enormous peaking of a waking blast subdued all later activities to relative obsolescence. The hurricane of sounds and air appear to overload into the flatness of an extended and calmed instantaneous present.Then the whistling stopped, then a terrific thump as it hit the ground, and everything seem to expand, then contract with deliberation and stillness seemed to be all around. (As recollected by Bill and Vi Reagan in Gaskin 17)On the other hand, as Schivelbusch (7) shows us in his exploration of defeat, the cessation of war could be met with an outburst of feeling. In these micro-moments a close encounter with death was often experienced with elation, a feeling of peace and well-being drawn through a much more heightened sense of the now (MO 253). These are not pre-formed or contemplative techniques of attunement as Thrift has tracked, but are the consequence of significant trauma and the primal reaction to extreme danger.TracesSusan Griffin’s haunting A Chorus of Stones documents what she describes as a private life of war (1). For Griffin, and as shown in these brief examples, stillness and being-stilled describe a series of diverse experiences endured during aerial bombing. Yet, as Griffin narrates, these are not-so private lives. A common representation of air war can be found in Henry Moore’s tube shelter sketches which convey sleeping tube-dwellers harboured in the London underground during the Blitz. The bodies are represented as much more than individuals being connected by Moore’s wave-like shapes into the turbulent aggregation of a choppy ocean. What we see in Moore’s portrayal and the examples discussed already are experiences with definite relations to both inner and outer worlds. They refer to more-than individuals who bear intimate relations to their outsides and the atmospheric and material environments enveloping and searing through them. Stillness was an unlikely state composed through these circulations just as it was formed as a means of address. It was required in order to apprehend sounds and possible events through techniques of listening or waiting. Alternatively being stilled could refer to pauses between air-strikes and the corresponding breaks of tension in the aftermath of a raid. Stillness was composed through a series of distributed yet interconnecting bodies, feelings, materials and atmospheres oriented towards the future and the past. The ruins of bombed-out building forms stand as traces even today. Just as Massumi (Sensing 16) describes in the context of architecture, the now static remainder of the explosion “envelops in its stillness a deformational field of which it stands as the trace”. The ruined forms left after the attack stand as a “monument” of the passing of the raid to be what it once was – house, factory, shop, restaurant, library - and to become something else. The experience of those ‘from below’ (Hewitt 2) suffering contemporary forms of air-warfare share many parallels with those of the Blitz. 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It is peculiar that we so urgently seek out the emotion of fear in film. We have a thirst for fear, and we go to elaborate means to experience it. It would be convenient if we could invoke the experience of fear without the apparatus of a cinema, but such intermediaries are necessary. We cannot will ourselves to be afraid. To evoke an emotion, we must organize our environment -- or invoke mental images of such an environment -- which then triggers the emotion. One of the great discoveries of the 20th century was the powerful effect of combining film with musical representations of emotion. It is possible to combine these two media in a way that reflects no naturally occurring visual-auditory correlation, such as the correlation between the sight and sound of a person running. That two such distinct media should combine so readily may seem puzzling. Background music is not part of the diegesis of the film and has the potential to create confusion (Cohen, 2). This potential was illustrated in Mel Brooks' comedy Blazing Saddles (1974). A sheriff rides in the desert set to suitable background music, but then meets the Count Basie Band performing the now foreground music. The music, initially interpreted on a subconscious or emotional level, is unexpectedly thrust into the fictional component of the film and processed on a conscious level. Such exceptions aside, there is usually no such confusion because film and music are integrated on an emotional rather than an analytic level. Fear responses do not require brain structures needed for consciousness and analytic thought but can be processed without conscious awareness by subcortical structures (i.e., the amygdala). A frightening score that is not part of the diegesis of the film combines with visual information at sub-cortical levels to create a unified experience of fear, with no sense that there are two sources of emotional meaning -- fictional and musical. The lack of literal connection between visual and auditory sources is not confusing. We do not question the logic of musicians playing triumphant music at every battle in Star Wars, or sentimental music inside the police station on Hill Street Blues. The combination of film and music is exceptionally potent because both are highly influential media. Economic activity reflects their influence (Huron, 3). In the United States, the largest export sector is entertainment, led by music and film. Film makers are so confident that they invest billions of dollars in them. In 1999 the average budget for a single Hollywood film was 76 million. The prevalence of music in industrialized society is also massive: the music industry is larger than the pharmaceutical industry. As a film composer, I've learned that I can induce fear most readily by turning my attention away from conventional music structures. In an important sense, writing fearful music should not involve composition in the usual sense of the term. Rather, one may rely on the fact that sound is inherently frightening when stripped of the comforting structuring properties of language and music. It is difficult to express fear using conventional forms. Fear is sometimes expressed in Opera but using unconventional forms. Fear is also associated with the bhayanaka rasa in Classical Indian music, but evidence suggests that sensitivity to rasas is related to basic acoustic properties such as pace, loudness, and complexity (Balkwill & Thompson, 1). The major and minor modes in Western music are associated with happiness and sadness, but the evocation of fear seems antithetical to such conventions. When music is recognizable, as in a melody with a traditional harmonic accompaniment, we experience reassurance. Conventional music evokes a comforting feeling that we are "among our own" and there is safety in numbers. The possibility of fear arises when familiar music structures are removed. It is certainly possible to create a creepy atmosphere using traditional forms by repeatedly pairing a musical segment with a frightening image or event. Such learned associations are used in the practice of leitmotiv, in which a musical theme is paired repeatedly with a character until it comes to represent that character. Consider Mike Oldfield's circular melody in The Exorcist or Beethoven's ninth symphony in A Clockwork Orange. Through learned association, both scores created extremely disturbing atmospheres. The most effective way to induce terror, however, is to manipulate basic acoustic properties, also called secondary musical parameters. Primary parameters include melody and harmony: aspects of music that are culturally shaped and recognizable as traditional forms. Secondary parameters include pace, loudness, timbre, and pitch height: elements of sound that are perceived similarly across cultures. The use of musical convention is deeply connected with one's emotional intention. We create fear most powerfully by stripping music of conventional forms. Composers aiming to design a fearful score often import and embed frightening sounds into traditional compositional structures, such as a melody with harmonic accompaniment. They do this as a musical challenge or out of concern that their score might otherwise be perceived as unsophisticated. What evokes fear, however, are not those recognizable conventions of composition but rather, elements of the score that are unrelated to conventional structures. We fear surprising or unfamiliar sounds: sudden changes in loudness, jittery sounds, deep hollow textures, and unpredictable pitch combinations or movement. Sounds are more frightening than visual images, and hence soundtracks are essential to thriller flicks. Visual images are experienced as "out there" and emotionally distant. We've learned to detach ourselves emotionally from visual images by habituating to the continuous stream of horrifying TV and film images. When we actually witness a terrifying event, it seems "like a movie." Sounds are experienced as both outside and inside our heads. We feel sound in our bones, making it difficult to distance ourselves from them. They are less easily localized than visual images, creating nervousness about possible escape routes. Their sources are not always identifiable, creating uncertainty. Prey rely heavily on sounds to alert them of predators, linking sound to fear. The fear centre of the brain -- the amygdala -- lies deep inside the temporal lobe, which processes sound (LeDoux, 4). From an evolutionary standpoint, we can assume that humans, like all animals, evolved a sensitivity to the potential dangers associated with sounds. Brain systems that generate fear are highly conserved throughout evolutionary history, suggesting that fear responses in modern brains are similar to fear responses in early hominids. Large, aggressive, or unfamiliar animals are potentially life-threatening and it is adaptive for us to fear them. Low pitches are associated with large sound-producing cavities and hence, animals with big mouths. Loud low-pitched sounds signal aggression. High-pitched screeches are perceived as alarm calls. During the stabbing scene in the film Psycho, repeated screeching sounds or "alarm-calls" combine with the visual scene to induce excruciating fear. In industrialized society, fear of predation is largely non-existent, replaced with a fear of our own technology: car and airplane accidents, nuclear disasters, weapons. But fear responses today are the result of adaptive pressures that took place thousands of years ago when predation was a constant threat. We are acutely sensitive to alarm calls and predatory sounds. When predators of humans are portrayed in film, as in Jaws or Jurassic Park, the experience of fear is unbearable. Why do we so urgently seek out this unpleasant emotion? One possibility relates to social cohesion. Group solidarity is enhanced when there is a common enemy. The object of fear in film distinguishes "us against them" and secures a bond between those experiencing the terror. The representation of fear identifies an enemy (the object of fear) to enhance solidarity. Teenagers -- who have the greatest need for social bonding and self definition -- are voracious consumers of terror films. Shared experiences of film-induced fear are extremely widespread. In the week ending May 28th, 2000, there were over 3,100 screening of Gladiator in the United States. America dominates the world market in film and music (only India has resisted this domination). For better or worse, Hollywood emotions are globally shared. People from Japan, China, Italy, Spain, and Brazil have a common bond on the basis of having seen The Matrix or The Exorcist. Fear in film also performs another function. Films are externalized representations of cultural memory, and of culturally significant or meaningful experiences. They are a mechanism for accumulating and transmitting knowledge of the environment, preparing ourselves for circumstances in which we might find ourselves. Terror films stimulate the development of cognitive strategies for coping with challenging circumstances. All of us -- teenagers especially -- feel a need to prepare ourselves for hostile environments. Terror films not only nurture social bonding, they motivate the refinement of an essential human trait: courage. By situating ourselves within an environment that presents various hypothetical sources of terror, we test our courage, and we activate the development of important strategies for coping with the very real fears with which we will inevitably be confronted. References Balkwill, L.L. & Thompson, W.F. "A cross-cultural investigation of the perception of emotion in music: Psychophysical and cultural cues." Music Perception, 17, 43-64, 1999. Cohen, A. "Music as a source of emotion in film." In Patrik Juslin & John Sloboda (Ed.) Music and Emotion: Theory and Research. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Huron, D. "Is music an evolutionary adaptation?" In Robert Zatorre & Isabelle Peretz (Ed.), The Biological Foundations of Music. New York: Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, Volume 930. New York, 2001. LeDoux, J. The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life. New York: Touchstone, 1996. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Thompson, Bill. "Evoking Terror In Film Scores" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.1 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/evoking.php>. Chicago Style Thompson, Bill, "Evoking Terror In Film Scores" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/evoking.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Thompson, Bill. (2002) Evoking Terror In Film Scores. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(1). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/evoking.php> ([your date of access]).

Photo ID 129550055 © Katarzyna Bialasiewicz | Dreamstime.com ABSTRACT It has been 26 years since medical aid in dying (“MAiD”) was first legalized in Oregon, and today, about 20 percent of people in the US live in jurisdictions that permit MAiD. The New York State legislature is currently considering a bill that would permit Medical Aid in Dying for terminally ill patients in certain defined circumstances. Those states now benefit from decades of experience, evidence, and reporting from MAiD jurisdictions. This demonstrates that legislation can simultaneously grant terminally ill citizens the civil right to access MAiD while also aggressively protecting all patients from coercion, manipulation, and harm. Given the copious evidence gathered in the past decades, concerns about abuse can no longer be credited as grounds for opposing the passage of legislation that is demonstrably both effective and safe. INTRODUCTION It has been 26 years since medical aid in dying (“MAiD”) was first legalized in Oregon,[1] and today, about 20 percent of people in the US live in jurisdictions that permit MAiD.[2] Other jurisdictions, including New York, are actively considering adopting MAiD laws. Those states now benefit from decades of experience, evidence, and reporting from MAiD jurisdictions, demonstrating that legislation can permit MAiD while also aggressively protecting all patients from coercion, manipulation, and harm. The data should allay the concerns of those who oppose MAiD due to the risk of abuse, coercion, and a hypothetical slippery slope. We, as a society, as clinicians, and as ethicists, must remain vigilant and prevent abuse of MAiD, given the potential risks in the community and in congregate care settings and the risk of patient exploitation by family members. However, given the copious evidence, concerns about abuse do not justify opposition to legislation that is effective and safe. I. New York’s MAiD Bill The New York State legislature is currently considering a bill that would permit MAiD for terminally ill patients in defined circumstances.[3] The bill applies only to adults with a terminal illness or condition that is “incurable and irreversible” and “will, within reasonable medical judgment, produce death within six months.” The bill contains numerous protective requirements: MAiD requests can only be made by the patient themself; requests cannot be made by healthcare agents, surrogates, or anyone else; MAiD requests must be made both orally and in writing to the patient’s attending physician; No person is eligible for MAiD solely because of age or disability; The patient’s attending physician must determine the patient has a qualifying terminal illness, has decision-making capacity, and has made a voluntary, informed decision to request MAiD, in the absence of coercion; These determinations must be confirmed by a second consulting physician in writing; If the attending physician has any concern that the patient may not have decision-making capacity, the patient must be referred to a mental health professional; The attending physician has additional duties to the patient, including ensuring the decision is informed, by discussing the patient’s condition and prognosis; discussing the MAiD process, and treatment alternatives like palliative and hospice care; offering referrals to other appropriate treatment, like palliative and hospice care; and educating the patient that their request can be rescinded at any time and offering them an opportunity to do so; The written request must be witnessed by at least two adults who cannot be (i) related to the patient, (ii) entitled to any portion of the patient’s estate, (iii) employed by a healthcare facility where the patient is receiving treatment or residing, (iv) or the attending physician, consulting physician, or mental health professional determining decision-making capacity; and MAiD medication must be self-administered by the patient, and it must be voluntarily ingested.[4] ARGUMENTS FOR AND AGAINST MAiD II. No Evidence of Abuse of Existing MAiD Laws MAiD supporters and critics alike have a concern about the abuse of MAiD. For this reason, MAiD laws throughout the US incorporate strict eligibility criteria and protective procedural requirements. For instance, patients are eligible only if they are terminally ill with six months or less to live, more than one physician must be involved, and requests must be witnessed (by individuals unrelated to the patient who will not profit from the patient’s estate). MAiD requests have been closely examined in the 27 years since Oregon became the first state to legalize the practice. The results show that these compassionate and protective measures have worked. There have been no documented or substantiated incidents of MAiD abuse since Oregon became the first to implement a MAiD law in 1997.[5] In 2019, the executive director of Disability Rights Oregon (DRO), an organization mandated by federal law to investigate complaints of abuse or neglect of people with disabilities, reported that DRO has never received a complaint that a person with disabilities was coerced into obtaining a prescription for MAiD drugs.[6] A recent study of aggregated data from all nine of the US jurisdictions with publicly available MAiD records from 1998 to 2002 found that 95.6 percent of those who died by MAiD were non-Hispanic white individuals, and 53.1 percent were male.[7] 72.2 percent of these individuals had at least some college education, 74 percent had a cancer diagnosis, and the median age of MAiD death was 74 years old. Only 11 percent of patients were uninsured. MAiD users tend to be white, older, educated, diagnosed with cancer, and insured. Fears that MAiD would overwhelmingly be used by (or on) the poor, the uninsured, the uneducated, or racial and ethnic minorities have not materialized. This data has actually raised a converse concern: that MAiD may, inequitably, not be readily available to less privileged populations or those with a diagnosis other than cancer.[8] Opponents of MAiD may argue that the recent relaxation of certain legal restrictions in some jurisdictions is evidence that the slippery slope to unrestricted euthanasia has begun. This is a mischaracterization. Certain restrictions have been adjusted. For instance, Oregon and Vermont removed the residency restriction that previously excluded non-residents from eligibility.[9] Both states changed the residency requirement due to lawsuits challenging the constitutionality of requiring residence.[10] New Jersey’s law will likely change soon, as well.[11] Initial MAiD laws were drafted to be highly restrictive out of concern about unintended and unforeseeable consequences. Given the gravity of the subject, decades ago, it was better to err on the side of caution, even if that meant excluding from eligibility people who ought to, ethically or legally, be included. Now, with nearly 30 years of experience and data, we can better determine which requirements are necessary to appropriately protect patients, clinicians, and society. Restrictions proven to be unnecessary can now be modified. The core purposes of MAiD laws and the rights and protections they provide are not changing. Rather, a few aspects of the regulations are being adjusted so they are not more restrictive than necessary to achieve their purpose. The ever-growing body of evidence that MAiD laws can adequately protect against abuse and the mythic slippery slope has assured many that their fears will not materialize.[12] For example, NYU bioethicist Arthur Caplan was once a vigorous opponent of MAiD. He worried that MAiD laws would lead to the abuse of the poor, uninsured, and disabled in service of cost-saving or the convenience of others. [13] But, after closely following the empirical evidence from MAiD early-adopters, Oregon and Washington, Caplan changed his mind. In 2018, he argued in favor of the NY MAiD bill before the New York State Assembly Standing Committee on Health.[14] Discussing his review of evidence from these states, Caplan stated: I found no cause for my concerns, none with respect to the slippery slope. There isn’t solid evidence of coercion or duplicity being exercised with respect to people who choose assistance in dying in either state. The police, government officials, families of those who have chosen to use the legislation and the general citizenry find no causes or basis for changing the laws due to abuse or misapplication . . . These slippery slope arguments are just not true . . . there is no current factual support for this slippery slope argument that vulnerable individuals are at risk for being coerced into using the law.[15] Decades of evidence has shown that legislation can simultaneously grant terminally ill patients access to MAiD while also protecting against coercion and abuse. In the face of this evidence, continuing to deny access to MAiD because of hypothetical abuse is unjust and unethical. III. Views of Opponents are Neither Grounded in Fact nor Consistent with Current End-of-Life Practices a. Risk of coercion One common argument heard today from some disability advocates who oppose MAiD goes something like this: Everybody who would qualify for and use MAiD is (or will become) a disabled person, so MAiD only kills people with disabilities. The most common reasons people choose to end their lives via MAiD are disability issues, like loss of autonomy, less ability to engage in activities, and loss of dignity. They argue that, instead of making it easier for disabled people to die, we should make sure that proper services and support exist so that disabled people do not choose to die. Such disability-rights-based arguments tend to assert that to avoid abuse, we must prohibit MAiD altogether. They argue that legalizing MAiD will inexorably lead to abuse and coercion, and disabled people will be pressured into suicide. Some even argue that MAiD laws are the first step to euthanasia, noting the path in other jurisdictions.[16] As an initial matter, people with disabilities deserve adequate support and services, and these are not always available to them. People with disabilities have faced tremendous discrimination in the healthcare system and have been historically prevented from accessing proper care and asserting their autonomy. Ensuring that all can access adequate end-of-life care, like palliative or hospice care, is an ongoing battle that ought not be abandoned. But fighting for adequate end-of-life care and legalizing MAiD are not mutually exclusive. In Oregon, 90 percent of those who access MAiD are enrolled in hospice and states with MAiD laws tend to have better access to palliative care than states without.[17] MAiD proponents seek only to add another choice for the dying, not to diminish any other options. This is reflected in the text of New York’s pending bill, which explicitly requires patient education and referrals to appropriate end-of-life services, like palliative care and hospice.[18] No one has openly argued that society should hold terminally ill patients hostage in order to obtain broader support and funding for palliative care, but that is the practical effect. Beyond the need for supportive services and proper access to the full range of end-of-life care options, the disability argument fails. First, the assertion that MAiD laws will be abused and disabled people will be coerced into suicide is not grounded in fact. To the contrary, real-life evidence gathered in over two decades of legal MAiD has shown no documented or substantiated incidents of abuse, as discussed above.[19] The slippery slope has simply not materialized. Advocates for people with disabilities who are opposed to MAiD have not clearly articulated exactly who is vulnerable to being coerced into obtaining a MAiD prescription or even how such coercion could logistically occur. Most people with disabilities are not vulnerable to MAiD abuse, as they do not have a qualifying terminal illness or lack decisional capacity due to a developmental disability and are therefore not eligible. MAiD opponents appear to be claiming that all those who qualify for MAiD are vulnerable and seek protection from MAiD laws. But this would include many of the people that, over the past decades, have aggressively and publicly advocated for access to MAiD – terminally ill people, like Brittany Maynard,[20] many of whom lobbied hard for the passage of MAiD laws while knowing that they themselves would die before the laws passed. Opponents of MAiD from a segment of the disability rights community are telling individuals who they claim, without permission, as members of the MAiD opposition community, that they must all endure unimaginable suffering without a MAiD option because they must be protected from theoretical coercive harm. People with disabilities should be allowed to make their own choices. No one, not even the most well-meaning advocate, should be allowed to obstruct a patient’s end-of-life choices – those choices belong to the patient alone. b. Argument That the Demand for MAID is a Result of Poor Disability Services Second, the argument that terminally ill patients would decline MAiD if only they had better disability services or support is disingenuous to the extent that it ignores the fact that people choosing MAiD are actively dying. No provision of supportive services can change this. And it is perfectly reasonable for someone who knows that they will die in less than six months to want some control over the manner of their death and to avoid the deterioration, indignity, and suffering that could come with it. The argument construes a MAiD death as a choice to die rather than live with a disability. But individuals choosing MAiD are not choosing death – death is coming and coming quickly. MAiD simply offers some control over this reality, giving patients an option that is safe, certain, and painless. Certainly, supportive hospice services should be available for these individuals. But there is no evidence demonstrating that any amount of service would eliminate the need and desire for the MAiD option. c. Inconsistent Positions on MAID and Other Ending Life Care Options: Palliative Sedation and VSED MAiD opponents who are concerned about abuse and coercion often hold inconsistent views on other currently available ending life care options.[21] For example, some argue that palliative sedation[22] renders MAiD unnecessary and does not present the same ethical problems.[23] However, whereas MAiD can only be chosen by the patient themself (and the patient must have decision-making capacity), the same is not true for palliative sedation. Palliative sedation, a valuable modality of end-of-life care, does not have to be initiated by the patient. If the patient is deemed not to have decision-making capacity to make that decision, their healthcare proxy can decide to initiate the process and continue it until the patient dies. Individuals other than patients often choose to begin palliative sedation and continue it to its inevitable conclusion. And because palliative sedation does not require enabling legislation, none of the protective safeguards incorporated in MAiD legislation are available to protect those who receive palliative sedation. Some may try to differentiate between palliative sedation and MAiD by saying that once started, palliative sedation can always be discontinued – it need not end in the patient’s death. This is true, but the very process of palliative sedation will inevitably make the patient insensible or unconscious or otherwise unable to exercise a choice to stop sedation. With MAiD, the patient must self-administer and ingest the medication on their own, with death following quickly. The patient can choose to forgo MAID up until the very moment of self-administration. Considering MAiD’s procedural safeguards, including that only the patient may choose and administer MAiD, MAiD patients are offered more protection from potential abuse than patients who receive palliative sedation. While some have vocally opposed MAiD for decades, there has not been similar opposition to the option of voluntarily stopping eating and drinking (VSED). With VSED, adults with decision-making capacity make a voluntary decision to refuse nutrition and hydration to die more quickly. People choosing VSED are, essentially, making the same choice that people choosing MAiD do. But VSED is a less predictable process that takes much longer to complete. Unfortunately, the process also carries a risk of unpleasant side-effects, though proper care can help mitigate them. Additionally, the practice of VSED is not constrained by statutorily defined protective measures, as is the case with MAiD – one does not even need to have a terminal illness to choose VSED.[24] It is logically inconsistent for those who oppose MAiD because of the perceived potential of abuse to hold different views about VSED.[25] If malevolent actors can unethically pressure or coerce patients into MAiD, they can also coerce them to stop eating and drinking. As with palliative sedation, it could be argued that an important difference is that VSED can be stopped, unlike MAiD. This argument fails clinically and ethically. As with palliative sedation, the VSED process eventually results in the patient losing consciousness and decision-making capacity. The patient generally becomes unarousable for a period that could last for days or even weeks. For this reason, it is crucial for VSED patients to express their choice in writing (or preferably in video recording)[26] to ensure that they will not be given nutrition or hydration when they are no longer able to enforce their refusal (or if they begin asking for nutrition or hydration). Therefore, there is a period in which the patient cannot decide to end the process, just as with palliative sedation. To the extent that someone is so concerned with potential abuse of MAiD that they seek to ban it but have not expressed similar concerns with VSED, these positions are inconsistent. At a NYS Bar Association-sponsored conference on MAiD in 2019, David Hoffman asked a MAiD opponent whether, “as someone who is looking out for the interests of a segment of the disability population,” she supports palliative sedation and VSED.”[27] Kathryn Carroll, who represented the Center for Disability Rights (“CDR”), confirmed that CDR did not oppose palliative sedation and did not offer a position on VSED. She noted the subtle difference in intention: I don’t believe the Center for Disability Rights has taken issue with palliative sedation. And my understanding is that there is a key difference between palliative sedation and assisted suicide, particularly in that palliative sedation, the point is not to bring about the death of the person, but to relieve the pain that they are experiencing. And so the death is more of a side effect rather than the intended outcome.[28] During the questioning, she provided no explanation as to why the potential for abuse would be different among palliative sedation, VSED, and MAiD.[29] The other MAiD opponent on the panel, Dennis Vacco, of Vacco v. Quill[30] fame, interjected but could not explain any ethically significant difference between VSED and MAiD. Instead, he focused solely on palliative sedation, stating that the relevant difference is that palliative sedation can be stopped: . . . treating the pain including what you referred to as terminal sedation, is not moral and legally and ethnically the same as physician-assisted suicide . . . The fact of the matter is – the difference is you can terminate that treatment, and it’s the permanent aspect of physician-assisted suicide that goes back to what I said 20 minutes ago. You can’t put the bright line anyplace else other than where it is.[31] But, as discussed above, that difference is of little import, given that palliative sedation results in patients without the ability or capacity to make the choice to stop treatment. Vacco then reverted to his concerns about the potential for coercion and the elusive slippery slope, referencing his primary argument that the only way to ensure there is no abuse of a MAiD law is not to have one at all: The bright line that is created by the law in the state of New York, which makes physician-assisted suicide a manslaughter in the second-degree, or assisting suicide by anybody, manslaughter in the second degree . . . is unfortunately the only place that line can be. That line should not move further toward accommodation. And we see here in the context of . . . all of the so-called protections in the statute. With every protection that is not prohibition, with every protection, you raise the possibility of abuse. You raise the possibility with every protection.[32] Neither Vacco nor Carroll addressed the fact that many common practices today can be the result of coerced decisions. These practices have none of the safeguards contained in MAiD legislation. As another panelist, David Leven, stated: consider that people who want to have life-sustaining treatment withdrawn, whether it’s a ventilator or feeding tube, they can also be coerced by family members. That can happen even more often, of course, because that process takes place more and more often, and there are none of the safeguards that we’re talking about here . . . there are risks involved in any process which might result in a hastened death. But there seems to be very little risk involved with medical aid in dying based on the experience in 40 years and the nine states which now permit medical aid in dying.[33] There is an inescapable inconsistency within the disability argument: one cannot logically be so concerned about the abuse of legalized access to MAiD to justify opposing all MAiD legislation while simultaneously supporting options like palliative sedation or VSED as abuse-free alternatives. d. Argument Against Speaking for a Community with Diverse Views Finally, while some disability advocates opposing MAiD will claim terminally ill patients as part of their community, they have no right or authorization to speak for the extremely heterogeneous group of terminally ill patients or the disability community[34] as a whole. The disability community is not homogenous; while some members oppose MAiD, others support it.[35] Recent polling indicates that MAiD may have broad support across the disability community.[36] e. MAiD Opponents Hold the Rights of the Terminally Ill Subordinate to Their Personal Morality and Unsubstantiated Theoretical Concerns The argument that does not get much attention, the one that is the simplest and perhaps even the most compelling, is that all killing is wrong, and the government ought not to be in the business of enabling it. That is certainly a compelling religious and moral argument against individuals engaging in any form of acts that result in ending a human life. But such an ethical or theological position does not dictate that individuals who hold different views on personal morality should be precluded by the state from accessing the most safe, certain, and painless means of addressing an invariably terminal illness. Arguments like the one described above by Vacco (that the only way to completely avoid potential MAiD abuse is to prohibit MAiD) are essentially claiming that the safest thing to do is to subordinate the suffering of the terminally ill to avoid the more subtle task of balancing the interests of two different groups of New York state citizens. But surely, that is the role of the legislature every day. And we should expect no less from the legislature on this issue. The best way to ensure no one dies in car accidents is to prohibit driving. But instead of doing so, we implement safety regulations (like speed limits) to balance the right to travel with the right of everyone else not to be killed in the process. Evidence demonstrates that MAiD legislation can also strike a balance between the rights of the terminally ill and the need to prevent harm. It is not justifiable to support a blanket prohibition of MAiD. CONCLUSION Opponents of MAiD have had decades to cite problematic case studies or formulate a compelling moral argument against it that is grounded in data rather than an assertion of their personal morality. Plainly, no one on either side of the MAiD legislative discussion wants to see anyone subjected to involuntary euthanasia or coerced into MAiD as a better alternative to palliative care when such a plan of care is a viable alternative to “ending life care.” However, enough time has passed, and the risk of coercion has been given sufficient study and debate that we can now conclude, as a society, that the rights of the terminally ill and the rights of persons committed to living their best and longest life with a disability are wholly compatible. It is time for the legislature to strike the appropriate balance and give the terminally ill a well-regulated, responsible pathway to obtaining medication that can relieve their suffering in a manner that is safe, certain, and painless. - [1] Oregon’s Death with Dignity Act, Oregon Health Authority, https://www.oregon.gov/oha/ph/providerpartnerresources/evaluationresearch/deathwithdignityact/pages/index.aspx [2] Elissa Kozlov et al., Aggregating 23 Years of Data on Medical Aid in Dying in the United States, 70 Journal of the American Geriatrics Society 3040 (2022). https://doi.org/10.1111/jgs.17925 [3] Medical Aid in Dying Act, A.995-A, N.Y. St. Assemb. (2023), available at https://legislation.nysenate.gov/pdf/bills/2023/A995A; see also, Medical Aid in Dying Act, S.2445-A, N.Y. St. Senate (2023), available at https://legislation.nysenate.gov/pdf/bills/2023/S2445A. [4] Id. [5] Ronald A. Lindsay, Oregon’s Experience: Evaluating the Record, 9 The American Journal of Bioethics 19 (2009), https://doi.org/10.1080/15265160802654137; Christopher A. Riddle, Medical Aid in Dying: The Case of Disability, in New Directions in the Ethics of Assisted Suicide and Euthanasia 234 (Michael Cholbi & Jukka Varelius eds., 2nd ed. 2023), https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-25315-7; Health Law Section: Duties, Rights & the Law at the End of Life (2019), NY ST. BAR ASSOC. (Nov. 8, 2019), https://nysba.org/products/health-law-section-duties-rights-the-law-at-the-end-of-life-2019/; Medical Aid in Dying: Hearing on A.2383-A Before the New York State Assembly Standing Committee on Health (2018) (testimony of Arthur Caplan), transcript available at https://nystateassembly.granicus.com/DocumentViewer.php?file=nystateassembly_bc5bd4afc9fd8b9021781bc9e35e15ae.pdf&view=1; Fact: Medical Aid in Dying Laws Work to Protect Patients. (n.d.). Compassion & Choices. Retrieved September 5, 2023, from https://compassionandchoices.org/resource/fact-medical-aid-in-dying-laws-work-to-protect-patients; Frequently Asked Questions. (2021, December 7). Death With Dignity. https://deathwithdignity.org/resources/faqs/. [6] Bob Joondeph, Letter from Disability Rights Oregon (DRO), Compassion & Choices (Feb. 14, 2019), https://www.compassionandchoices.org/docs/default-source/default-document-library/disability-rights-oregon-dwd-letter-2-14-19.pdf. [7] Elissa Kozlov et al., Aggregating 23 Years of Data on Medical Aid in Dying in the United States, 70 Journal of the American Geriatrics Society 3040 (2022). https://doi.org/10.1111/jgs.17925 [8] Id. [9] Medical Aid in Dying: Act 39: Patient Choice and Control at the End of Life, Vermont Ethics Network, https://vtethicsnetwork.org/palliative-and-end-of-life-care/medical-aid-in-dying-act-39 (last visited Sept. 21, 2023). [10] Gideonse v. Brown, No. 3:21-cv-01568-AC (D. Or.); Bluestein v. Scott, No. 2:22-cv-00160 (D. Vt.). [11] Govatos v. Murphy, No. 2:23-cv-12601(D.N.J.). [12] Medical associations, historically opponents of MAiD, have begun adopting neutral positions, reflecting changing attitudes of the medical community. E.g., California Medical Association removes opposition to physician aid in dying bill, California Medical Association (May 20, 2015), https://www.cmadocs.org/newsroom/news/view/ArticleId/27210/California-Medical-Association-removes-opposition-to-physician-aid-in-dying-bill; Board directs CMS to develop and distribute “End-of-Life Act” education to members, Colorado Medical Society (November 22, 2016), https://www.cms.org/articles/board-directs-cms-to-develop-and-distribute-end-of-life-act-education-to-me; Vermont Medical Society Policy on End-of-life-Care, Vermont Medical Society (2017), https://vtmd.org/client_media/files/vms_resolutions/2017End-of-Life-Care.pdf (last accessed Sept. 21, 2023); but see Physician-Assisted Suicide, AMA Code of Ethics, https://code-medical-ethics.ama-assn.org/ethics-opinions/physician-assisted-suicide. (5.7 provides opinion opposing MAiD; opinion 1.1.7 provides opinion on conscientious objection.); The American Medical Association could vote to change its stance on medical aid in dying, Death with Dignity (Nov. 10, 2023), https://deathwithdignity.org/news/2023/11/ama-could-vote-to-change-stance-on-maid/ (Update notes that the AMA did not change its stance from opposed to neutral at its November 2023 interim meeting in Baltimore, but referred the resolutions for further study). [13] Medical Aid in Dying: Hearing on A.2383-A Before the New York State Assembly Standing Committee on Health (2018) (testimony of Arthur Caplan), transcript available at https://nystateassembly.granicus.com/DocumentViewer.php?file=nystateassembly_bc5bd4afc9fd8b9021781bc9e35e15ae.pdf&view=1. [14] Id. [15] Id. [16] Id. (noting the laws in Netherlands, Belgium and Canada.); see also National Council on Disability, The danger of assisted suicide laws: Part of the Bioethics and Disability series (2019). https://ncd.gov/sites/default/files/NCD_Assisted_Suicide_Report_508.pdf. [17] Sean Riley & Ben Sarbey, The unexamined benefits of the expansive legalization of medical assistance-in-dying, 19 J. Bioethical Inquiry 4, 663 (2022) (citing Oregon Health Authority Center for Health Statistics, Oregon Death with Dignity Act: 2018 Data Summary (2019), https://www.oregon.gov/oha/PH/PROVIDERPARTNERRESOURCES/EVALUATIONRESEARCH/DEATHWITHDIGNITYACT/Documents/year21.pdf and R. Sean Morrison, et al., America’s care of serious illness: A state-by-state report card on access to palliative care in our nation’s hospitals, 14 J. Palliat. Med. 10, 1094–1096 (2011)). [18] Medical Aid in Dying Act, A.995-A, N.Y. St. Assembly. (2023), available at https://legislation.nysenate.gov/pdf/bills/2023/A995A [19] See also, Ben Colburn, Disability‐based Arguments against Assisted Dying Laws, 36 Bioethics 680 (2022) (cataloging research in multiple countries and concluding that “there is no evidence that assisted dying laws have a disproportionate effect on people with disabilities”). https://doi.org/10.1111/bioe.13036 [20] Eyder Peralta, As Planned, Right-To-Die Advocate Brittany Maynard Ends Her Life, NPR (Apr. 3, 2014), https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2014/11/03/361094919/as-planned-right-to-die-advocate-brittany-maynard-ends-her-life (Activist Brittany Maynard moved to Oregon after she was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, because her home state did not permit MAiD at the time). [21] Ending life care is defined as the final stage of the end-of-life care continuum, where the patient chooses to end their life as a means to end their suffering or unacceptable quality of life. [22] Palliative sedation is defined as “the use of medications to induce decreased or absent awareness in order to relieve otherwise intractable suffering at the end of life,” and it carries a risk of hastening death. Molly L. Olsen, Keith M. Swetz & Paul S. Mueller, Ethical Decision Making With End-of-Life Care: Palliative Sedation and Withholding or Withdrawing Life-Sustaining Treatments, 85 Mayo Clin Proc 949 (2010). https://doi.org/10.4065/mcp.2010.0201 [23] E.g. Disability Rights Toolkit for Advocacy Against Legalization of Assisted Suicide, Not Dead Yet, https://notdeadyet.org/disability-rights-toolkit-for-advocacy-against-legalization-of-assisted-suicide (last visited Dec. 8, 2023) (describing palliative sedation as “a legal solution to any remaining painful and uncomfortable deaths; one that does not raise the very serious hazards of legalizing assisted suicide”); Testimony of CDR’s Kathryn Carroll, Esq. Opposing NY Assisted Suicide Bill A2383A, Not Dead Yet (Apr. 23, 2018), https://notdeadyet.org/testimony-of-cdrs-kathryn-carroll-esq-opposing-ny-assisted-suicide-bill-a2383a. [24] Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking: A Compassionate, Widely-Available Option for Hastening Death, (Timothy E. Quill et al. eds., 2021). https://doi.org/10.1093/med/9780190080730.001.0001 [25] This is not to say that MAiD and VSED are ethically identical. Different writers have articulated various reasons why MAiD and VSED are meaningfully different and meaningfully similar. Here we distinguish the potential for abuse, as this is the argument that persists among MAiD opponents, For a broader discussion on the ethics of VSED and how it compares to MAiD, see Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking: A Compassionate, Widely-Available Option for Hastening Death, (Timothy E. Quill et al. eds., 2021). https://doi.org/10.1093/med/9780190080730.001.0001 [26] Id.; see also David N. Hoffman and Judy Schwarz, Can Patients Choose to Stop Eating–Even If They Have Dementia–and Can Health Care Facilities Get Paid for Taking Care of Them? Ethics and Reimbursement at the End of Life (Am. Health L. Ass’n Conf. on Long Term Care and the Law 2020). [27] Health Law Section: Duties, Rights & the Law at the End of Life (2019), NY St. Bar Assoc. (Nov. 8, 2019), https://nysba.org/products/health-law-section-duties-rights-the-law-at-the-end-of-life-2019/. [28] Id. [29] CDR still does not appear to have articulated a position on VSED. CDR is a major and vocal opponent of MAiD legislation in NY with considerable resources (they state their projected 2010 budget was approximately $29,000,000). About Us, Center for Disability Rights, https://cdrnys.org/about/. [30] Vacco v. Quill, 521 U.S. 793 (1997) (holding that there is no equal protection violation when N.Y. law criminalized assisted-suicide but permitted removal of life-support systems). [31] Health Law Section: Duties, Rights & the Law at the End of Life (2019), supra note 5. [32] Id. [33] Id. [34] Ben Colburn, Disability‐based Arguments against Assisted Dying Laws, 36 Bioethics 680 (2022) (providing evidence that “that people with disabilities, and disability rights organizations, have diverse views on the question of whether assisted dying should be legal”). https://doi.org/10.1111/bioe.13036 [35] Us for Autonomy, https://www.usforautonomy.org (last visited Sep 10, 2023); see also, Kathryn L. Tucker, Building Bridges Between the Civil Rights Movements of People with Disabilities and Those with Terminal Illness, 78 U. of Pitt. L. Rev. 329 (2017) (collecting and describing amici participation by disability advocates supporting end-of-life liberty). https://doi.org/10.5195/lawreview.2017.473 [36] E.g., USA/National Public Opinion Survey, Susquehanna Polling & Research, Inc. (Feb. 2023),https://d31hzlhk6di2h5.cloudfront.net/20230307/2e/9e/21/14/d37db7887f3f349202ae6f31/Raben_Crosstabulation_Report_2023.FINAL%20(1).pdf ).

Introduction Music scholarship across genres is often concerned with music's metaphysical and ephemeral effects on individuals, communities, and society. These scholarly framings constitute a concept that we refer to here as “the magic of music”. Using this framing, this article addresses the ways that the magic is undermined by a range of worldly, non-magical realities, using the case study of the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns and their devastating effects on the previously thriving live music industry in Naarm/Melbourne, Australia. The magic of music includes such aspects as the intangible sounds of music, the mysterious practice of creative music-making, and the transformative effects on audiences and others who participate in music culture. We begin with a broad discussion of the sonic properties of music as a form of magic—a common rhetoric that has been used across the world regardless of genre or cultural origin. Next, we turn to the social contexts surrounding music, such as live music settings. De Jong and Lebrun argue that “the power of music” can create “moments of rare, intense and direct interactions between individuals” that are often described as magical, and that “magic is, in this sense, understood as a perfectly natural and plausible, and not supernatural, experience, even if its intensity and rarity in one's life makes it extra-ordinary” (4). We use this framing of “music as magic” in our consideration of the specific context of Australia’s music industry from 2020 to the present. We posit that the devastating effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, alongside government-sanctioned lockdowns, cultural shifts such as an increased focus on poor working conditions and risk in music work, and detrimental arts funding policies worked together to effectively break the spell of “music as magic” for industry and patrons. Finally, we draw on key examples from popular music studies, industry reports and new government policies, to call attention to recent proposals to rehabilitate the magic through a re-enchantment of music and the music industry. Feels like Magic: The Social Context of Music Music is a form of organised sound and silence that people across cultures, history, and places, have articulated as possessing magical properties (Nettl). Music is not only sound waves but also a social category, thus the notion of magic extends beyond sound into everyday discourse in the social realm of music, which will be the focus of this article. Audiences/listeners may describe their own response to music as a magical feeling, stemming from the performer’s ability to convey emotion and provide a performance that “mirrors the performer’s [own] deep connection to the music” (Loeffler 19). Such ‘magical moments’ of deep connection among audience members and between audiences and performers may be elicited in various ways. Examples include the sense of emotional self-recognition found via personal lyrics, resonance with unique vocal timbres, or the shared sense of belonging that develops with fellow audience members, including strangers, during musical events (Anderson). For the latter, the magic (or “magick”, a spelling associated with stagecraft) of ritualised music performance is a common element of Paganism in music performance, with some popular music artists implicitly “appropriat[ing] the Pagan subculture's symbols for artistic inspiration and commercial gain”, presenting themselves as contemporary conduits that reconnect audiences to old magics (Sweeney Smith 91; see also Weston). When it comes to these sorts of ideas about magic and music, performers and audiences routinely make claims about magical musical powers such as “talent”, an idea deployed to describe the skills and charisma of certain musicians, and “creativity”, a “magic ingredient” (see McRobbie) that people who write or produce music are supposed to possess in order to perform their craft (Gadir 61–4; Gross and Musgrave 10, 22; see also Nairn). Music of all forms can provide profound affective experiences, regardless of how it is made and who plays it. There is also a magical discourse present in popular music that has reached millions of people in a globalised musical world dominated by recordings. For as long as music has had a mass market, its magic properties (as articulated in multiple ways across history) have been a selling point for musicians, records, and concerts. The recorded music industry’s very selection process is rooted in the idea that “creativity is based on ‘little bits of magic’ and that success is down to luck and timing” (Gross and Musgrave 140). Music writing (scholarly, criticism, journalism) tends to focus on these magical properties: from the sublime nature of a musical work and its form to the phenomenology of sound and affective experience of music, and even the inexplicable, elusive ‘talent’ of particular musicians. Jimi Hendrix labelled his music work “completely, utterly a magic science” (Clarke 195), while Joni Mitchell “consistently referred to Charles Mingus, Wayne Shorter, and Jaco Pastorius as ‘magicians’ and ‘shamans,’ thereby conferring a susceptibility to the miraculous upon the musicians she most respected” (Lloyd 124). As we show below, this conflation of magical and religious concepts is evident elsewhere in discourse on the intangibility of musical talent. Some genres of music have emphasised the idea of music as magic more than others. For example, scholarship on electronic dance music (EDM) has embraced the concept of “DJ as shaman” (Brewster and Broughton 19; Luckman 133; Rietveld “Introduction” 1; Rietveld This Is Our House) and the nightclub as a “pseudo-religious pilgrimage site” (Becker and Woebs 59), extending Benjamin’s argument for art’s origins in service of ritual (24). Miller has further alluded to a mystical DJ craft, both as a performer quoted in music media (Gallagher) and in his own academic writing: “gimme two records and I’ll make you a universe” (DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid 127; Miller 497). Shamanism is also explored in rock music discourse (see Kennedy 81–90). Notions of musical magic extend beyond performances and personalities into the recording studio. Music mastering is commonly labelled a “dark art” (Hepworth-Sawyer and Golding 241; Hinksman 13; Nardi 211), and the music studio as a site where magic is made (Anthony 43, 194). Rolling Stone magazine has even deployed a recurrent editorial phrase—“the magic that can set you free”—to distinguish the authenticity of rock from pop music (Frith 164–5). We argue that two key ruptures of the last few years—namely, widespread lockdown policies during the COVID-19 pandemic, and emerging discussions on poor working conditions and harms in the music industries—have had the effect of breaking the magic spell of music. There has been a groundswell of musicians, commentators, and scholars pausing to query (and in some cases overturn entirely) some of the illusions that the music industry constructs around musicians. We use the city of Naarm/Melbourne in Australia to draw out some of these trends. When the Magic Dies: Breaking the Spell of the Music Industry The COVID-19 pandemic resulted in lengthy lockdowns in the city of Naarm/Melbourne. In total, over a two-year period, the city spent 262 days in home confinement under strict orders from the government, with limited travel and no access to the usual amenities of the city, including all public in-person entertainment (Jose). This had a profound effect on the state’s musicians and the music industries that service them. It completely closed the city’s music venues for an extended period, driving musicians into alternative, virtual modes of performance (Vincent) and driving other music workers into non-music-related employment. For a city often touted as “the live music capital of Australia” (see Homan et al.), the lockdowns effectively broke the spell of music as a key employer and as a driver of arts practice and social experience in Melbourne. Quite suddenly, the lockdown periods revealed the precarious lives of musicians away from the stage. Once stripped of the “magical” quality of live performance, musicians’ work and practice appeared both more complex and more routine. The COVID-19 pandemic broke the spell of music that takes place in social settings. At the start of 2020, live music was one of the first activities to be banned. Live music relies on people being near one another, often in enclosed spaces. It often involves people on stage and in the crowd singing, an activity identified early in the pandemic as an effective method of spreading the virus. These attributes, together with its status as “entertainment” rather than as an essential activity, meant that live music gatherings became entirely illegal (Strong and Cannizzo). Even as lockdowns were lifted, live music was one of the last activities to be reinstated, albeit with access restricted in various ways. People continued to engage with music via other means, for example, through virtual live-streamed performances and platform-based audio streaming. Globally, there was an increase in people listening to older, nostalgic music (Yeung)—an indicator that music was still being used for its magical self-soothing capacities, alleviating the worst pandemic anxieties. However, the closure of the Victorian live music sector drew attention to the material conditions of music making in new ways (“Losses Continue”). Many musicians and music workers could not take advantage of government schemes to support workers who had lost their income during the pandemic (Triscari). This highlighted what was already known to music industry workers: that their work was insecure. It also revealed the contradictions within government music policies: on the one hand, music’s utility for city branding, on the other, little regard for what support and resources are required for it to take place. As more and more musicians used the pandemic to draw attention to their already existing labour conditions, the precarious and mundane aspects of music-making became foregrounded in broader discussions (see Strong and Cannizzo). These included the overall degree to which musicians are exploited (see Nairn), whether musicians can earn a living wage, pay their rent, or receive other workplace benefits including safe working environments. These problems exist in stark contrast to the historically mythologised portrayals of musicians as concerned about their art and Dionysian social experience above all else, regardless of their physical or material conditions. In reality, live music work has always included mundane activities and routine labour. The historical mythology of the “star”, regardless of genre, tends to depict the lives of performers as exotic and removed from everyday life. In this sense, performers are perceived as magical as much as the music they make. The everyday world, within this mythology, is something akin to “a fearful, life-threatening condition that could ensnare you in its grasp … as relentless routine and the marker of social distinction” (Highmore 16). Audiences tend to view musicians as committed to alternative ways of being, and music performance as an escape from the everyday, wherein work becomes interchangeable with leisure and touring provides a nomadic lifestyle. However, in recent years, popular music studies research, together with musicians, fans, and media, have called these ideas into question. A career in live music performance appears to offer no escape from responsibility—something at the heart of fearful representations of everyday life. Inside of a music practice, new responsibilities emerge. Leisure becomes labour with all its attendance downsides. Close-knit familial-style relationships are formed, often based on financial and creative partnerships, including the risk of gender-based abuse that exists within such relationships (Fileborn et al.). The nomadic life of a performer involves its own cramped and confining aspects (a life of group transit and service entrances). This combines with an already in-progress push towards making the vicissitudes of this work more visible—afforded by social media, cultural formations such as #MeToo, and a significant upswing in research showing the harms of music work (Gross and Musgrave; Strong and Cannizzo)—to significantly undermine the myth of live music’s magical properties. In Naarm/Melbourne, prior to the pandemic, this myth was brittle. After years of lockdown, it arguably shattered. The emotional devastation wrought by an abrupt and almost complete cessation of live music activities also had flow-on effects on recorded music. For example, it prevented activities such as tours that support album releases, recording sessions, or rehearsing new musical material. Already existing mental health issues in the music industry were highlighted and amplified by these circumstances (Brunt and Nelligan). Together with the aforementioned financial disadvantage experienced by musicians, research had already shown for years before the pandemic that mental health was poor in this sector (Gross and Musgrave). Such mental health issues are due in part to the relationship between music work and conceptions of self and identity, where success or failure are felt as intensely personal (a by-product of the idea that music possesses magical qualities). Mental health problems are also associated with exclusion, bullying and harassment, which are not only widespread but have been normalised and even celebrated for decades. Pre-existing pressures such as these were exacerbated dramatically by the pandemic lockdowns, which spurred on further discussions about them (Strong and Cannizzo). During the pandemic, the magic of music had been disrupted in several ways: the ability of music to connect people to one another in live settings had been curtailed or removed, and the narratives of the creation of music being magical had been replaced with a vision of mundanity, hardship, and underappreciation. If the magic did not set musicians or music workers free, why should they return to long working hours for little pay in an industry that was frequently unsafe and that left them feeling bad—especially when they discovered that when the chips were down, they would be left out of the support offered to others? Re-Enchanting Music: Conjuring a Different Kind of Magic Weber used the term “enchantment” as a means of explaining the magic within worldly (empirical) phenomena. By contrast, he argued that disenchantment was the removal of magical experience from the real world and that this was the result of replacing the “supernatural” exclusively with rationality and calculation (Koshul 9). The easing of lockdown conditions heralded what we call here the “re-enchantment” of the music industry. An industry that is re-enchanted refers to a world which is “susceptible again to redemption” and is “reimbued not only with mystery and wonder but also with order [and] purpose” (Landy and Slalor 2). During the early post-lockdown period, the aim of government, patrons, and the entertainment industry was to rekindle the pre-COVID levels of audience engagement with live music. Audiences themselves were eager to return to live music and were prepared to spend money on concert tickets and music festivals, according to findings from the Australia Council’s Audience Outlook Monitor (Patternmakers). However, this report also showed that restrictions, fears of further outbreaks, and lockdowns were still looming in the minds of audiences and event organisers. This was compounded by a lack of investment in the creative industries broadly by the Australian Federal government during lockdowns and a staggered reopening, particularly in the state of Victoria, where lockdowns continued well into 2021. The road back to ‘normality’ would require putting audiences, industry, and, indeed, the government, back under the spell of music. Reaffirming the idea that music has a fundamental value in society and culture was the first step. The election of a federal Labor government in 2022 started this process, after a decade of conservative Liberal leadership that had actively worked to devalue and defund the arts. The new government quickly launched a consultation process around the arts in Australia, and launched the resulting policy, titled Revive: Australia's Cultural Policy for the Next Five Years, in mid-2023. This policy not only reaffirmed the central place of the arts, including music, in Australia's social life, but went further than any previous government in acknowledging some of the disenchantment in the industry. They committed to establishing Music Australia (Creative Australia) as a body dedicated to ensuring the prominence of music in arts activities, and the Centre for Arts and Entertainment Workplaces, a body that would, among other things, deal with complaints around workplace misconduct of various types. This later body was created partly in response to the Raising Their Voices report documenting widespread bullying and sexual harassment in music spaces. In addition to this, Australian state governments implemented various measures to encourage the re-normalisation of concert attendance. For example, the Victorian State Government’s Always Live funded programme was launched with a regional, one-off gig by the Foo Fighters. Initiatives such as these on the state and federal level served to bolster the struggling industry. An initially slow return to live shows, followed by a spate of visually spectacular, large-scale, sold-out shows by Harry Styles and Taylor Swift, indicate a return to a form of ‘business as usual’ for top-tier international touring artists. Although top-down policy can send a message that music work is valued, much of the ‘magic’ of music is created by communities and within grassroots spaces. In Naarm/Melbourne, the announcement that the iconic live music venue the Tote Hotel was being put up for sale has provided a flashpoint moment. The venue’s current owners have become emblematic of the problems in the industry, reportedly failing to provide proper benefits to their staff over a long period (Marozzi). The owners of the Last Chance Rock and Roll Bar have since announced a fundraiser for three million dollars to buy the Tote, which they have framed in terms of protecting the value of music to the Naarm/Melbourne community. The owners promised to not only protect music-making on the site but also to “leave the Tote to the bands and future generations for the rest of time” by “putting the building into a trust that will legally protect the Tote from being anything other than a Live Music Venue” (“Last Chance to Save the Tote”). References to the (dark) magic of this situation is visible in the designs for the t-shirts given out for contributors to the funding campaign: two zombies crawling from the grave of the Tote, beers in hand, ready to keep on rockin’. The zombies are indicative of a venue risen from the dead through the Naarm/Melbourne music community’s magical effort. The response of the public and commentators that have followed the achievement of this fundraising goal is akin to the wonderment of an audience seeing a magician perform an impressive trick. Notably, the community-led and community-focussed approach of the Tote draws on the magic of connection built around music scenes, not only corporate interests. This includes exploring how venues can be owned by the communities that use them (Wray), schemes that provide artists with a universal basic income (Caust), and “safer spaces” strategies that work to increase the accessibility of music for everyone (Hill et al.). 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Refereed publications (also known as peer-reviewed) are the currency of academia, yet many PhD theses in Australia result in only one or two such papers. Typically, a doctoral thesis requires the candidate to present (and pass) a public Confirmation Seminar, around nine to twelve months into candidacy, in which a panel of the candidate’s supervisors and invited experts adjudicate upon whether the work is likely to continue and ultimately succeed in the goal of a coherent and original contribution to knowledge. A Final Seminar, also public and sometimes involving the traditional viva voce or oral defence of the thesis, is presented two or three months before approval is given to send the 80,000 to 100,000 word tome off for external examination. And that soul-destroying or elation-releasing examiner’s verdict can be many months in the delivery: a limbo-like period during which the candidate’s status as a student is ended and her or his receipt of any scholarship or funding guerdon is terminated with perfunctory speed. This is the only time most students spend seriously writing up their research for publication although, naturally, many are more involved in job hunting as they pin their hopes on passing the thesis examination.There is, however, a slightly more palatable alternative to this nail-biting process of the traditional PhD, and that is the PhD by Published Papers (also known as PhD by Publications or PhD by Published Works). The form of my own soon-to-be-submitted thesis, it permits the submission for examination of a collection of papers that have been refereed and accepted (or are in the process of being refereed) for publication in academic journals or books. Apart from the obvious benefits in getting published early in one’s (hopefully) burgeoning academic career, it also takes away a lot of the stress come final submission time. After all, I try to assure myself, the thesis examiners can’t really discredit the process of double-blind, peer-review the bulk of the thesis has already undergone: their job is to examine how well I’ve unified the papers into a cohesive thesis … right? But perhaps they should at least be wary, because, unfortunately, the requirements for this kind of PhD vary considerably from institution to institution and there have been some cases where the submitted work is of questionable quality compared to that produced by graduates from more demanding universities. Hence, this paper argues that in my subject area of interest—film and television studies—there is a huge range in the set requirements for doctorates, from universities that award the degree to film artists for prior published work that has undergone little or no academic scrutiny and has involved little or no on-campus participation to at least three Australian universities that require candidates be enrolled for a minimum period of full-time study and only submit scholarly work generated and published (or submitted for publication) during candidature. I would also suggest that uncertainty about where a graduate’s work rests on this continuum risks confusing a hard-won PhD by Published Papers with the sometimes risible honorary doctorate. Let’s begin by dredging the depths of those murky, quasi-academic waters to examine the occasionally less-than-salubrious honorary doctorate. The conferring of this degree is generally a recognition of an individual’s body of (usually published) work but is often conferred for contributions to knowledge or society in general that are not even remotely academic. The honorary doctorate does not usually carry with it the right to use the title “Dr” (although many self-aggrandising recipients in the non-academic world flout this unwritten code of conduct, and, indeed, Monash University’s Monash Magazine had no hesitation in describing its 2008 recipient, musician, screenwriter, and art-school-dropout Nick Cave, as “Dr Cave” (O’Loughlin)). Some shady universities even offer such degrees for sale or ‘donation’ and thus do great damage to that institution’s credibility as well as to the credibility of the degree itself. Such overseas “diploma mills”—including Ashwood University, Belford University, Glendale University and Suffield University—are identified by their advertising of “Life Experience Degrees,” for which a curriculum vitae outlining the prospective graduand’s oeuvre is accepted on face value as long as their credit cards are not rejected. An aspiring screen auteur simply specifies film and television as their major and before you can shout “Cut!” there’s a degree in the mail. Most of these pseudo-universities are not based in Australia but are perfectly happy to confer their ‘titles’ to any well-heeled, vanity-driven Australians capable of completing the online form. Nevertheless, many academics fear a similarly disreputable marketplace might develop here, and Norfolk Island-based Greenwich University presents a particularly illuminating example. Previously empowered by an Act of Parliament consented to by Senator Ian Macdonald, the then Minister for Territories, this “university” had the legal right to confer honorary degrees from 1998. The Act was eventually overridden by legislation passed in 2002, after a concerted effort by the Australian Universities Quality Agency Ltd. and the Australian Vice-Chancellors’ Committee to force the accreditation requirements of the Australian Qualifications Framework upon the institution in question, thus preventing it from making degrees available for purchase over the Internet. Greenwich University did not seek re-approval and soon relocated to its original home of Hawaii (Brown). But even real universities flounder in similarly muddy waters when, unsolicited, they make dubious decisions to grant degrees to individuals they hold in high esteem. Although meaning well by not courting pecuniary gain, they nevertheless invite criticism over their choice of recipient for their honoris causa, despite the decision usually only being reached after a process of debate and discussion by university committees. Often people are rewarded, it seems, as much for their fame as for their achievements or publications. One such example of a celebrity who has had his onscreen renown recognised by an honorary doctorate is film and television actor/comedian Billy Connolly who was awarded an Honorary Doctor of Letters by The University of Glasgow in 2006, prompting Stuart Jeffries to complain that “something has gone terribly wrong in British academia” (Jeffries). Eileen McNamara also bemoans the levels to which some institutions will sink to in search of media attention and exposure, when she writes of St Andrews University in Scotland conferring an honorary doctorate to film actor and producer, Michael Douglas: “What was designed to acknowledge intellectual achievement has devolved into a publicity grab with universities competing for celebrity honorees” (McNamara). Fame as an actor (and the list gets even weirder when the scope of enquiry is widened beyond the field of film and television), seems to be an achievement worth recognising with an honorary doctorate, according to some universities, and this kind of discredit is best avoided by Australian institutions of higher learning if they are to maintain credibility. Certainly, universities down under would do well to follow elsewhere than in the footprints of Long Island University’s Southampton College. Perhaps the height of academic prostitution of parchments for the attention of mass media occurred when in 1996 this US school bestowed an Honorary Doctorate of Amphibious Letters upon that mop-like puppet of film and television fame known as the “muppet,” Kermit the Frog. Indeed, this polystyrene and cloth creation with an anonymous hand operating its mouth had its acceptance speech duly published (see “Kermit’s Acceptance Speech”) and the Long Island University’s Southampton College received much valuable press. After all, any publicity is good publicity. Or perhaps this furry frog’s honorary degree was a cynical stunt meant to highlight the ridiculousness of the practice? In 1986 a similar example, much closer to my own home, occurred when in anticipation and condemnation of the conferral of an honorary doctorate upon Prince Philip by Monash University in Melbourne, the “Members of the Monash Association of Students had earlier given a 21-month-old Chihuahua an honorary science degree” (Jeffries), effectively suggesting that the honorary doctorate is, in fact, a dog of a degree. On a more serious note, there have been honorary doctorates conferred upon far more worthy recipients in the field of film and television by some Australian universities. Indigenous film-maker Tracey Moffatt was awarded an honorary doctorate by Griffith University in November of 2004. Moffatt was a graduate of the Griffith University’s film school and had an excellent body of work including the films Night Cries: A Rural Tragedy (1990) and beDevil (1993). Acclaimed playwright and screenwriter David Williamson was presented with an Honorary Doctorate of Letters by The University of Queensland in December of 2004. His work had previously picked up four Australian Film Institute awards for best screenplay. An Honorary Doctorate of Visual and Performing Arts was given to film director Fred Schepisi AO by The University of Melbourne in May of 2006. His films had also been earlier recognised with Australian Film Institute awards as well as the Golden Globe Best Miniseries or Television Movie award for Empire Falls in 2006. Director George Miller was crowned with an Honorary Doctorate in Film from the Australian Film, Television, and Radio School in April 2007, although he already had a medical doctor’s testamur on his wall. In May of this year, filmmaker George Gittoes, a fine arts dropout from The University of Sydney, received an honorary doctorate by The University of New South Wales. His documentaries, Soundtrack to War (2005) and Rampage (2006), screened at the Sydney and Berlin film festivals, and he has been employed by the Australian Government as an official war artist. Interestingly, the high quality screen work recognised by these Australian universities may have earned the recipients ‘real’ PhDs had they sought the qualification. Many of these film artists could have just as easily submitted their work for the degree of PhD by Published Papers at several universities that accept prior work in lieu of an original exegesis, and where a film is equated with a book or journal article. But such universities still invite comparisons of their PhDs by Published Papers with honorary doctorates due to rather too-easy-to-meet criteria. The privately funded Bond University, for example, recommends a minimum full-time enrolment of just three months and certainly seems more lax in its regulations than other Antipodean institution: a healthy curriculum vitae and payment of the prescribed fee (currently AUD$24,500 per annum) are the only requirements. Restricting my enquiries once again to the field of my own research, film and television, I note that Dr. Ingo Petzke achieved his 2004 PhD by Published Works based upon films produced in Germany well before enrolling at Bond, contextualized within a discussion of the history of avant-garde film-making in that country. Might not a cynic enquire as to how this PhD significantly differs from an honorary doctorate? Although Petzke undoubtedly paid his fees and met all of Bond’s requirements for his thesis entitled Slow Motion: Thirty Years in Film, one cannot criticise that cynic for wondering if Petzke’s films are indeed equivalent to a collection of refereed papers. It should be noted that Bond is not alone when it comes to awarding candidates the PhD by Published Papers for work published or screened in the distant past. Although yet to grant it in the area of film or television, Swinburne University of Technology (SUT) is an institution that distinctly specifies its PhD by Publications is to be awarded for “research which has been carried out prior to admission to candidature” (8). Similarly, the Griffith Law School states: “The PhD (by publications) is awarded to established researchers who have an international reputation based on already published works” (1). It appears that Bond is no solitary voice in the academic wilderness, for SUT and the Griffith Law School also apparently consider the usual milestones of Confirmation and Final Seminars to be unnecessary if the so-called candidate is already well published. Like Bond, Griffith University (GU) is prepared to consider a collection of films to be equivalent to a number of refereed papers. Dr Ian Lang’s 2002 PhD (by Publication) thesis entitled Conditional Truths: Remapping Paths To Documentary ‘Independence’ contains not refereed, scholarly articles but the following videos: Wheels Across the Himalaya (1981); Yallambee, People of Hope (1986); This Is What I Call Living (1988); The Art of Place: Hanoi Brisbane Art Exchange (1995); and Millennium Shift: The Search for New World Art (1997). While this is a most impressive body of work, and is well unified by appropriate discussion within the thesis, the cynic who raised eyebrows at Petzke’s thesis might also be questioning this thesis: Dr Lang’s videos all preceded enrolment at GU and none have been refereed or acknowledged with major prizes. Certainly, the act of releasing a film for distribution has much in common with book publishing, but should these videos be considered to be on a par with academic papers published in, say, the prestigious and demanding journal Screen? While recognition at awards ceremonies might arguably correlate with peer review there is still the question as to how scholarly a film actually is. Of course, documentary films such as those in Lang’s thesis can be shown to be addressing gaps in the literature, as is the expectation of any research paper, but the onus remains on the author/film-maker to demonstrate this via a detailed contextual review and a well-written, erudite argument that unifies the works into a cohesive thesis. This Lang has done, to the extent that suspicious cynic might wonder why he chose not to present his work for a standard PhD award. Another issue unaddressed by most institutions is the possibility that the publications have been self-refereed or refereed by the candidate’s editorial colleagues in a case wherein the papers appear in a book the candidate has edited or co-edited. Dr Gillian Swanson’s 2004 GU thesis Towards a Cultural History of Private Life: Sexual Character, Consuming Practices and Cultural Knowledge, which addresses amongst many other cultural artefacts the film Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean 1962), has nine publications: five of which come from two books she co-edited, Nationalising Femininity: Culture, Sexuality and Cinema in Britain in World War Two, (Gledhill and Swanson 1996) and Deciphering Culture: Ordinary Curiosities and Subjective Narratives (Crisp et al 2000). While few would dispute the quality of Swanson’s work, the persistent cynic might wonder if these five papers really qualify as refereed publications. The tacit understanding of a refereed publication is that it is blind reviewed i.e. the contributor’s name is removed from the document. Such a system is used to prevent bias and favouritism but this level of anonymity might be absent when the contributor to a book is also one of the book’s editors. Of course, Dr Swanson probably took great care to distance herself from the refereeing process undertaken by her co-editors, but without an inbuilt check, allegations of cronyism from unfriendly cynics may well result. A related factor in making comparisons of different university’s PhDs by Published Papers is the requirements different universities have about the standard of the journal the paper is published in. It used to be a simple matter in Australia: the government’s Department of Education, Science and Training (DEST) held a Register of Refereed Journals. If your benefactor in disseminating your work was on the list, your publications were of near-unquestionable quality. Not any more: DEST will no longer accept nominations for listing on the Register and will not undertake to rule on whether a particular journal article meets the HERDC [Higher Education Research Data Collection] requirements for inclusion in publication counts. HEPs [Higher Education Providers] have always had the discretion to determine if a publication produced in a journal meets the requirements for inclusion in the HERDC regardless of whether or not the journal was included on the Register of Refereed Journals. As stated in the HERDC specifications, the Register is not an exhaustive list of all journals which satisfy the peer-review requirements (DEST). The last listing for the DEST Register of Refereed Journals was the 3rd of February 2006, making way for a new tiered list of academic journals, which is currently under review in the Australian tertiary education sector (see discussion of this development in the Redden and Mitchell articles in this issue). In the interim, some university faculties created their own rankings of journals, but not the Faculty of Creative Industries at the Queensland University of Technology (QUT) where I am studying for my PhD by Published Papers. Although QUT does not have a list of ranked journals for a candidate to submit papers to, it is otherwise quite strict in its requirements. The QUT University Regulations state, “Papers submitted as a PhD thesis must be closely related in terms of subject matter and form a cohesive research narrative” (QUT PhD regulation 14.1.2). Thus there is the requirement at QUT that apart from the usual introduction, methodology and literature review, an argument must be made as to how the papers present a sustained research project via “an overarching discussion of the main features linking the publications” (14.2.12). It is also therein stated that it should be an “account of research progress linking the research papers” (4.2.6). In other words, a unifying essay must make an argument for consideration of the sometimes diversely published papers as a cohesive body of work, undertaken in a deliberate journey of research. In my own case, an aural auteur analysis of sound in the films of Rolf de Heer, I argue that my published papers (eight in total) represent a journey from genre analysis (one paper) to standard auteur analysis (three papers) to an argument that sound should be considered in auteur analysis (one paper) to the major innovation of the thesis, aural auteur analysis (three papers). It should also be noted that unlike Bond, GU or SUT, the QUT regulations for the standard PhD still apply: a Confirmation Seminar, Final Seminar and a minimum two years of full-time enrolment (with a minimum of three months residency in Brisbane) are all compulsory. Such milestones and sine qua non ensure the candidate’s academic progress and intellectual development such that she or he is able to confidently engage in meaningful quodlibets regarding the thesis’s topic. Another interesting and significant feature of the QUT guidelines for this type of degree is the edict that papers submitted must be “published, accepted or submitted during the period of candidature” (14.1.1). Similarly, the University of Canberra (UC) states “The articles or other published material must be prepared during the period of candidature” (10). Likewise, Edith Cowan University (ECU) will confer its PhD by Publications to those candidates whose thesis consists of “only papers published in refereed scholarly media during the period of enrolment” (2). In other words, one cannot simply front up to ECU, QUT, or UC with a résumé of articles or films published over a lifetime of writing or film-making and ask for a PhD by Published Papers. Publications of the candidate prepared prior to commencement of candidature are simply not acceptable at these institutions and such PhDs by Published Papers from QUT, UC and ECU are entirely different to those offered by Bond, GU and SUT. Furthermore, without a requirement for a substantial period of enrolment and residency, recipients of PhDs by Published Papers from Bond, GU, or SUT are unlikely to have participated significantly in the research environment of their relevant faculty and peers. Such newly minted doctors may be as unfamiliar with the campus and its research activities as the recipient of an honorary doctorate usually is, as he or she poses for the media’s cameras en route to the glamorous awards ceremony. Much of my argument in this paper is built upon the assumption that the process of refereeing a paper (or for that matter, a film) guarantees a high level of academic rigour, but I confess that this premise is patently naïve, if not actually flawed. Refereeing can result in the rejection of new ideas that conflict with the established opinions of the referees. Interdisciplinary collaboration can be impeded and the lack of referee’s accountability is a potential problem, too. It can also be no less nail-biting a process than the examination of a finished thesis, given that some journals take over a year to complete the refereeing process, and some journal’s editorial committees have recognised this shortcoming. Despite being a mainstay of its editorial approach since 1869, the prestigious science journal, Nature, which only publishes about 7% of its submissions, has led the way with regard to varying the procedure of refereeing, implementing in 2006 a four-month trial period of ‘Open Peer Review’. Their website states, Authors could choose to have their submissions posted on a preprint server for open comments, in parallel with the conventional peer review process. Anyone in the field could then post comments, provided they were prepared to identify themselves. Once the usual confidential peer review process is complete, the public ‘open peer review’ process was closed and the editors made their decision about publication with the help of all reports and comments (Campbell). Unfortunately, the experiment was unpopular with both authors and online peer reviewers. What the Nature experiment does demonstrate, however, is that the traditional process of blind refereeing is not yet perfected and can possibly evolve into something less problematic in the future. Until then, refereeing continues to be the best system there is for applying structured academic scrutiny to submitted papers. With the reforms of the higher education sector, including forced mergers of universities and colleges of advanced education and the re-introduction of university fees (carried out under the aegis of John Dawkins, Minister for Employment, Education and Training from 1987 to 1991), and the subsequent rationing of monies according to research dividends (calculated according to numbers of research degree conferrals and publications), there has been a veritable explosion in the number of institutions offering PhDs in Australia. But the general public may not always be capable of differentiating between legitimately accredited programs and diploma mills, given that the requirements for the first differ substantially. From relatively easily obtainable PhDs by Published Papers at Bond, GU and SUT to more rigorous requirements at ECU, QUT and UC, there is undoubtedly a huge range in the demands of degrees that recognise a candidate’s published body of work. The cynical reader may assume that with this paper I am simply trying to shore up my own forthcoming graduation with a PhD by Published papers from potential criticisms that it is on par with a ‘purchased’ doctorate. Perhaps they are right, for this is a new degree in QUT’s Creative Industries faculty and has only been awarded to one other candidate (Dr Marcus Foth for his 2006 thesis entitled Towards a Design Methodology to Support Social Networks of Residents in Inner-City Apartment Buildings). But I believe QUT is setting a benchmark, along with ECU and UC, to which other universities should aspire. In conclusion, I believe further efforts should be undertaken to heighten the differences in status between PhDs by Published Papers generated during enrolment, PhDs by Published Papers generated before enrolment and honorary doctorates awarded for non-academic published work. Failure to do so courts cynical comparison of all PhD by Published Papers with unearnt doctorates bought from Internet shysters. References Brown, George. “Protecting Australia’s Higher Education System: A Proactive Versus Reactive Approach in Review (1999–2004).” Proceedings of the Australian Universities Quality Forum 2004. Australian Universities Quality Agency, 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.auqa.edu.au/auqf/2004/program/papers/Brown.pdf>. Campbell, Philip. “Nature Peer Review Trial and Debate.” Nature: International Weekly Journal of Science. December 2006. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.nature.com/nature/peerreview/> Crisp, Jane, Kay Ferres, and Gillian Swanson, eds. Deciphering Culture: Ordinary Curiosities and Subjective Narratives. London: Routledge, 2000. Department of Education, Science and Training (DEST). “Closed—Register of Refereed Journals.” Higher Education Research Data Collection, 2008. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.dest.gov.au/sectors/research_sector/online_forms_services/ higher_education_research_data_ collection.htm>. Edith Cowan University. “Policy Content.” Postgraduate Research: Thesis by Publication, 2003. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.ecu.edu.au/GPPS/policies_db/tmp/ac063.pdf>. Gledhill, Christine, and Gillian Swanson, eds. Nationalising Femininity: Culture, Sexuality and Cinema in Britain in World War Two. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1996. Griffith Law School, Griffith University. Handbook for Research Higher Degree Students. 24 March 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.griffith.edu.au/centre/slrc/pdf/rhdhandbook.pdf>. Jeffries, Stuart. “I’m a celebrity, get me an honorary degree!” The Guardian 6 July 2006. 11 June 2008 ‹http://education.guardian.co.uk/higher/comment/story/0,,1813525,00.html>. Kermit the Frog. “Kermit’s Commencement Address at Southampton Graduate Campus.” Long Island University News 19 May 1996. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.southampton.liu.edu/news/commence/1996/kermit.htm>. McNamara, Eileen. “Honorary senselessness.” The Boston Globe 7 May 2006. ‹http://www. boston.com/news/local/articles/2006/05/07/honorary_senselessness/>. O’Loughlin, Shaunnagh. “Doctor Cave.” Monash Magazine 21 (May 2008). 13 Aug. 2008 ‹http://www.monash.edu.au/pubs/monmag/issue21-2008/alumni/cave.html>. Queensland University of Technology. “Presentation of PhD Theses by Published Papers.” Queensland University of Technology Doctor of Philosophy Regulations (IF49). 12 Oct. 2007. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.mopp.qut.edu.au/Appendix/appendix09.jsp#14%20Presentation %20of%20PhD%20Theses>. Swinburne University of Technology. Research Higher Degrees and Policies. 14 Nov. 2007. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.swinburne.edu.au/corporate/registrar/ppd/docs/RHDpolicy& procedure.pdf>. University of Canberra. Higher Degrees by Research: Policy and Procedures (The Gold Book). 7.3.3.27 (a). 15 Nov. 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.canberra.edu.au/research/attachments/ goldbook/Pt207_AB20approved3220arp07.pdf>.

Photo by 14825144 © Alita Xander | Dreamstime.com ABSTRACT The US government's approach to the War on Drugs has created laws to deter people from using illicit drugs through negative punishment. These laws have not controlled illicit drug use, nor has it stopped the opioid pandemic from growing. Instead, these laws have created a negative bias surrounding addiction and have negatively affected particularly vulnerable patient populations, including pregnant women with substance use disorder and newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome. This article highlights some misconceptions and underscores the challenges they face as they navigate the justice and healthcare systems while also providing possible solutions to address their underlying addiction. INTRODUCTION Pregnant women with substance use disorder require treatment that is arguably for the benefit of both the mother and the fetus. Some suggest that addiction is a choice; therefore, those who misuse substances should not receive treatment. Proponents of this argument emphasize social and environmental factors that lead to addiction but fail to appreciate how chronic substance use alters the brain’s chemistry and changes how it responds to stress, reward, self-control, and pain. The medical community has long recognized that substance use disorder is not simply a character flaw or social deviance, but a complex condition that requires adequate medical attention. Unfortunately, the lasting consequences of the War on Drugs have created a stigma around addiction medicine, leading to significant treatment barriers. There is still a pervasive societal bias toward punitive rather than rehabilitative approaches to addiction. For example, many women with substance use disorder lose custody of their baby or face criminal penalties, including fines and jail time.[1] These punitive measures may cause patients to lose trust in their physicians, ultimately leading to high-risk pregnancies without prenatal care, untreated substance misuse, and potential lifelong disabilities for their newborns.[2] As a medical student, I have observed the importance of a rehabilitative approach to addiction medicine. Incentivizing pregnant women with substance use disorder to safely address their chronic health issues is essential for minimizing negative short-term and long-term outcomes for women and their newborns. This approach requires an open mind and supportive perspective, recognizing that substance use disorder is truly a medical condition that requires just as much attention as any other medical diagnosis.[3] BACKGROUND The War on Drugs was a government-led initiative launched in 1970 by President Richard M. Nixon with the aim of curtailing illegal drug use, distribution, and trade by imposing harsher prison sentences and punishments.[4] However, it is worth noting that one can trace the roots of this initiative back further. In 1914, Congress enacted the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act to target the recreational use of drugs such as morphine and opium.[5] Despite being in effect for over four decades, the War on Drugs failed to achieve its intended goals. In 2011, the Global Commission on Drug Policy released a report that concluded that the initiative had been futile, as “arresting and incarcerating tens of millions of these people in recent decades has filled prisons and destroyed lives and families without reducing the availability of illicit drugs or the power of criminal organizations.”[6] One study published in the International Journal of Drug Policy in the same year found that funding drug law enforcement paradoxically contributed to increasing gun violence and homicide rates.[7] The Commission recommended that drug policies focus on reducing harm caused by drug use rather than solely on reducing drug markets. Recognizing that many drug policies were of political opinion, it called for drug policies that were grounded in scientific evidence, health, security, and human rights.[8] Unfortunately, policy makers did not heed these recommendations. In 2014, Tennessee’s legislature passed a “Fetal Assault Law,” which made it possible to prosecute pregnant women for drug use during pregnancy. If found guilty, pregnant women could face up to 15 years in prison and lose custody of their child. Instead of deterring drug use, the law discouraged pregnant women with substance use disorder from seeking prenatal care. This law required medical professionals to report drug use to authorities, thereby compromising the confidentiality of the patient-physician relationship. Some avoided arrest by delivering their babies in other states or at home, while others opted for abortions or attempted to go through an unsafe withdrawal prior to receiving medical care, sacrificing the mother's and fetus's wellbeing. The law had a sunset provision and expired in 2016. During the two years this law was in effect, officials arrested 124 women.[9] The fear that this law instilled in pregnant women with substance use disorder can still be seen across the US today. Many pregnant women with substance use disorders stated that they feared testing positive for drugs. Due to mandatory reporting, they were not confident that physicians would protect them from the law.[10] And if a woman tried to stop using drugs before seeking care to avoid detection, she often ended up delaying or avoiding care.[11] The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) recognizes the fear those with substance use disorders face when seeking appropriate medical care and emphasizes that “obstetric–gynecologic care should not expose a woman to criminal or civil penalties, such as incarceration, involuntary commitment, loss of custody of her children, or loss of housing.”[12] Mandatory reporting strains the patient-physician relationship, driving a wedge between the doctor and patient. Thus, laws intended to deter people from using substances through various punishments and incarceration may be doing more harm than good. County hospitals that mainly serve lower socioeconomic patients encounter more patients without consistent health care access and those with substance use disorders.[13] These hospitals are facing the consequences of the worsening opioid pandemic. At one county hospital where I recently worked, there has been a dramatic increase in newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome born to mothers with untreated substance use disorders during pregnancy. Infants exposed to drugs prenatally have an increased risk of complications, stillbirth, and life-altering developmental disabilities. At the hospital, I witnessed Child Protective Services removing two newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome from their mother’s custody. Four similar cases had occurred in the preceding month. In the days leading up to their placement with a foster family, I saw both newborns go through an uncomfortable drug withdrawal. No baby should be welcomed into this world by suffering like that. Yet I felt for the new mothers and realized that heart-wrenching custody loss is not the best approach. During this period, I saw a teenager brought to the pediatric floor due to worsening psychiatric symptoms. He was born with neonatal abstinence syndrome that neither the residential program nor his foster family could manage. His past psychiatric disorders included attention deficit disorder, conduct disorder, major depressive disorder, anxiety disorder, disruptive mood dysregulation disorder, intellectual developmental disorder, and more. During his hospitalization, he was so violent towards healthcare providers that security had to intervene. And his attitude toward his foster parents was so volatile that we were never sure if having them visit was comforting or agitating. Throughout his hospital course, it was difficult for me to converse with him, and I left every interview with him feeling lost in terms of providing an adequate short- and long-term assessment of his psychological and medical requirements. What was clear, however, was that his intellectual and emotional levels did not match his age and that he was born into a society that was ill-equipped to accommodate his needs. Just a few feet away from his room, behind the nurses’ station, were the two newborns feeling the same withdrawal symptoms that this teenager likely experienced in the first few hours of his life. I wondered how similar their paths would be and if they would exhibit similar developmental delays in a few years or if their circumstance may follow the cases hyped about in the media of the 1980s and 1990s regarding “crack babies.” Many of these infants who experienced withdrawal symptoms eventually led normal lives.[14] Nonetheless, many studies have demonstrated that drug use during pregnancy can adversely impact fetal development. Excessive alcohol consumption can result in fetal alcohol syndrome, characterized by growth deficiency, facial structure abnormalities, and a wide range of neurological deficiencies.[15] Smoking can impede the development of the lungs and brain and lead to preterm deliveries or sudden infant death syndrome.[16] Stimulants like methamphetamine can also cause preterm delivery, delayed motor development, attention impairments, and a wide range of cognitive and behavioral issues.[17] Opioid use, such as oxycodone, morphine, fentanyl, and heroin, may result in neonatal opioid withdrawal syndrome, in which a newborn may exhibit tremors, irritability, sleeping problems, poor feeding, loose stools, and increased sweating within 72 hours of life.[18] In 2014, the American Association of Pediatrics (AAP) reported that one newborn was diagnosed with neonatal abstinence syndrome every 15 minutes, equating to approximately 32,000 newborns annually, a five-fold increase from 2004.[19] The AAP found that the cost of neonatal abstinence syndrome covered by Medicaid increased from $65.4 million to $462 million from 2004 to 2014.[20] In 2020, the CDC published a paper that showed an increase in hospital costs from $316 million in 2012 to $572.7 million in 2016.[21] Currently, the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on the prevalence of newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome is unknown. I predict that the increase in opioid and polysubstance use during the pandemic will increase the number of newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome, thereby significantly increasing the public burden and cost.[22] In the 1990s, concerns arose about the potentially irreparable damage caused by intrauterine exposure to cocaine on the development of infants, which led to the popularization of the term “crack babies.”[23] Although no strong longitudinal studies supported this claim at the time, it was not without merit. The Maternal Lifestyle Study (NCT00059540) was a prospective longitudinal observational study that compared the outcomes of newborns exposed to cocaine in-utero to those without.[24] One of its studies revealed one month old newborns with cocaine exposure had “lower arousal, poorer quality of movements and self-regulation, higher excitability, more hypertonia, and more nonoptimal reflexes.”[25] Another study showed that at one month old, heavy cocaine exposure affected neural transmission from the ear to the brain.[26] Long-term follow up from the study showed that at seven years old, children with high intrauterine cocaine exposure were more likely to have externalizing behavior problems such as aggressive behavior, temper tantrums, and destructive acts.[27] While I have witnessed this behavior in the teenage patient during my pediatrics rotation, not all newborns with intrauterine drug exposure are inevitably bound to have psychiatric and behavioral issues later in life. NPR recorded a podcast in 2010 highlighting a mother who used substances during pregnancy and, with early intervention, had positive outcomes. After being arrested 50 times within five years, she went through STEP: Self-Taught Empowerment and Pride, a public program that allowed her to complete her GED and provided guidance and encouragement for a more meaningful life during her time in jail. Her daughter, who was exposed to cocaine before birth, had a normal childhood and ended up going to college.[28] From a public health standpoint, more needs to be done to prevent the complications of substance misuse during pregnancy. Some states consider substance misuse (and even prescribed use) during pregnancy child abuse. Officials have prosecuted countless women across 45 states for exposing their unborn children to drugs.[29] With opioid and polysubstance use on the rise, the efficacy of laws that result in punitive measures seems questionable.[30] So far, laws are not associated with a decrease in the misuse of drugs during pregnancy. Millions of dollars are being poured into managing neonatal abstinence syndrome, including prosecuting women and taking their children away. Rather than policing and criminalizing substance use, pregnant women should get the appropriate care they need and deserve. I. Misconception One: Mothers with Substance Use Disorder Can Get an Abortion If an unplanned pregnancy occurs, one course of action could be to terminate the pregnancy. On the surface, this solution seems like a quick fix. However, the reality is that obtaining an abortion can be challenging due to two significant barriers: accessibility and mandated reporting. Abortion laws vary by state, and in Tennessee, for instance, abortions are banned after six weeks of gestation, typically when fetal heart rhythms are detected. An exception to this is in cases where the mother's life is at risk.[31] Unfortunately, many women with substance use disorders are from lower socioeconomic backgrounds and cannot access pregnancy tests, which could indicate they are pregnant before the six-week cutoff. If a Tennessee woman with substance use disorder decides to seek an abortion after six weeks, she may need to travel to a neighboring state. However, this is not always a feasible option, as the surrounding states (WV, MO, AR, MI, AL, and GA) also have restrictive laws that either prohibit abortions entirely or ban them after six weeks. Moreover, she may be hesitant to visit an obstetrician for an abortion, as some states require physicians by law to report their patients' substance use during pregnancy. For example, Virginia considers substance use during pregnancy child abuse and mandates that healthcare providers report it. This would ultimately limit her to North Carolina if she wants to remain in a nearby state, but she must go before 20 weeks gestation.[32] For someone who may or may not have access to reliable transportation, traveling to another state might be impossible. Without resources or means, these restrictive laws have made it incredibly difficult to obtain the medical care they need. II. Misconception Two: Mothers with SUD are Not Fit to Care for Children If a woman cannot take care of herself, one might wonder how she can take care of another human being. Mothers with substance use disorders often face many adversities, including lack of economic opportunity, trauma from abuse, history of poverty, and mental illness.[33] Fortunately, studies suggest keeping mother and baby together has many benefits. Breastfeeding, for example, helps the baby develop a strong immune system while reducing the mother’s risk of cancer and high blood pressure.[34] Additionally, newborns with neonatal abstinence syndrome who are breastfed by mothers receiving methadone or buprenorphine require less pharmacological treatment, have lower withdrawal scores, and experience shorter hospital stays.[35] Opioid concentration in breastmilk is minimal and does not pose a risk to newborns.[36] Moreover, oxytocin, the hormone responsible for mother-baby bonding, is increased in breastfeeding mothers, reducing withdrawal symptoms and stress-induced reactivity and cravings while also increasing protective maternal instincts.[37] Removing an infant from their mother’s care immediately after birth would result in the loss of all these positive benefits for both the mother and her newborn. The newborns I observed during my pediatrics rotation probably could have benefited from breastfeeding rather than bottle feeding and being passed around from one nurse to the next. They probably would have cried less and suffered fewer withdrawal symptoms had they been given the opportunity to breastfeed. And even if the mothers were lethargic and unresponsive while going through withdrawal, it would still have been possible to breastfeed with proper support. Unfortunately, many believe mothers with substance use disorder cannot adequately care for their children. This pervasive societal bias sets them up for failure from the beginning and greatly inhibits their willingness to change and mend their relationship with their providers. It is a healthcare provider’s duty to provide non-judgmental care that prioritizes the patient’s well-being. They must treat these mothers with the same empathy and respect as any other patient, even if they are experiencing withdrawal. III. Safe Harbor and Medication-Assisted Treatment Addiction is like any other disease and society should regard treatment without stigma. There is no simple fix to this problem, given that it involves the political, legal, and healthcare systems. Punitive policies push pregnant women away from receiving healthcare and prevent them from receiving beneficial interventions. States need to enact laws that protect these women from being reported to authorities. Montana, for example, passed a law in 2019 that provides women with substance use disorders safe harbor from prosecution if they seek treatment for their condition.[38] Medication-assisted treatment with methadone or buprenorphine is the first line treatment option and should be available to all pregnant women regardless of their ability to pay for medical care.[39] To promote continuity of care, health officials could include financial incentives to motivate new mothers to go to follow-up appointments. For example, vouchers for groceries or enrollment in the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) may offset financial burdens and allow a mother to focus on taking care of her child and her recovery. IV. Mandated Substance Abuse Programs Although the number of people sentenced to state prisons for drug related crimes has been declining, it is still alarming that there were 171,300 sentencings in 2019.[40] Only 11 percent of the 65 percent of our nation’s inmates with substance use disorder receive treatment, implying that the other 89 percent were left without much-needed support to overcome their addiction.[41] It is erroneous to assume that their substance use disorder would disappear after a period without substance use while behind bars. After withdrawal, those struggling with substance use disorder may still have cravings and the likelihood of relapsing remains high without proper medical intervention. Even if they are abstinent for some time during incarceration, the underlying problem persists, and the cycle inevitably continues upon release from custody. In line with the recommendations by Global Commission on Drug Policy and the lessons learned from the failed War on Drugs, one proposed change in our criminal justice system would be to require enrollment and participation in assisted alcohol cessation programs before legal punishment. Policy makers must place emphasis on the safety of the patient and baby rather than the cessation of substance use. This would incentivize people to actively seek medical care, restore the patient-physician relationship, and ensure that they take rehabilitation programs seriously. If the patient or baby is unsafe, a caregiver could intervene while the patient re-enrolls in the program. Those currently serving sentences in prisons and jails can treat their substance use disorder through medication assisted treatment, cognitive behavioral therapy, and programs like Self Taught Empowerment and Pride (STEP). Medication assisted treatment under the supervision of medical professionals can help inmates achieve and maintain sobriety in a healthy and safe way. Furthermore, cognitive behavioral therapy can help to identify triggers and teach healthier coping mechanisms to prepare for stressors outside of jail. Finally, multimodal empowerment programs can connect people to jobs, education, and support upon release. People often leave prisons and jail without a sense of purpose, which can lead to relapse and reincarceration. Structured programs have been shown to decrease drug use and criminal behavior by helping reintegrate productive individuals into society.[42] V. Medical Education: Narcotic Treatment Programs and Suboxone Clinics Another proactive approach could be to have medical residency programs register with the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) as Narcotic Treatment Programs and incorporate suboxone clinics into their education and rotations. Rather than family medicine, OB/GYN, or emergency medicine healthcare workers having to refer their patients to an addiction specialist, they could treat patients with methadone for maintenance or detoxification where they would deliver their baby. Not only would this educate and prepare the future generation of physicians to handle the opioid crisis, but it would allow pregnant women to develop strong patient-physician relationships. CONCLUSION Society needs to change from the mindset of tackling a problem after it occurs to taking a proactive approach by addressing upstream factors, thereby preventing those problems from occurring in the first place. Emphasizing public health measures and adequate medical care can prevent complications and developmental issues in newborns and pregnant women with substance use disorders. Decriminalizing drug use and encouraging good health habits during pregnancy is essential, as is access to prenatal care, especially for lower socioeconomic patients. Many of the current laws and regulations that policy makers initially created due to naïve political opinion and unfounded bias to serve the War on Drugs need to be changed to provide these opportunities. To progress as a society, physicians and interprofessional teams must work together to truly understand the needs of patients with substance use disorders and provide support from prenatal to postnatal care. There should be advocation for legislative change, not by providing an opinion but by highlighting the facts and conclusions of scientific studies grounded in scientific evidence, health, security, and human rights. There can be no significant change if society continues to view those with substance use disorders as underserving of care. Only when the perspective shifts to compassion can these mothers and children receive adequate care that rehabilitates and supports their future and empowers them to raise their children. - [1] NIDA. 2023, February 15. Pregnant People with Substance Use Disorders Need Treatment, Not Criminalization. https://nida.nih.gov/about-nida/noras-blog/2023/02/pregnant-people-substance-use-disorders-need-treatment-not-criminalization [2] Substance Use Disorder Hurts Moms and Babies. National Partnership for Women and Families. June 2021 [3] All stories have been fictionalized and anonymized. [4] A History of the Drug War. Drug Policy Alliance. https://drugpolicy.org/issues/brief-history-drug-war [5] The Harrison Narcotic Act (1914) https://www.druglibrary.org/Schaffer/library/studies/cu/cu8.html [6] The War on Drugs. The Global Commission on Drug Policy. Published June 2011. https://www.globalcommissionondrugs.org/reports/the-war-on-drugs [7] Werb D, Rowell G, Guyatt G, Kerr T, Montaner J, Wood E. Effect of drug law enforcement on drug market violence: A systematic review. Int J Drug Policy. 2011;22(2):87-94. doi:10.1016/j.drugpo.2011.02.002 [8] Global Commission on Drug Policy, 2011 [9] Women NA for P. Tennessee’s Fetal Assault Law: Understanding its impact on marginalized women - New York. Pregnancy Justice. Published December 14, 2020. https://www.pregnancyjusticeus.org/tennessees-fetal-assault-law-understanding-its-impact-on-marginalized-women/ [10] Roberts SCM, Nuru-Jeter A. Women’s perspectives on screening for alcohol and drug use in prenatal care. Womens Health Issues Off Publ Jacobs Inst Womens Health. 2010;20(3):193-200. doi:10.1016/j.whi.2010.02.003 [11] Klaman SL, Isaacs K, Leopold A, et al. Treating Women Who Are Pregnant and Parenting for Opioid Use Disorder and the Concurrent Care of Their Infants and Children: Literature Review to Support National Guidance. J Addict Med. 2017;11(3):178-190. doi:10.1097/ADM.0000000000000308 [12] Substance Abuse Reporting and Pregnancy: The Role of the Obstetrician–Gynecologist. https://www.acog.org/en/clinical/clinical-guidance/committee-opinion/articles/2011/01/substance-abuse-reporting-and-pregnancy-the-role-of-the-obstetrician-gynecologist [13] R. Ghertner, G Lincoln The Opioid Crisis and Economic Opportunity: Geographic and Economic Trends. ASPE. Office of Assistant Secretary for Planning and Evaluation. DHHS Revised September 11, 2018 https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/economic-opportunity-opioid-crisis-geographic-economic-trends [14] Midon, M. Z., Gerzon, L. R., & de Almeida, C. S. (2021). Crack and motor development of babies living in an assistance shelter. ABCS Health Sciences, 46, e021215-e021215. And for example, see Crack Babies: Twenty Years Later : NPR https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126478643 [15] Williams JF, Smith VC, the Committee on Substance Abuse. Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders. Pediatrics. 2015;136(5):e20153113. doi:10.1542/peds.2015-3113 [16] CDC Tobacco Free. Smoking During Pregnancy. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Published April 11, 2022. https://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/basic_information/health_effects/pregnancy/index.htm [17] Abuse NI on D. What are the risks of methamphetamine misuse during pregnancy? National Institute on Drug Abuse. https://nida.nih.gov/publications/research-reports/methamphetamine/what-are-risks-methamphetamine-misuse-during-pregnancy [18] CDC. Basics About Opioid Use During Pregnancy | CDC. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Published July 21, 2021. https://www.cdc.gov/pregnancy/opioids/basics.html [19] Honein MA, Boyle C, Redfield RR. Public Health Surveillance of Prenatal Opioid Exposure in Mothers and Infants. Pediatrics. 2019;143(3):e20183801. doi:10.1542/peds.2018-3801 [20] Winkelman TNA, Villapiano N, Kozhimannil KB, Davis MM, Patrick SW. Incidence and Costs of Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome Among Infants with Medicaid: 2004–2014. Pediatrics. 2018;141(4):e20173520. doi:10.1542/peds.2017-3520 [21] Strahan AE, Guy GP Jr, Bohm M, Frey M, Ko JY. Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome Incidence and Health Care Costs in the United States, 2016. JAMA Pediatr. 2020;174(2):200-202. doi:10.1001/jamapediatrics.2019.4791 [22] Ghose R, Forati AM, Mantsch JR. Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic on Opioid Overdose Deaths: a Spatiotemporal Analysis. J Urban Health Bull N Y Acad Med. 2022;99(2):316-327. doi:10.1007/s11524-022-00610-0 [23] Mayes LC, Granger RH, Bornstein MH, Zuckerman B. The Problem of Prenatal Cocaine Exposure: A Rush to Judgment. JAMA. 1992;267(3):406-408. doi:10.1001/jama.1992.03480030084043 [24] NICHD Neonatal Research Network. The Maternal Lifestyle Study. clinicaltrials.gov; 2016. https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/study/NCT00059540 [25] Lester BM, Tronick EZ, LaGasse L, et al. The maternal lifestyle study: effects of substance exposure during pregnancy on neurodevelopmental outcome in 1-month-old infants. Pediatrics. 2002;110(6):1182-1192. doi:10.1542/peds.110.6.1182 [26] Lester BM, Lagasse L, Seifer R, et al. The Maternal Lifestyle Study (MLS): effects of prenatal cocaine and/or opiate exposure on auditory brain response at one month. J Pediatr. 2003;142(3):279-285. doi:10.1067/mpd.2003.112 [27] Bada HS, Bann CM, Bauer CR, et al. Preadolescent behavior problems after prenatal cocaine exposure: Relationship between teacher and caretaker ratings (Maternal Lifestyle Study). Neurotoxicol Teratol. 2011;33(1):78-87. doi:10.1016/j.ntt.2010.06.005 [28] N, P, R. Crack Babies: Twenty Years Later. NPR. Published May 3, 2010. https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126478643 [29] Miranda L, Dixon V, September CRP on, 30, 2015. How States Handle Drug Use During Pregnancy http://projects.propublica.org/graphics/maternity-drug-policies-by-state [30] NCDAS: Substance Abuse and Addiction Statistics [2023]. NCDAS. https://drugabusestatistics.org/ [31] (Tenn. Code Ann. § 39-15-216). [32] Institute G. Interactive Map: US Abortion Policies and Access After Roe. https://states.guttmacher.org/policies/ [33] Whitesell M, Bachand A, Peel J, Brown M. Familial, Social, and Individual Factors Contributing to Risk for Adolescent Substance Use. J Addict. 2013;2013:579310. doi:10.1155/2013/579310 [34] CDC. Five Great Benefits of Breastfeeding. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Published July 27, 2021. https://www.cdc.gov/nccdphp/dnpao/features/breastfeeding-benefits/index.html [35] Welle-Strand GK, Skurtveit S, Jansson LM, Bakstad B, Bjarkø L, Ravndal E. Breastfeeding reduces the need for withdrawal treatment in opioid-exposed infants. Acta Paediatr. 2013;102(11):1060-1066. doi:10.1111/apa.12378 [36] Ilett KF, Hackett LP, Gower S, Doherty DA, Hamilton D, Bartu AE. Estimated dose exposure of the neonate to buprenorphine and its metabolite norbuprenorphine via breastmilk during maternal buprenorphine substitution treatment. Breastfeed Med Off J Acad Breastfeed Med. 2012;7:269-274. doi:10.1089/bfm.2011.0096 [37] Pedersen CA, Smedley KL, Leserman J, et al. Intranasal Oxytocin Blocks Alcohol Withdrawal in Human Subjects. Alcohol Clin Exp Res. 2013;37(3):484-489. doi:10.1111/j.1530-0277.2012.01958.x [38] Montana SB0289. https://leg.mt.gov/bills/2019/billhtml/SB0289.htm [39] Mullins N, Galvin SL, Ramage M, Gannon M, Lorenz K, Sager B, Coulson CC. Buprenorphine and Naloxone Versus Buprenorphine for Opioid Use Disorder in Pregnancy: A Cohort Study. J Addict Med. 2020 May/Jun;14(3):185-192. doi: 10.1097/ADM.0000000000000562. PMID: 31567599. [40] Drug Related Crime Statistics [2023]: Offenses Involving Drug Use. NCDAS. https://drugabusestatistics.org/drug-related-crime-statistics/ [41] Association APH. Online only: Report finds most U.S. inmates suffer from substance abuse or addiction. Nations Health. 2010;40(3):E11-E11. [42] Principles of Drug Addiction Treatment: A Research-Based Guide (Third Edition) | NIDA Archives. Published January 17, 2018. http://archives.nida.nih.gov/publications/principles-drug-addiction-treatment-research-based-guide-third-edition

I first came across etoy in Linz, Austria in 1995. They turned up at Ars Electronica with their shaved heads, in their matching orange bomber jackets. They were not invited. The next year they would not have to crash the party. In 1996 they were awarded Arts Electronica’s prestigious Golden Nica for web art, and were on their way to fame and bitterness – the just rewards for their art of self-regard. As founding member Agent.ZAI says: “All of us were extremely greedy – for excitement, for drugs, for success.” (Wishart & Boschler: 16) The etoy story starts on the fringes of the squatters’ movement in Zurich. Disenchanted with the hard left rhetorics that permeate the movement in the 1980s, a small group look for another way of existing within a commodified world, without the fantasy of an ‘outside’ from which to critique it. What Antonio Negri and friends call the ‘real subsumption’ of life under the rule of commodification is something etoy grasps intuitively. The group would draw on a number of sources: David Bowie, the Sex Pistols, the Manchester rave scene, European Amiga art, rumors of the historic avant gardes from Dada to Fluxus. They came together in 1994, at a meeting in the Swiss resort town of Weggis on Lake Lucerne. While the staging of the founding meeting looks like a rerun of the origins of the Situationist International, the wording of the invitation might suggest the founding of a pop music boy band: “fun, money and the new world?” One of the – many – stories about the origins of the name Dada has it being chosen at random from a bilingual dictionary. The name etoy, in an update on that procedure, was spat out by a computer program designed to make four letter words at random. Ironically, both Dada and etoy, so casually chosen, would inspire furious struggles over the ownership of these chancey 4-bit words. The group decided to make money by servicing the growing rave scene. Being based in Vienna and Zurich, the group needed a way to communicate, and chose to use the internet. This was a far from obvious thing to do in 1994. Connections were slow and unreliable. Sometimes it was easier to tape a hard drive full of clubland graphics to the underside of a seat on the express train from Zurich to Vienna and simply email instructions to meet the train and retrieve it. The web was a primitive instrument in 1995 when etoy built its first website. They launched it with a party called etoy.FASTLANE, an optimistic title when the web was anything but. Coco, a transsexual model and tabloid sensation, sang a Japanese song while suspended in the air. She brought media interest, and was anointed etoy’s lifestyle angel. As Wishart and Bochsler write, “it was as if the Seven Dwarfs had discovered their Snow White.” (Wishart & Boschler: 33) The launch didn’t lead to much in the way of a music deal or television exposure. The old media were not so keen to validate the etoy dream of lifting themselves into fame and fortune by their bootstraps. And so etoy decided to be stars of the new media. The slogan was suitably revised: “etoy: the pop star is the pilot is the coder is the designer is the architect is the manager is the system is etoy.” (Wishart & Boschler: 34) The etoy boys were more than net.artists, they were artists of the brand. The brand was achieving a new prominence in the mid-90s. (Klein: 35) This was a time when capitalism was hollowing itself out in the overdeveloped world, shedding parts of its manufacturing base. Control of the circuits of commodification would rest less on the ownership of the means of production and more on maintaining a monopoly on the flows of information. The leading edge of the ruling class was becoming self-consciously vectoral. It controlled the flow of information about what to produce – the details of design, the underlying patents. It controlled the flows of information about what is produced – the brands and logos, the slogans and images. The capitalist class is supplanted by a vectoral class, controlling the commodity circuit through the vectors of information. (Wark) The genius of etoy was to grasp the aesthetic dimension of this new stage of commodification. The etoy boys styled themselves not so much as a parody of corporate branding and management groupthink, but as logical extension of it. They adopted matching uniforms and called themselves agents. In the dada-punk-hiphop tradition, they launched themselves on the world as brand new, self-created, self-named subjects: Agents Zai, Brainhard, Gramazio, Kubli, Esposto, Udatny and Goldstein. The etoy.com website was registered in 1995 with Network Solutions for a $100 fee. The homepage for this etoy.TANKSYSTEM was designed like a flow chart. As Gramazio says: “We wanted to create an environment with surreal content, to build a parallel world and put the content of this world into tanks.” (Wishart & Boschler: 51) One tank was a cybermotel, with Coco the first guest. Another tank showed you your IP number, with a big-brother eye looking on. A supermarket tank offered sunglasses and laughing gas for sale, but which may or may not be delivered. The underground tank included hardcore photos of a sensationalist kind. A picture of the Federal Building in Oklamoma City after the bombing was captioned in deadpan post-situ style “such work needs a lot of training.” (Wishart & Boschler: 52) The etoy agents were by now thoroughly invested in the etoy brand and the constellation of images they had built around it, on their website. Their slogan became “etoy: leaving reality behind.” (Wishart & Boschler: 53) They were not the first artists fascinated by commodification. It was Warhol who said “good art is good business.”(Warhol ) But etoy reversed the equation: good business is good art. And good business, in this vectoral age, is in its most desirable form an essentially conceptual matter of creating a brand at the center of a constellation of signifiers. Late in 1995, etoy held another group meeting, at the Zurich youth center Dynamo. The problem was that while they had build a hardcore website, nobody was visiting it. Agents Gooldstein and Udatny thought that there might be a way of using the new search engines to steer visitors to the site. Zai and Brainhard helped secure a place at the Vienna Academy of Applied Arts where Udatny could use the computer lab to implement this idea. Udatny’s first step was to create a program that would go out and gather email addresses from the web. These addresses would form the lists for the early examples of art-spam that etoy would perpetrate. Udatny’s second idea was a bit more interesting. He worked out how to get the etoy.TANKSYSTEM page listed in search engines. Most search engines ranked pages by the frequency of the search term in the pages it had indexed, so etoy.TANKSYSTEM would contain pages of selected keywords. Porn sites were also discovering this method of creating free publicity. The difference was that etoy chose a very carefully curated list of 350 search terms, including: art, bondage, cyberspace, Doom, Elvis, Fidel, genx, heroin, internet, jungle and Kant. Users of search engines who searched for these terms would find dummy pages listed prominently in their search results that directed them, unsuspectingly, to etoy.com. They called this project Digital Hijack. To give the project a slightly political aura, the pages the user was directed to contained an appeal for the release of convicted hacker Kevin Mitnick. This was the project that won them a Golden Nica statuette at Ars Electronica in 1996, which Gramazio allegedly lost the same night playing roulette. It would also, briefly, require that they explain themselves to the police. Digital Hijack also led to the first splits in the group, under the intense pressure of organizing it on a notionally collective basis, but with the zealous Agent Zai acting as de facto leader. When Udatny was expelled, Zai and Brainhard even repossessed his Toshiba laptop, bought with etoy funds. As Udatny recalls, “It was the lowest point in my life ever. There was nothing left; I could not rely on etoy any more. I did not even have clothes, apart from the etoy uniform.” (Wishart & Boschler: 104) Here the etoy story repeats a common theme from the history of the avant gardes as forms of collective subjectivity. After Digital Hijack, etoy went into a bit of a slump. It’s something of a problem for a group so dependent on recognition from the other of the media, that without a buzz around them, etoy would tend to collapse in on itself like a fading supernova. Zai spend the early part of 1997 working up a series of management documents, in which he appeared as the group’s managing director. Zai employed the current management theory rhetoric of employee ‘empowerment’ while centralizing control. Like any other corporate-Trotskyite, his line was that “We have to get used to reworking the company structure constantly.” (Wishart & Boschler: 132) The plan was for each member of etoy to register the etoy trademark in a different territory, linking identity to information via ownership. As Zai wrote “If another company uses our name in a grand way, I’ll probably shoot myself. And that would not be cool.” (Wishart & Boschler:: 132) As it turned out, another company was interested – the company that would become eToys.com. Zai received an email offering “a reasonable sum” for the etoy.com domain name. Zai was not amused. “Damned Americans, they think they can take our hunting grounds for a handful of glass pearls….”. (Wishart & Boschler: 133) On an invitation from Suzy Meszoly of C3, the etoy boys traveled to Budapest to work on “protected by etoy”, a work exploring internet security. They spent most of their time – and C3’s grant money – producing a glossy corporate brochure. The folder sported a blurb from Bjork: “etoy: immature priests from another world” – which was of course completely fabricated. When Artothek, the official art collection of the Austrian Chancellor, approached etoy wanting to buy work, the group had to confront the problem of how to actually turn their brand into a product. The idea was always that the brand was the product, but this doesn’t quite resolve the question of how to produce the kind of unique artifacts that the art world requires. Certainly the old Conceptual Art strategy of selling ‘documentation’ would not do. The solution was as brilliant as it was simple – to sell etoy shares. The ‘works’ would be ‘share certificates’ – unique objects, whose only value, on the face of it, would be that they referred back to the value of the brand. The inspiration, according to Wishart & Boschsler, was David Bowie, ‘the man who sold the world’, who had announced the first rock and roll bond on the London financial markets, backed by future earnings of his back catalogue and publishing rights. Gramazio would end up presenting Chancellor Viktor Klima with the first ‘shares’ at a press conference. “It was a great start for the project”, he said, “A real hack.” (Wishart & Boschler: 142) For this vectoral age, etoy would create the perfect vectoral art. Zai and Brainhard took off next for Pasadena, where they got the idea of reverse-engineering the online etoy.TANKSYSTEM by building an actual tank in an orange shipping container, which would become etoy.TANK 17. This premiered at the San Francisco gallery Blasthaus in June 1998. Instant stars in the small world of San Francisco art, the group began once again to disintegrate. Brainhard and Esposito resigned. Back in Europe in late 1998, Zai was preparing to graduate from the Vienna Academy of Applied Arts. His final project would recapitulate the life and death of etoy. It would exist from here on only as an online archive, a digital mausoleum. As Kubli says “there was no possibility to earn our living with etoy.” (Wishart & Boschler: 192) Zai emailed eToys.com and asked them if them if they would like to place a banner ad on etoy.com, to redirect any errant web traffic. Lawyers for eToys.com offered etoy $30,000 for the etoy.com domain name, which the remaining members of etoy – Zai, Gramazio, Kubli – refused. The offer went up to $100,000, which they also refused. Through their lawyer Peter Wild they demanded $750,000. In September 1999, while etoy were making a business presentation as their contribution to Ars Electronica, eToys.com lodged a complaint against etoy in the Los Angeles Superior Court. The company hired Bruce Wessel, of the heavyweight LA law firm Irell & Manella, who specialized in trademark, copyright and other intellectual property litigation. The complaint Wessel drafted alleged that etoy had infringed and diluted the eToys trademark, were practicing unfair competition and had committed “intentional interference with prospective economic damage.” (Wishart & Boschler: 199) Wessel demanded an injunction that would oblige etoy to cease using its trademark and take down its etoy.com website. The complaint also sought to prevent etoy from selling shares, and demanded punitive damages. Displaying the aggressive lawyering for which he was so handsomely paid, Wessel invoked the California Unfair Competition Act, which was meant to protect citizens from fraudulent business scams. Meant as a piece of consumer protection legislation, its sweeping scope made it available for inventive suits such as Wessel’s against etoy. Wessel was able to use pretty much everything from the archive etoy built against it. As Wishart and Bochsler write, “The court papers were like a delicately curated catalogue of its practices.” (Wishart & Boschler: 199) And indeed, legal documents in copyright and trademark cases may be the most perfect literature of the vectoral age. The Unfair Competition claim was probably aimed at getting the suit heard in a Californian rather than a Federal court in which intellectual property issues were less frequently litigated. The central aim of the eToys suit was the trademark infringement, but on that head their claims were not all that strong. According to the 1946 Lanham Act, similar trademarks do not infringe upon each other if there they are for different kinds of business or in different geographical areas. The Act also says that the right to own a trademark depends on its use. So while etoy had not registered their trademark and eToys had, etoy were actually up and running before eToys, and could base their trademark claim on this fact. The eToys case rested on a somewhat selective reading of the facts. Wessel claimed that etoy was not using its trademark in the US when eToys was registered in 1997. Wessel did not dispute the fact that etoy existed in Europe prior to that time. He asserted that owning the etoy.com domain name was not sufficient to establish a right to the trademark. If the intention of the suit was to bully etoy into giving in, it had quite the opposite effect. It pissed them off. “They felt again like the teenage punks they had once been”, as Wishart & Bochsler put it. Their art imploded in on itself for lack of attention, but called upon by another, it flourished. Wessel and eToys.com unintentionally triggered a dialectic that worked in quite the opposite way to what they intended. The more pressure they put on etoy, the more valued – and valuable – they felt etoy to be. Conceptual business, like conceptual art, is about nothing but the management of signs within the constraints of given institutional forms of market. That this conflict was about nothing made it a conflict about everything. It was a perfectly vectoral struggle. Zai and Gramazio flew to the US to fire up enthusiasm for their cause. They asked Wolfgang Staehle of The Thing to register the domain toywar.com, as a space for anti-eToys activities at some remove from etoy.com, and as a safe haven should eToys prevail with their injunction in having etoy.com taken down. The etoy defense was handled by Marcia Ballard in New York and Robert Freimuth in Los Angeles. In their defense, they argued that etoy had existed since 1994, had registered its globally accessible domain in 1995, and won an international art prize in 1996. To counter a claim by eToys that they had a prior trademark claim because they had bought a trademark from another company that went back to 1990, Ballard and Freimuth argued that this particular trademark only applied to the importation of toys from the previous owner’s New York base and thus had no relevance. They capped their argument by charging that eToys had not shown that its customers were really confused by the existence of etoy. With Christmas looming, eToys wanted a quick settlement, so they offered Zurich-based etoy lawyer Peter Wild $160,000 in shares and cash for the etoy domain. Kubli was prepared to negotiate, but Zai and Gramazio wanted to gamble – and raise the stakes. As Zai recalls: “We did not want to be just the victims; that would have been cheap. We wanted to be giants too.” (Wishart & Boschler: 207) They refused the offer. The case was heard in November 1999 before Judge Rafeedie in the Federal Court. Freimuth, for etoy, argued that federal Court was the right place for what was essentially a trademark matter. Robert Kleiger, for eToys, countered that it should stay where it was because of the claims under the California Unfair Competition act. Judge Rafeedie took little time in agreeing with the eToys lawyer. Wessel’s strategy paid off and eToys won the first skirmish. The first round of a quite different kind of conflict opened when etoy sent out their first ‘toywar’ mass mailing, drawing the attention of the net.art, activism and theory crowd to these events. This drew a report from Felix Stalder in Telepolis: “Fences are going up everywhere, molding what once seemed infinite space into an overcrowded and tightly controlled strip mall.” (Stalder ) The positive feedback from the net only emboldened etoy. For the Los Angeles court, lawyers for etoy filed papers arguing that the sale of ‘shares’ in etoy was not really a stock offering. “The etoy.com website is not about commerce per se, it is about artist and social protest”, they argued. (Wishart & Boschler: 209) They were obliged, in other words, to assert a difference that the art itself had intended to blur in order to escape eToy’s claims under the Unfair Competition Act. Moreover, etoy argued that there was no evidence of a victim. Nobody was claiming to have been fooled by etoy into buying something under false pretences. Ironically enough, art would turn out in hindsight to be a more straightforward transaction here, involving less simulation or dissimulation, than investing in a dot.com. Perhaps we have reached the age when art makes more, not less, claim than business to the rhetorical figure of ‘reality’. Having defended what appeared to be the vulnerable point under the Unfair Competition law, etoy went on the attack. It was the failure of eToys to do a proper search for other trademarks that created the problem in the first place. Meanwhile, in Federal Court, lawyers for etoy launched a counter-suit that reversed the claims against them made by eToys on the trademark question. While the suits and counter suits flew, eToys.com upped their offer to settle to a package of cash and shares worth $400,000. This rather puzzled the etoy lawyers. Those choosing to sue don’t usually try at the same time to settle. Lawyer Peter Wild advised his clients to take the money, but the parallel tactics of eToys.com only encouraged them to dig in their heels. “We felt that this was a tremendous final project for etoy”, says Gramazio. As Zai says, “eToys was our ideal enemy – we were its worst enemy.” (Wishart & Boschler: 210) Zai reported the offer to the net in another mass mail. Most people advised them to take the money, including Doug Rushkoff and Heath Bunting. Paul Garrin counseled fighting on. The etoy agents offered to settle for $750,000. The case came to court in late November 1999 before Judge Shook. The Judge accepted the plausibility of the eToys version of the facts on the trademark issue, which included the purchase of a registered trademark from another company that went back to 1990. He issued an injunction on their behalf, and added in his statement that he was worried about “the great danger of children being exposed to profane and hardcore pornographic issues on the computer.” (Wishart & Boschler: 222) The injunction was all eToys needed to get Network Solutions to shut down the etoy.com domain. Zai sent out a press release in early December, which percolated through Slashdot, rhizome, nettime (Staehle) and many other networks, and catalyzed the net community into action. A debate of sorts started on investor websites such as fool.com. The eToys stock price started to slide, and etoy ‘warriors’ felt free to take the credit for it. The story made the New York Times on 9th December, Washington Post on the 10th, Wired News on the 11th. Network Solutions finally removed the etoy.com domain on the 10th December. Zai responded with a press release: “this is robbery of digital territory, American imperialism, corporate destruction and bulldozing in the way of the 19th century.” (Wishart & Boschler: 237) RTMark set up a campaign fund for toywar, managed by Survival Research Laboratories’ Mark Pauline. The RTMark press release promised a “new internet ‘game’ designed to destroy eToys.com.” (Wishart & Boschler: 239) The RTMark press release grabbed the attention of the Associated Press newswire. The eToys.com share price actually rose on December 13th. Goldman Sachs’ e-commerce analyst Anthony Noto argued that the previous declines in the Etoys share price made it a good buy. Goldman Sachs was the lead underwriter of the eToys IPO. Noto’s writings may have been nothing more than the usual ‘IPOetry’ of the time, but the crash of the internet bubble was some months away yet. The RTMark campaign was called ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’. It used the Floodnet technique that Ricardo Dominguez used in support of the Zapatistas. As Dominguez said, “this hysterical power-play perfectly demonstrates the intensions of the new net elite; to turn the World Wide Web into their own private home-shopping network.” (Wishart & Boschler: 242) The Floodnet attack may have slowed the eToys.com server down a bit, but it was robust and didn’t crash. Ironically, it ran on open source software. Dominguez claims that the ‘Twelve Days’ campaign, which relied on individuals manually launching Floodnet from their own computers, was not designed to destroy the eToys site, but to make a protest felt. “We had a single-bullet script that could have taken down eToys – a tactical nuke, if you will. But we felt this script did not represent the presence of a global group of people gathered to bear witness to a wrong.” (Wishart & Boschler: 245) While the eToys engineers did what they could to keep the site going, eToys also approached universities and businesses whose systems were being used to host Floodnet attacks. The Thing, which hosted Dominguez’s eToys Floodnet site was taken offline by The Thing’s ISP, Verio. After taking down the Floodnet scripts, The Thing was back up, restoring service to the 200 odd websites that The Thing hosted besides the offending Floodnet site. About 200 people gathered on December 20th at a demonstration against eToys outside the Museum of Modern Art. Among the crowd were Santas bearing signs that said ‘Coal for eToys’. The rally, inside the Museum, was led by the Reverend Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping: “We are drowning in a sea of identical details”, he said. (Wishart & Boschler: 249-250) Meanwhile etoy worked on the Toywar Platform, an online agitpop theater spectacle, in which participants could act as soldiers in the toywar. This would take some time to complete – ironically the dispute threatened to end before this last etoy artwork was ready, giving etoy further incentives to keep the dispute alive. The etoy agents had a new lawyer, Chris Truax, who was attracted to the case by the publicity it was generating. Through Truax, etoy offered to sell the etoy domain and trademark for $3.7 million. This may sound like an insane sum, but to put it in perspective, the business.com site changed hands for $7.5 million around this time. On December 29th, Wessel signaled that eToys was prepared to compromise. The problem was, the Toywar Platform was not quite ready, so etoy did what it could to drag out the negotiations. The site went live just before the scheduled court hearings, January 10th 2000. “TOYWAR.com is a place where all servers and all involved people melt and build a living system. In our eyes it is the best way to express and document what’s going on at the moment: people start to about new ways to fight for their ideas, their lifestyle, contemporary culture and power relations.” (Wishart & Boschler: 263) Meanwhile, in a California courtroom, Truax demanded that Network Solutions restore the etoy domain, that eToys pay the etoy legal expenses, and that the case be dropped without prejudice. No settlement was reached. Negotiations dragged on for another two weeks, with the etoy agents’ attention somewhat divided between two horizons – art and law. The dispute was settled on 25th January. Both parties dismissed their complaints without prejudice. The eToys company would pay the etoy artists $40,000 for legal costs, and contact Network Solutions to reinstate the etoy domain. “It was a pleasure doing business with one of the biggest e-commerce giants in the world” ran the etoy press release. (Wishart & Boschler: 265) That would make a charming end to the story. But what goes around comes around. Brainhard, still pissed off with Zai after leaving the group in San Francisco, filed for the etoy trademark in Austria. After that the internal etoy wranglings just gets boring. But it was fun while it lasted. What etoy grasped intuitively was the nexus between the internet as a cultural space and the transformation of the commodity economy in a yet-more abstract direction – its becoming-vectoral. They zeroed in on the heart of the new era of conceptual business – the brand. As Wittgenstein says of language, what gives words meaning is other words, so too for brands. What gives brands meaning is other brands. There is a syntax for brands as there is for words. What etoy discovered is how to insert a new brand into that syntax. The place of eToys as a brand depended on their business competition with other brands – with Toys ‘R’ Us, for example. For etoy, the syntax they discovered for relating their brand to another one was a legal opposition. What made etoy interesting was their lack of moral posturing. Their abandonment of leftist rhetorics opened them up to exploring the territory where media and business meet, but it also made them vulnerable to being consumed by the very dialectic that created the possibility of staging etoy in the first place. By abandoning obsolete political strategies, they discovered a media tactic, which collapsed for want of a new strategy, for the new vectoral terrain on which we find ourselves. Works Cited Negri, Antonio. Time for Revolution. Continuum, London, 2003. Warhol, Andy. From A to B and Back Again. Picador, New York, 1984. Stalder, Felix. ‘Fences in Cyberspace: Recent events in the battle over domain names’. 19 Jun 2003. <http://felix.openflows.org/html/fences.php>. Wark, McKenzie. ‘A Hacker Manifesto [version 4.0]’ 19 Jun 2003. http://subsol.c3.hu/subsol_2/contributors0/warktext.html. Klein, Naomi. No Logo. Harper Collins, London, 2000. Wishart, Adam & Regula Bochsler. Leaving Reality Behind: etoy vs eToys.com & Other Battles to Control Cyberspace Ecco Books, 2003. Staehle, Wolfgang. ‘<nettime> etoy.com shut down by US court.’ 19 Jun 2003. http://amsterdam.nettime.org/Lists-Archives/nettime-l-9912/msg00005.html Links http://amsterdam.nettime.org/Lists-Archives/nettime-l-9912/msg00005.htm http://felix.openflows.org/html/fences.html http://subsol.c3.hu/subsol_2/contributors0/warktext.html Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Wark, McKenzie. "Toywars" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/02-toywars.php>. APA Style Wark, M. (2003, Jun 19). Toywars. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/02-toywars.php>

The first two months of 2021 saw Google and Facebook ‘go dark’ in terms of news content on the Australia versions of their platforms. In January, Google ran a so-called “experiment” which removed or demoted current news in the search results available to a segment of Australian users. While Google was only darkened for some, in February news on Facebook went completely dark, with the company banning all news content and news sharing for users within Australian. Both of these instances of going dark occurred because of the imminent threat these platforms faced from the News Media Bargaining Code legislation that was due to be finalised by the Australian parliament. This article examines how both Google and Facebook responded to the draft Code, focussing on their threats to go dark, and the extent to which those threats were carried out. After exploring the context which produced the threats of going dark, this article looks at their impact, and how the Code was reshaped in light of those threats before it was finally legislated in early March 2021. Most importantly, this article outlines why Google and Facebook were prepared to go dark in Australia, and whether they succeeded in trying to prevent Australia setting the precedent of national governments dictating the terms by which digital platforms should pay for news content. From the Digital Platforms Inquiry to the Draft Code In July 2019, the Australian Treasurer released the Digital Platforms Inquiry Final Report which had been prepared by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC). It outlined a range of areas where Australian law, policies and practices were not keeping pace with the realities of a digital world of search giants, social networks, and streaming media. Analysis of the submissions made as part of the Digital Platforms Inquiry found that the final report was “primarily framed around the concerns of media companies, particularly News Corp Australia, about the impact of platform companies’ market dominance of content distribution and advertising share, leading to unequal economic bargaining relationships and the gradual disappearance of journalism jobs and news media publishers” (Flew et al. 13). As such, one of the most provocative recommendations made was the establishment of a new code that would “address the imbalance in the bargaining relationship between leading digital platforms and news media businesses” (Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, Digital Platforms Inquiry 16). The ACCC suggested such a code would assist Australian news organisations of any size in negotiating with Facebook, Google and others for some form of payment for news content. The report was released at a time when there was a greatly increased global appetite for regulating digital platforms. Thus the battle over the Code was watched across the world as legislation that had the potential to open the door for similar laws in other countries (Flew and Wilding). Initially the report suggested that the digital giants should be asked to develop their own codes of conduct for negotiating with news organisations. These codes would have then been enforced within Australia if suitably robust. However, after months of the big digital platforms failing to produce meaningful codes of their own, the Australian government decided to commission their own rules in this arena. The ACCC thus prepared the draft legislation that was tabled in July 2020 as the Australian News Media Bargaining Code. According to the ACCC the Code, in essence, tried to create a level playing field where Australian news companies could force Google and Facebook to negotiate a ‘fair’ payment for linking to, or showing previews of, their news content. Of course, many commentators, and the platforms themselves, retorted that they already bring significant value to news companies by referring readers to news websites. While there were earlier examples of Google and Facebook paying for news, these were largely framed as philanthropy: benevolent digital giants supporting journalism for the good of democracy. News companies and the ACCC argued this approach completely ignored the fact that Google and Facebook commanded more than 80% of the online advertising market in Australia at that time (Meade, “Google, Facebook and YouTube”). Nor did the digital giants acknowledge their disruptive power given the bulk of that advertising revenue used to flow to news companies. Some of the key features of this draft of the Code included (Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, “News Media Bargaining Code”): Facebook and Google would be the (only) companies initially ‘designated’ by the Code (i.e. specific companies that must abide by the Code), with Instagram included as part of Facebook. The Code applied to all Australian news organisations, and specifically mentioned how small, regional, and rural news media would now be able to meaningfully bargain with digital platforms. Platforms would have 11 weeks after first being contacted by a news organisation to reach a mutually negotiated agreement. Failure to reach agreements would result in arbitration (using a style of arbitration called final party arbitration which has both parties present a final offer or position, with an Australian arbiter simply choosing between the two offers in most cases). Platforms were required to give 28 days notice of any change to their algorithms that would impact on the ways Australian news was ranked and appeared on their platform. Penalties for not following the Code could be ten million dollars, or 10% of the platform’s annual turnover in Australia (whichever was greater). Unsurprisingly, Facebook, Google and a number of other platforms and companies reacted very negatively to the draft Code, with their formal submissions arguing: that the algorithm change notifications would give certain news companies an unfair advantage while disrupting the platforms’ core business; that charging for linking would break the underlying free nature of the internet; that the Code overstated the importance and reach of news on each platform; and many other objections were presented, including strong rejections of the proposed model of arbitration which, they argued, completely favoured news companies without providing any real or reasonable limit on how much news organisations could ask to be paid (Google; Facebook). Google extended their argument by making a second submission in the form of a report with the title ‘The Financial Woes of News Publishers in Australia’ (Shapiro et al.) that argued Australian journalism and news was financially unsustainable long before digital platforms came along. However, in stark contrast the Digital News Report: Australia 2020 found that Google and Facebook were where many Australians found their news; in 2020, 52% of Australians accessed news on social media (up from 46% the year before), with 39% of Australians getting news from Facebook, and that number jumping to 49% when specifically focusing on news seeking during the first COVID-19 pandemic peak in April 2021 (Park et al.). The same report highlighted that 43% of people distrust news found on social media (with a further 29% neutral, and only 28% of people explicitly trusting news found via social media). Moreover, 64% of Australians were concerned about misinformation online, and of all the platforms mentioned in the survey, respondents were most concerned about Facebook as a source of misinformation, with 36% explicitly indicating this was the place they were most concerned about encountering ‘fake news’. In this context Facebook and Google battled the Code by launching a public relations campaigns, appealing directly to Australian consumers. Google Drives a Bus Across Australia Google’s initial response to the draft Code was a substantial public relations campaign which saw the technology company advocating against the Code but not necessarily the ideas behind it. Google instead posited their own alternative way of paying for journalism in Australia. On the main Google search landing page, the usually very white surrounds of the search bar included the text “Supporting Australian journalism: a constructive path forward” which linked to a Google page outlining their version of a ‘Fair Code’. Popup windows appeared across many of Google’s services and apps, noting Google “are willing to pay to support journalism”, with a button labelled ‘Hear our proposal’. Figure 1: Popup notification on Google Australia directing users to Google’s ‘A Fair Code’ proposal rebutting the draft Code. (Screen capture by author, 29 January 2021) Google’s popups and landing page links were visible for more than six months as the Code was debated. In September 2020, a Google blog post about the Code was accompanied by a YouTube video campaign featuring Australia comedian Greta Lee Jackson (Google Australia, Google Explains Arbitration). Jackson used the analogy of Google as a bus driver, who is forced to pay restaurants for delivering customers to them, and then pay part of the running costs of restaurants, too. The video reinforced Google’s argument that the draft Code was asking digital platforms to pay potentially enormous costs for news content without acknowledging the value of Google bringing readers to the news sites. However, the video opened with the line that “proposed laws can be confusing, so I'll use an analogy to break it down”, setting a tone that would seem patronising to many people. Moreover, the video, and Google’s main argument, completely ignored the personal data Google receives every time a user searches for, or clicks on, a news story via Google Search or any other Google service. If Google’s analogy was accurate, then the bus driver would be going through every passenger’s bag while they were on the bus, taking copies of all their documents from drivers licenses to loyalty cards, keeping a record of every time they use the bus, and then using this information to get advertisers to pay for a tailored advertisement on the back of the seat in front of every passenger, every time they rode the bus. Notably, by the end of March 2021, the video had only received 10,399 views, which suggests relatively few people actually clicked on it to watch. In early January 2021, at the height of the debate about the Code, Google ran what they called “an experiment” which saw around 1% of Australian users suddenly only receive “older or less relevant content” when searching for news (Barnet, “Google’s ‘Experiment’”). While ostensibly about testing options for when the Code became law, the unannounced experiment also served as a warning shot. Google very effectively reminded users and politicians about their important role in determining which news Australian users find, and what might happen if Google darkened what they returned as news results. On 21 January 2021, Mel Silva, the Managing Director and public face of Google in Australia and New Zealand gave public testimony about the company’s position before a Senate inquiry. Silva confirmed that Google were indeed considering removing Google Search in Australia altogether if the draft Code was not amended to address their key concerns (Silva, “Supporting Australian Journalism: A Constructive Path Forward An Update on the News Media Bargaining Code”). Google’s seemingly sudden escalation in their threat to go dark led to articles such as a New York Times piece entitled ‘An Australia with No Google? The Bitter Fight behind a Drastic Threat’ (Cave). Google also greatly amplified their appeal to the Australian public, with a video featuring Mel Silva appearing frequently on all Google sites in Australia to argue their position (Google Australia, An Update). By the end of March 2021, Silva’s video had been watched more than 2.2 million times on YouTube. Silva’s testimony, video and related posts from Google all characterised the Code as: breaking “how Google search works in Australia”; creating a world where links online are paid for and thus both breaking Google and “undermin[ing] how the web works”; and saw Google offer their News Showcase as a viable alternative that, in Google’s view, was “a fair one” (Silva, “Supporting Australian Journalism”). Google emphasised submissions about the Code which backed their position, including World Wide Web inventor Tim Berners-Lee who agreed that the idea of charging for links could have a more wide-reaching impact, challenging the idea of a free web (Leaver). Google also continued to release their News Showcase product in other parts of the world. They emphasised that there were existing arrangements for Showcase in Australia, but the current regulatory uncertainty meant it was paused in Australia until the debates about the Code were resolved. In the interim, news media across Australia, and the globe, were filled with stories speculating what an Australia would look like if Google went completely dark (e.g. Cave; Smyth). Even Microsoft weighed in to supporting the Code and offer their search engine Bing as a viable alternative to fill the void if Google really did go dark (Meade, “Microsoft’s Bing”). In mid-February, the draft Code was tabled in Australian parliament. Many politicians jumped at the chance to sing the Code’s praises and lament the power that Google and Facebook have across various spheres of Australian life. Yet as these speeches were happening, the Australian Treasurer Josh Frydenberg was holding weekend meetings with executives from Google and Facebook, trying to smooth the path toward the Code (Massola). In these meetings, a number of amendments were agreed to, including the Code more clearly taking in to account any existing deals already on the table before it became law. In these meetings the Treasurer made in clear to Google that if the deals done prior to the Code were big enough, he would consider not designating Google under the Code, which in effect would mean Google is not immediately subject to it (Samios and Visentin). With that concession in hand Google swiftly signed deals with over 50 Australian news publishers, including Seven West Media, Nine, News Corp, The Guardian, the ABC, and some smaller publishers such as Junkee Media (Taylor; Meade, “ABC Journalism”). While the specific details of these deals were not made public, the deals with Seven West Media and Nine were both reported to be worth around $30 million Australian dollars (Dudley-Nicholson). In reacting to Google's deals Frydenberg described them as “generous deals, these are fair deals, these are good deals for the Australian media businesses, deals that they are making off their own bat with the digital giants” (Snape, “‘These Are Good Deals’”). During the debates about the Code, Google had ultimately ensured that every Australian user was well aware that Google was, in their words, asking for a “fair” Code, and before the Code became law even the Treasurer was conceding that Google’s was offering a “fair deal” to Australian news companies. Facebook Goes Dark on News While Google never followed through on their threat to go completely dark, Facebook took a very different path, with a lot less warning. Facebook’s threat to remove all news from the platform for users in Australia was not made explicit in their formal submissions the draft of the Code. However, to be fair, Facebook’s Managing Director in Australia and New Zealand Will Easton did make a blog post at the end of August 2020 in which he clearly stated: “assuming this draft code becomes law, we will reluctantly stop allowing publishers and people in Australia from sharing local and international news on Facebook and Instagram” (Easton). During the negotiations in late 2020 Instagram was removed as an initial target of the Code (just as YouTube was not included as part of Google) along with a number of other concessions, but Facebook were not sated. Yet Easton’s post about removing news received very little attention after it was made, and certainly Facebook made no obvious attempt to inform their millions of Australian users that news might be completely blocked. Hence most Australians were shocked when that was exactly what Facebook did. Facebook’s power has, in many ways, always been exercised by what the platform’s algorithms display to users, what content is most visible and equally what content is made invisible (Bucher). The morning of Wednesday, 17 February 2021, Australian Facebook users awoke to find that all traditional news and journalism had been removed from the platform. Almost all pages associated with news organisations were similarly either disabled or wiped clean, and that any attempt to share links to news stories was met with a notification: “this post can’t be shared”. The Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison reacted angrily, publicly lamenting Facebook’s choice to “unfriend Australia”, adding their actions were “as arrogant as they were disappointing”, vowing that Australia would “not be intimidated by big tech” (Snape, “Facebook Unrepentant”). Figure 2: Facebook notification appearing when Australians attempted to share news articles on the platform. (Screen capture by author, 20 February 2021) Facebook’s news ban in Australia was not limited to official news pages and news content. Instead, their ban initially included a range of pages and services such as the Australian Bureau of Meteorology, emergency services pages, health care pages, hospital pages, services providing vital information about the COVID-19 pandemic, and so forth. The breadth of the ban may have been purposeful, as one of Facebook’s biggest complaints was that the Code defined news too broadly (Facebook). Yet in the Australian context, where the country was wrestling with periodic lockdowns and the Coronavirus pandemic on one hand, and bushfires and floods on the other, the removal of these vital sources of information showed a complete lack of care or interest in Australian Facebook users. Beyond the immediate inconvenience of not being able to read or share news on Facebook, there were a range of other, immediate, consequences. As Barnet, amongst others, warned, a Facebook with all credible journalism banned would almost certainly open the floodgates to a tide of misinformation, with nothing left to fill the void; it made Facebook’s “public commitment to fighting misinformation look farcical” (Barnet, “Blocking Australian News”). Moreover, Bossio noted, “reputational damage from blocking important sites that serve Australia’s public interest overnight – and yet taking years to get on top of user privacy breaches and misinformation – undermines the legitimacy of the platform and its claimed civic intentions” (Bossio). If going dark and turning off news in Australia was supposed to win the sympathy of Australian Facebook users, then the plan largely backfired. Yet as with Google, the Australian Treasurer was meeting with Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook executives behind closed doors, which did eventually lead to changes before the Code was finally legislated (Massola). Facebook gained a number of concessions, including: a longer warning period before a Facebook could be designated by the Code; a longer period before news organisations would be able to expect negotiations to be concluded; an acknowledgement that existing deals would be taken in to account during negotiations; and, most importantly, a clarification that if Facebook was to once again block news this would both prevent them being subject to the Code and was not be something the platform could be punished for. Like Google, though, Facebook’s biggest gain was again the Treasurer making it clear that by making deals in advance on the Code becoming law, it was likely that Facebook would not be designated, and thus not subject to the Code at all (Samios and Visentin). After these concessions the news standoff ended and on 23 February the Australian Treasurer declared that after tense negotiations Facebook had “refriended Australia”; the company had “committed to entering into good-faith negotiations with Australian news media businesses and seeking to reach agreements to pay for content” (Visentin). Over the next month there were some concerns voiced about slow progress, but then major deals were announced between Facebook and News Corp Australia, and with Nine, with other deals following closely (Meade, “Rupert Murdoch”). Just over a week after the ban began, Facebook returned news to their platform in Australia. Facebook obviously felt they had won the battle, but Australia Facebook users were clearly cannon fodder, with their interests and wellbeing ignored. Who Won? The Immediate Aftermath of the Code After the showdowns with Google and Facebook, the final amendments to the Code were made and it was legislated as the News Media and Digital Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code (Australian Treasury), going into effect on 2 March 2021. However, when it became legally binding, not one single company was ‘designated’, meaning that the Code did not immediately apply to anyone. Yet deals had been struck, money would flow to Australian news companies, and Facebook had returned news to its platform in Australia. At the outset, Google, Facebook, news companies in Australia and the Australian government all claimed to have won the battle over the Code. Having talked up their tough stance on big tech platforms when the Digital Platforms Inquiry landed in 2019, the Australian Government was under public pressure to deliver on that rhetoric. The debates and media coverage surrounding the Code involved a great deal of political posturing and gained much public attention. The Treasurer was delighted to see deals being struck that meant Facebook and Google would pay Australian news companies. He actively portrayed this as the government protecting Australia’s interest and democracy. The fact that the Code was leveraged as a threat does mean that the nuances of the Code are unlikely to be tested in a courtroom in the near future. Yet as a threat it was an effective one, and it does remain in the Treasurer’s toolkit, with the potential to be deployed in the future. While mostly outside the scope of this article, it should definitely be noted that the biggest winner in the Code debate was Rupert Murdoch, executive chairman of News Corp. They were the strongest advocates of regulation forcing the digital giants to pay for news in the first place, and had the most to gain and least to lose in the process. Most large news organisations in Australia have fared well, too, with new revenue flowing in from Google and Facebook. However, one of the most important facets of the Code was the inclusion of mechanisms to ensure that regional and small news publishers in Australia would be able to negotiate with Facebook and Google. While some might be able to band together and strike terms (and some already have) it is likely that many smaller news companies in Australia will miss out, since the deals being struck with the bigger news companies appear to be big enough to ensure they are not designated, and thus not subject to the Code (Purtill). A few weeks after the Code became law ACCC Chair Rod Sims stated that the “problem we’re addressing with the news media code is simply that we wanted to arrest the decline in money going to journalism” (Kohler). On that front the Code succeeded. However, there is no guarantee the deals will mean money will support actual journalists, rather than disappearing as extra corporate profits. Nor is there any onus on Facebook or Google to inform news organisations about changes to their algorithms that might impact on news rankings. Also, as many Australia news companies are now receiving payments from Google and Facebook, there is a danger the news media will become dependent on that revenue, which may make it harder for journalists to report on the big tech giants without some perceptions of a conflict of interest. In a diplomatic post about the Code, Google thanked everyone who had voiced concerns with the initial drafts of the legislation, thanked Australian users, and celebrated that their newly launched Google News Showcase had “two million views of content” with more than 70 news partners signed up within Australia (Silva, “An Update”). Given that News Showcase had already begun rolling out elsewhere in the world, it is likely Google were already aware they were going to have to contribute to the production of journalism across the globe. The cost of paying for news in Australia may well have fallen within the parameters Google had already decided were acceptable and inevitable before the debate about the Code even began (Purtill). In the aftermath of the Code becoming legislation, Google also posted a cutting critique of Microsoft, arguing they were “making self-serving claims and are even willing to break the way the open web works in an effort to undercut a rival” (Walker). In doing so, Google implicitly claimed that the concessions and changes to the Code they had managed to negotiate effectively positioned them as having championed the free and open web. At the end of February 2021, in a much more self-congratulatory post-mortem of the Code entitled “The Real Story of What Happened with News on Facebook in Australia”, Facebook reiterated their assertion that they bring significant value to news publishers and that the platform receives no real value in return, stating that in 2020 Facebook provided “approximately 5.1 billion free referrals to Australian publishers worth an estimated AU$407 million to the news industry” (Clegg). Deploying one last confused metaphor, Facebook argued the original draft of the Code was “like forcing car makers to fund radio stations because people might listen to them in the car — and letting the stations set the price.” Of course, there was no mention that following that metaphor, Facebook would have bugged the car and used that information to plaster the internal surfaces with personalised advertising. Facebook also touted the success of their Facebook News product in the UK, albeit without setting a date for the rollout of the product in Australia. While Facebook did concede that “the decision to stop the sharing of news in Australia appeared to come out of nowhere”, what the company failed to do was apologise to Australian Facebook users for the confusion and inconvenience they experienced. Nevertheless, on Facebook’s own terms, they certainly positioned themselves as having come out winners. Future research will need to determine whether Facebook’s actions damaged their reputation or encouraged significant numbers of Australians to leave the platform permanently, but in the wake of a number of high-profile scandals, including Cambridge Analytica (Vaidhyanathan), it is hard to see how Facebook’s actions would not have further undermined consumer trust in the company and their main platform (Park et al.). In fighting the Code, Google and Facebook were not just battling the Australian government, but also the implication that if they paid for news in Australia, they likely would also have to do so in other countries. The Code was thus seen as a dangerous precedent far more than just a mechanism to compel payment in Australia. Since both companies ensured they made deals prior to the Code becoming law, neither was initially ‘designated’, and thus neither were actually subject to the Code at the time of writing. The value of the Code has been as a threat and a means to force action from the digital giants. How effective it is as a piece of legislation remains to be seen in the future if, indeed, any company is ever designated. For other countries, the exact wording of the Code might not be as useful as a template, but its utility to force action has surely been noted. Like the inquiry which initiated it, the Code set “the largest digital platforms, Google and Facebook, up against the giants of traditional media, most notably Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation” (Flew and Wilding 50). Yet in a relatively unusual turn of events, both sides of that battle claim to have won. At the same time, EU legislators watched the battle closely as they considered an “Australian-style code” of their own (Dillon). Moreover, in the month immediately following the Code being legislated, both the US and Canada were actively pursuing similar regulation (Baier) with Facebook already threatening to remove news and go dark for Canadian Facebook users (van Boom). For Facebook, and Google, the battle continues, but fighting the Code has meant the genie of paying for news content is well and truly out of the bottle. References Australian Competition and Consumer Commission. 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Introduction Fashion has long been associated with resistance movements across Asia and Australia, from the hand-spun cotton Khadi of Mahatma Gandhi’s freedom struggle to the traditional ankle length robe worn by Tibetans in the ‘White Wednesday Movement’ (Singh et al.; Yangzom). There are many reasons why fashion and activism have been interlinked. Fashion can serve as a form of nonverbal communication (Crane), which can convey activists’ grievances and concerns while symbolising solidarity (Doerr). It can provide an avenue to enact individual agency against repressive, authoritarian regimes (Yangzom; Doerr et al.). Fashion can codify a degree of uniformity within groups and thereby signal social identity (Craik), while also providing a means of building community (Barry and Drak). Fashion, therefore, offers activists the opportunity to develop the three characteristics which unite a social or environmental movement: a shared concern about an issue, a sense of social identity, and connections between individuals and groups. But while these fashion functions map onto movement characteristics, it remains unclear whether activists across the world deliberately include fashion into their protest action repertoires. This uncertainty exists partly because of a research and media focus on large scale, mass protests (Lester and Hutchins), where fashion characteristics are immediately visible and amenable to retrospective interpretation. This focus helps explain the rich volume of research examining the manifestation of fashion in past protests, such as the black, red, and yellow colours worn during the 1988 Aboriginal Long March of Freedom, Justice, and Hope (Maynard Dress; Coghlan), and the pink anti-Trump ‘pussyhats’ (Thompson). However, the protest events used to identify these fashion characteristics are a relatively small proportion of actions used by environmental activists (Dalton et al.; Gulliver et al.), which include not only rallies and marches, but also information evenings, letter writing sessions, and eco-activities such as tree plantings. This article aims to respond to Barnard’s (Looking) call for more empirical work on what contemporary cultural groups visually do with what they wear (see also Gerbaudo and Treré) via a content analysis of 36,676 events promoted on Facebook by 728 Australian environmental groups between 2010 and 2019. The article firstly reports findings from an analysis of this dataset to identify how fashion manifests in environmental activism, building on research demonstrating the role of protest-related nonverbal communications, such as protest signage (Bloomfield and Doolin), images (Kim), and icons, slogans, and logos (Goodnow). The article then considers what activists may seek to achieve through incorporating fashion into their action repertoire, and whether this suggests solidarity with activists seeking to effect environmental change across the wider Asian region. Fashion Activism Fashion is created through a particular assemblage of clothes, accessories, and hairstyles (Barry and Drak), which in turn forms a prevailing custom or style of dress (Craik). It is a cultural practice, providing ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) for an individual to express their social roles (Craik) and political identity (Behnke). Some scholars argue that fashion became overtly political during the 1960s and 70s, as social movements politicised appearance (Edwards). This has only increased in relevance with the rise of far right, populist, and authoritarian regimes, whose sub-cultures enact politicised identities through their distinct fashion characteristics (Gaugele and Titton; Gaugele). Fashion can therefore play an important role in protest movements, as “political subjectivities, political authority, political power and discipline are rendered visible, and thereby real, by the way fashion co-establishes them” (Behnke 3). Across the literature scholars have identified two primary avenues by which fashion and activism are connected. The first of these relates to activism targeting the fashion industry. This type of activism is found in both Asia and Australia, and promotes sustainable consumption choices such as buying used goods and transforming existing items (Chung and Yim), as well as highlighting garment worker exploitation within the fashion industry (Khan and Richards). The second avenue is called ‘fashion activism’: the use of fashion to intentionally signal a message seeking to evoke social and/or political change (Thompson). In this conceptualisation, clothing is used to signify a particular message (Crane). An example of this type of fashion activism is the ‘SlutWalk’, a protest where participants deliberately wore outfits described as slutty or revealing as a response to victim-blaming of women who had experienced sexual assault (Thompson). A key element of fashion activism thus appears to be its message intentionality. Clothes are specifically utilised to convey a message, such as a grievance about victim-blaming, which can then be incorporated into design features displayed on t-shirts, pins, and signs both on the runway and in protest events (Titton). However, while this ‘sender/receiver’ model of fashion communication (Barnard, Fashion as) can be compelling for activists, it is complex in practice. A message receiver can never have full knowledge of what message the sender seeks to signify through a particular clothing item, nor can the message sender predict how a receiver will interpret that message. Particular arrangements of clothing only hold communicative power when they are easily interpreted and related to the movement and its message, usually only intelligible to a specific culture or subculture (Goodnow). Even within that subculture it remains problematic to infer a message from a particular style of dress, as demonstrated in examples where dress is used to imply sexual consent; for example, in rape and assault cases (Lennon et al.). Given the challenges of interpreting fashion, do activists appear to use the ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) afforded by it as a protest tool? To investigate this question a pre-existing dataset of 36,676 events was analysed to ascertain if, and how, environmental activism engages with fashion (a detailed methodology is available on the OSF). Across this dataset, event categories, titles, and descriptions were reviewed to collate events connecting environmental activism to fashion. Three categories of events were found and are discussed in the next section: street theatre, sustainable fashion practices, and disruptive protest. Street Theatre Street theatre is a form of entertainment which uses public performance to raise awareness of injustices and build support for collective action (Houston and Pulido). It uses costumes as a vehicle for conveying messages about political issues and for making demands visible, and has been utilised by protesters across Australia and Asia (Roces). Many examples of street theatre were found in the dataset. For example, Extinction Rebellion (XR) consistently promoted street theatre events via sub-groups such as the ‘Red Rebels’ – a dedicated team of volunteers specialising in costumed street theatre – as well as by inviting supporters to participate in open street theatre events, such as in the ‘Halloween Dead Things Disco’. Dressed as spooky skeletons (doot, doot) and ghosts, we'll slide and shimmy down Sydney's streets in a supernatural style, as we bring attention to all the species claimed by the Sixth Mass Extinction. These street theatre events appeared to prioritise spectacle rather than disruption as a means to attract attention to their message. The Cairns and Far North Environment Centre ‘Climate Action Float’, for example, requested that attendees: Wear blue and gold or dress as your favourite reef animal, solar panel, maybe even the sun itself!? Reef & Solar // Blue & Gold is the guiding theme but we want your creativity take it from there. Most groups used street theatre as one of a range of different actions organised across a period of time. However, Climacts, a performance collective which uses ‘spectacle and satire to communicate the urgency of the climate and biodiversity crisis’ (Climacts), utilised this tactic exclusively. Their Climate Guardians collective used distinctive angel costumes to perform at the Climate Conference of Parties 26, and in various places around Australia (see images on their Website). Fig. 1: Costumed protest against Downer EDI's proposed work on the Adani coalmine; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). Sustainable Fashion Practices The second most common type of event which connected fashion with activism were those promoting sustainable fashion practices. While much research has highlighted the role of activism in raising awareness of problems related to the fashion industry (e.g. Hirscher), groups in the dataset were primarily focussed on organising activities where supporters communally created their own fashion items. The most common of these was the ‘crafternoon’, with over 260 separate crafternoon events identified in the dataset. These events brought activists together to create protest-related kit such as banners, signs, and costumes from recycled or repurposed materials, as demonstrated by Hume Climate Action Now’s ‘Crafternoon for Climate’ event: Come along on Sunday arvo for a relaxed arvo making posters and banners for upcoming Hume Climate Action Now events… Bring: Paints, textas, cardboard, fabric – whatever you’ve got lying around. Don’t have anything? That’s cool, just bring yourself. Events highlighting fashion industry problems were less frequent and tended to prioritise sharing of information about the fashion industry rather than promoting protests. For example, Transition Town Vincent held a ‘Slowing Down Fast Fashion – Transition Town Vincent Movie Night’ while the Green Embassy promoted the ‘Eco Fashion Week’. This event, held in 2017, was described as Australia’s only eco-fashion week, and included runway shows, music, and public talks. Other events also focussed on public talks, such as a Conservation Council of ACT event called ‘Green Drinks Canberra October 2017: Summer Edwards on the fashion industry’ and a panel discussion organised by a group called SEE-Change entitled ‘The Sustainable Wardrobe’. Disruptive Protest and T-Shirts Few events in the dataset mentioned elements of fashion outside of street theatre or sustainable fashion practices, with only one organisation explicitly connecting fashion with activism in its event details. This group – Australian Youth Climate Coalition – organised an event called ‘Activism in Fashion: Tote Bags, T-shirts and Poster Painting!’, which asked: How can we consistently be involved in campaigning while life can be so busy? Can we still be loud and get a message across without saying a word? The iconic 21st century activist "t-shirt and tote-bag" combination is hard to miss these days! Unlike street theatre and sustainable fashion practices, fashion appeared to be a consideration for only a small number of disruptive protests promoted by environmental groups in Australia. XR Brisbane sought to organise a fashion parade during the 2019 Rebellion Week, while XR protesters in Melbourne stripped down to underwear for a march through Melbourne city arcades (see also Turbet). Few common fashion elements appeared consistently on individual activists participating in events, and these were limited to accessories, such as ‘Stop Adani’ earrings, or t-shirts sold for fundraising and promotional purposes. Indeed, t-shirts appeared to be the most promoted clothing item in the dataset, continuing a long tradition of their use in protests (e.g. Maynard, Blankets). Easy to create, suitable for displaying both text and imagery, t-shirts sharing anti-coal messages featured predominantly in the Stop Adani campaign, while yellow t-shirts were a common item in Knitting Nanna’s anti-coal seam gas mining protests. Fig. 2: Stop Adani earrings and t-shirts; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). The Role of Fashion in Environmental Activism As these findings demonstrate, fashion appears to be deliberately utilised in environmental activism primarily through street theatre and the promotion of sustainable fashion practices. While fewer examples of fashion in disruptive protest were found and no consistent fashion assemblage was identified, accessories and t-shirts were utilised by many groups. What may activists be seeking to achieve through incorporating fashion via street theatre and sustainable fashion practices? Some scholars have argued that incorporating fashion into protest allows activists to signal political dissent against authoritarian control. For example, Yanzoom noted that by utilising fashion as a means of communication, Tibetan activists were able to embody their political goals despite repression of speech and movement by political powerholders. However, a consistent fashion repertoire across protests in this Australian dataset was not found. The opportunities afforded by protected protest rights in Australia and absence of violent police repression of disruptive protests may be one explanation why distinctive dress such as the masks and black attire of Hong Kong pro-democracy protesters did not manifest in the dataset. Other scholars have observed that fashion sub-cultures also developed partly to express anti-establishment politics, such as the punk movement in the 1970s. Radical clothing accessorised by symbols, bright hair colours, body piercings, and heavy-duty books signalled opposition to the dominant political ideology (Craik). However, none of these purposes appeared to play a role in Australian environmental activism either. Instead, it appears that Maynard’s contention that Australian protest fashion barely deviates from everyday dress remains true today. Fashion within the events promoted in this large empirical dataset retained the ‘prevalence of everyday clothing’ (Maynard, Dress 111). The lack of a clearly discernible single protest fashion style within the dataset may be related to the shortcomings of the sender/receiver model of fashion communication. As Barnard (Fashion Statements) argued, fashion is not always used as a vehicle for conveying messages, but also as a platform for constructing and reproducing identity. Indeed, a multiplicity of researchers have noted how fashion acts as a signal of what social groups individuals belong to (see Roach-Higgins and Eicher). Activist groups have a variety of goals, which not only include promoting environmental change but also mobilising more people to join their cause (Gulliver et al., Understanding). Stereotyping can hinder achievement of these goals. It has been demonstrated, for example, that individuals who hold negative stereotypes of ‘typical’ activists are less likely to want to associate with them, and less likely to adopt their behaviours (Bashir et al.). Accordingly, some activist groups have been shown to actively promote dress associated with other identity groups, specifically to challenge cultural constructions of environmental activist stereotypes (see also Roces). For example, Bloomfield and Doolins’s study of the NZ anti-GE group MAdGE (Mothers against Genetic Engineering in Food and the Environment) demonstrated how visual protest artifacts conveyed the protesters’ social identity as mothers and customers rather than environmental activists, claiming an alternative cultural mandate for challenging the authority of science (see also Einwohner et al.). The data suggest that Australian activists are seeking to avoid this stereotype as well. The absence of a consistent fashion promoted within the dataset may reflect awareness of problematic stereotypes that activists may be then deliberately seeking to avoid. Maynard (Dress), for example, has noted how the everyday dress of Australian protesters serves to deflect stereotypical labelling of participants. This strategy is also mirrored by the changing nature of groups within the Australian environmental movement. The event database demonstrates that an increasing number of environmental groups are emerging with names highlighting non-stereotypical environmental identities: groups such as ‘Engineers Declare’ and ‘Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action’. Beyond these identity processes, the frequent use of costumed street theatre protest suggests that activists recognise the value of using fashion as a vehicle for communicating messages, despite the challenges of interpretation described above. Much of the language used to promote street theatre in the Facebook event listings suggests that these costumes were deliberately designed to signify a particular meaning, with individuals encouraged to dress up to be ‘a vehicle for myth and symbol’ (Lavender 11). It may be that costumes are also utilised in protest due to their suitability as an image event, convenient for dissemination by mass media seeking colourful and engaging imagery (Delicath and Deluca; Doerr). Furthermore, costumes, as with text or colours presented on t-shirts, may offer activists an avenue to clearly convey a visual message which is more resistant to stereotyping. This is especially relevant given that fashion can be re-interpreted and misinterpreted by audiences, as well as reframed and reinterpreted by the media (Maynard, Dress). While the prevalence of costumed performance and infrequent mentions of fashion in the dataset may be explained by stereotype avoidance and messaging clarity, sustainable fashion practices were more straightforward in intent. Groups used multiple approaches to educate audiences about sustainable fashion, whether through fostering sustainable fashion practices or raising awareness of fashion industry problems. In this regard, fashion in protest in Australia closely resembles Asian sustainable fashion activism (see e.g. Chon et al. regarding the Singaporean context). In particular, the large number of ‘crafternoons’ suggests their importance as sites of activism and community building. Craftivism – acts such as quilting banners, yarn bombing, and cross stitching feminist slogans – are used by many groups to draw attention to social, political and environmental issues (McGovern and Barnes). This type of ‘creative activism’ (Filippello) has been used to challenge aesthetic and political norms across a variety of contested socio-political landscapes. These activities not only develop activism skills, but also foster community (Barry and Drak). For environmental groups, these community building events can play a critical role in sustaining and supporting ongoing environmental activism (Gulliver et al., Understanding) as well as demonstrating solidarity with workers across Asia experiencing labour injustices linked to the fashion industry (Chung and Yim). Conclusion Studies examining protest fashion demonstrate that clothing provides a canvas for sharing protest messages and identities in both Asia and Australia (Benda; Yangzom; Craik). However, despite the fashion’s utility as communication tool for social and environmental movements, empirical studies of how fashion is used by activists in these contexts remain rare. This analysis demonstrates that Australian environmental activists use fashion in their action repertoire primarily through costumed street theatre performances and promoting sustainable fashion practices. By doing so they may be seeking to use fashion as a means of conveying messages, while avoiding stereotypes that can demobilise supporters and reduce support for their cause. Furthermore, sustainable fashion activism offers opportunities for activists to achieve multiple goals: to subvert the fast fashion industry, to provide participation avenues for new activists, to help build activist communities, and to express solidarity with those experiencing fast fashion-related labour injustices. These findings suggest that the use of fashion in protest actions can move beyond identity messaging to also enact sustainable practices while co-opting and resisting hegemonic ideas of consumerism. By integrating fashion into the vibrant and diverse actions promoted by environmental movements across Australia and Asia, activists can construct and perform identities while fostering the community bonds and networks from which movements demanding environmental change derive their strength. Ethics Approval Statement This study was approved by the Research Ethics Committee of the University of Queensland (2018000963). 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